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Post by Causa Mortis on Jun 18, 2006 16:58:07 GMT 1
[OOC]Just come by and start your tavern stories here. I am the bar keeper so I will not be involving in most of the plots.[/OOC] Rules: Word min. limit: 50 (low level words, for beginners and lazy people ) Follow the board rules and keep it clean. Shikyo was proud with his work, He made a Tavern that was Save, Neutral and Friendly. People liked showing up and order a beer or 2 and start making new friends, or sometimes new lovers, so they could forget about the harsh world outside. He was glad he put up the "no weapons and magic rule" it kept his bar save and undamaged. One time a guy thought to be smart and by running trough the door without letting himself checked by the doorgaurds, he found his arm cut off, not by the doorguards but by one of Shikyo's regular costumer. One of the few who knew about the sword underneath the bar table. the only thing the costumer said toward the man that he attacked was: Costumer: "I know you can't really 'Handle' this now." The whole bar laughed "But at least be so kind and take a beer before leaving."The man just stood up and joined the costumer and drank his beer. that was the only time there was done harm in the bar. The bar was easy to reach by anywhere in the world because it became so popular that magical teleport gates have been placed all over the world who sended people directly to the bar. Because of this the bar became the central of trades and Diplomacy. Shikyo woke up out of his thoughts when one of his costumers asked for another beer. ::
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Post by Karo on Jun 25, 2006 21:13:00 GMT 1
A life is a river. Destiny is not the path the river takes, destiny are dams and obstacles for the river, the things that shape its way. Some rivers take this like it is and flow between their given banks to the sea ignorant of the other things in life. Listen and heed my words, apprentice. For a powerful river breaks from his banks if they block him. Sheer power overrules destiny, a great, wild river chooses his path to the sea. I shall teach you discipline, the art to defeat your destiny. Now heed my words as wisdom lies within them. Ial Cothorr, mage of Summerkeep
He woke up from his thoughts. Looking around he scanned his environment, having lost his orientation. He was in a tavern of some sort, at the bar. It seemed quite sociable, murmuring of people talking over their drinks with a few louder outbursts from drunks. What was he doing here? He couldn't recall walking in , nor teleporting in or anything. He turned to the barkeeper, a big man looking more like a warrior than a real barkeeper, but he surely was one. Unfortunaly he was talking to a customer. Looking around again, he saw a young woman, sitting two seats left from him. "Excuse me, lady, I was just wondering how long I have been sitting here. Could you be so friendly to tell me?" She gave him an awkward eye. "I know it's a strange question, but please tell me." "I can't recall you walking in, Saer. Your seat was empty just a minute ago." He murmeled a thanks and turned his gaze to the mirror behind the bar. An old man stared back. His dark blue eyes were deeply sunk within a network of tiny wrinkles, the inevitable proof that he had grown old in study. A weak body, just able to walk. Not like it mattered for a sorcerer, that is. A sorceror only needs his magic.
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Post by kipspul on Jun 30, 2006 9:01:19 GMT 1
'Your weapons please,' the guard said pleasantly. Findrael scowled at him, but didn't object as she began searching for all of her daggers. There where quite a lot, and sometimes she forgat about where she'd put them. Two in her boots, one on her belt, another one on a string at the back of her neck, two throwing knifes at up her left sleeve... you couldn't be too careful when going into a big city like this. Sure, she hadn't seen lots of cities, and although she knew this one wasn't really that big, she was sure it was dangerous enough. So she 'forgot' to remove the dagger that hung in a scabberd under the backside of her skirt. The guard tapped her gently on the shoulder. 'Seems you left one there,' he said, pointing. Findrael gave him an arch look. 'You knów where you are pointing at, I hope?' The guard followed the line his own finger was pointing, reddened a bit in his face and quickly pointed somewhere else. 'You still have to remove it,' he said stiffly. 'With all the people watching?' Findrael aksed. 'Do it outside if you wish, it's just that people have to hand in their weapons no matter where they... erm, come from.' The girl sniffed disdainfully, but made a turn wich resulted in a lot of cloth whirling around her. When she faced the guard again she held the dagger in her hand. 'Be careful with it,' she said. 'It's not accustomed to the life in big cities.' The guard nodded, but his mind had set on a pair of sunbrowned, well-formed legs, the feet hidden in almost knee-high leather boots. He was sure he'd seen them somewhere when the girl had turned. She'd hid them awfully good between so-much layers of skirt and mantle. Findrael sighed and walked towards the bar. A young woman of about her age sat there, and an old man who was looking at his reflection in a mirror. Findrael sat down behind him and smiled, just for the feeling of smiling. Then she tapped him gently on the shoulder. 'Excuse me, sir,' she said politely, 'but could you tell me which day it is, today?'
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Post by Karo on Jul 8, 2006 11:43:06 GMT 1
You student, are young. Your days are yet ahead but mine are far gone. To me is the task to share my wisdom with you, to you is the task to hear my words and learn from me. It takes time to learn magic indeed, but practicing it does also take time. Therefore, patience is one of the greatest abilities in magic. That's what my master said. And his master before him and so all down the way. It took patience to discover that, and you must show patience to understand. If you don't have patience, you won't become wise, and I'll advise you to just become a axe-swinging warrior, instead of a sorceror. They don't have patience, and they die fast. If you don't believe me, go out there and die, then you'll know I'm right. Why am I right? I have patience. Harin Chanuï, Loremaster of Thistledown.
He turned to the voice besides him. His old eyes found the face of another young woman, asking which day it was. He blinked for a moment. He wouldn't even know which year it was if someone asked him. What was this place? He thought deeply for a few seconds, until he realised that she was still waiting for an answer. His voice sounded much like an old crow, that slowly crept over a stone floor. "Are you a traveler of some sort? It's very strange that you don't know which day it is. Being aware of the world around you is most important, young lady." He gazed at her for a moment. "To be honest with you, lady, I have no idea myself."
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Post by kipspul on Jul 10, 2006 12:50:17 GMT 1
Findrael looked curiously at the wrinkled face, that spoke of age and wisdom. 'I am indeed a traveler, old master,' she said respectfully, 'and not very keen on keeping date while roaming the wildernesses of the forests and mountains. But I am most curious to know why you, seeming such a wise man, have no idea of the date.' She smiled a little bit. What a strange old man it was. Most old men she knew had sat in their chairs by the fire, retelling the tales of their own history over and over again. And this man, seated at the bar of one of the most popular taverns in this part of the world, did not know the date. She did not know much about the ways of normal people, but she did know that this was not normal. So she smiled somewhat more and waited for him to answer.
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Post by Karo on Jul 10, 2006 17:05:14 GMT 1
You are at a arcane university, my pupils. This is the place for mysteries, to find them and to solve them. Ordinary mages find more questions than answers in their life, and here, it is the purpose to find more answers than questions, so you can then go out into the world to search for the fitting riddles to your solutions. But don't be misled, the great mystreries in life are not supposed to be solved, therefore, keep your mind set on that you cán do. Fredic Bodrah, teacher of the Thistledown university.
He smiled softly. "About the same question I asked a great sage long ago. His name was Ial Cothorr. A wise man, his mind filled with wisdom and knowledge. He wrote a dozen books about magic spheres and planar connections, and knew these things by heart, but when someone would ask him which year it or what time it was, he would have no idea. A bit like me." He smiled again, while looking in the distance, but then turned back to her. Her face vaguely remembered him of one of his pupils, but she would be much older by now. "Let's say I'm lost. I don't know which day it is, or which year, or even where I am. So I'll ask you for information. Which town is this?" He had to know what happened, and how he got here. But first he would have to know where here was.
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Post by kipspul on Jul 10, 2006 20:32:58 GMT 1
Findrael frowned in concentration. 'To be quite honest about it, I myself don't know wich town this is.' She grinned. 'I've seen about five towns and a city in my whole life, and the names just keep escaping me. So I'd say that I'm lost too.' She looked around, curious. 'One that does not have a home does not get lost, however. But wherever home is, it's not between all this people. People have... a smell about them. So you'd understand if I'm not staying for long... I'm just searching for... a friend of mine.' How much did the man need to know if she wanted him to help her find Rillandir? The glance he directed at her was direct and intelligent. Not much, she guessed. He looked like a bright old man, and not one she'd want to offend. 'Have you seen him, by chance?' She threw him a sidelong glance. 'A tall man. Blond hair, brown eyes. His face seems somewhat shy but you can tell he's a warrior. It's like... how he walks. It's very simple to notice, just like how you can tell a sorceror from a common wanderer...' She sighed somewhat wistfully, remembering her mother - there were almost no female sorcerors; and they stood out like birches in a pine forest when compared to normal people. 'Have you noticed someone like that?' she asked the old man.
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Post by Karo on Jul 11, 2006 7:49:21 GMT 1
Wizardry is Art, not a weapon. A mage practises long and hard, spends years in learning, but they do not learn to fight, they learn to wield magic, to command it. Everyone who sees magic as a weapon is a warrior. Now I can't remember who asked it, and I don't have to know, but let's say you have a lot to learn. I say you think like a warrior. Here you are not only to use magic, but also to become a true mage. And I would know, of course, I am your teacher. I would not have become a teacher if I wouldn't know these things. Now back to your lesson. Gussaf Nemmer, Icepeak university's principal
He scratched his underkin and turned his gaze to the cieling. "You interrupt yourself. That is a clear sign you keep things hidden from me. Maybe you can understand that I don't trust people that hide things form me, it makes the world around you incomplete." He looked back at her and tried to see the truth in her eyes. "Lady, I don't know where I am or what year it is, I don't even know how I got here. And then, also, I don't know where to find your 'friend' or noticed anything like it. So before we strart asking more unanwerable questions to each other: What is your name?" He was sure she would have an answer to that...
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Post by kipspul on Jul 11, 2006 14:39:46 GMT 1
'If anyone could ever make the world around you complete, old master, why are you here and not with that person? There are always things hidden.' She tried to answer his gaze, in which she did not succeed completely. 'My name, you asked. I'm Findrael. And since you look like the kind of person who'd ask 'Findrael who?' I'll tell you that I've forgotten my last name years and years ago.' The words where somewhat bitter, but her tone was mild. 'And may I ask you for your name, then?'
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Post by Karo on Jul 11, 2006 19:58:00 GMT 1
"Let me say something about studying magic. I like to tell this to all puplis on their first day, and I have done so for many years. I am here to teach you. Not to teach you magic, but to teach you how to teach yourself. Now don't give me that look. I'll explain, don't worry. Some of you have allready been bending over your books, trying to get a glimpse of the promised power, there are allways students of that sort, but let me disencourage you to follow that example. Magic doesn't lie in books, books are simpely books, pieces of parchment people have written on. Magic, my student, lies within you. It's the spark of power within your hearts, that nor books nor I can discribe. Forget about those books and teach yourself to master it. The books are guidelines, but you'll need to work magic from within you spirit. To cryptical? Look it up in a book then." Bethurn Vess, teacher of Thistledown university
"That, mylady, is the task of the perfectionist. To trý making the world perfect. A noble purpose, impossible as it is. The attempt to perfect the world around you is what matters. In this case, making the picture complete will be very hard, but sometimes small pieces are enough." He smiled and leant back. "The name people know me by is Padheir Bodrah. I am a sorceror. You are Findrael No-name, no need to ask for a second name, as I can just say Findrael or even young lady if my memory abandones me." The last sentence came along with a smile. "Now, who is the friend you are searching for?"
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Post by kipspul on Jul 12, 2006 20:12:14 GMT 1
'The name of the friend is Rillandir Carilhorn,' Findrael said. She suddenly felt an urge to talk to this man, to explain things better to him. She hadn't talked for a long time, and it made her feel better to do so. 'I seek him because my mother told me to do so. He actually isn't a friend of mine, just some far-of relative.'
Candrael Ar-Innigan, Sorceress of Finnadis' Valley, was exhausted. Her daughter could only heal the wounds on her body, but the inner power was slowly leaking away. Findrael could only watch as Candrael became weaker and weaker every day. Her mother said almost nothing. Whatever drained her power, she needed every ounce of her will to keep fighting it. It leaved no time to talk. At last the finald day came. That morning, Findrael found her mother awake in bed, her eyes tired but at least she finally spoke. 'How many hours?' Findrael asked. 'Four, maybe five,' her mother answered quietly. 'We have a lot of things to do.' So they sat, and they spoke, and Candrael told her daughter about the history of the family, a little about the ways of magic, and then about the task. There was only one thing she had to do; and that was finding Rillandir Carilhorn. He would take care of the rest, as he was a distant relative and knew what had to happen.
The following morning Findrael departed, feeling only a dark emptyness within her where her mother had been. As she parted the valley, grass already covered the path, and behind her the trees closed in. None who came into the valley after that, could guess that this was Finnadis' valley. Findrael Ar-Innigan had wandered the wilds ever since, seeking for Rillandir. Three years she'd searched, and finally she found a track. A farmer said a lord who'd named himself Carilhorn had asked the way, and that a young man was riding behind him. He'd had blond hair and brown eyes, just like Candrael had said he'd look like. Findrael searched. She followed every track, every little hint even of where Rillandir could be. And five years after her mothers' death she'd finally tracked down the tavern he always came to. She'd come to know Rillandir about that time. In all those years the discription people gave of him slowly gave her an impression of who Rillandir Carilhorn was, and she came to like him. Always people talked respectfull, if not with a smile, about him. And this day she'd walked into the tavern, following a man she knew to be a friend of Rillandir, and lost him while quarreling with the guard. The friend was gone, there was no sight of Rillandir, and the only one she'd found was a strange old man who said he was a sorceror. Like her mother had been a sorceress.
'I already told you he's a warrior, master Bodrah. He has to help me with finding somethin... or so my mother said. He'd know the rest of what had to happen.' She hadn't forgotten her name in all those years. But something had stopped her with saying 'Ar-Innigan'. 'I just told you about him because I hoped you saw him... but as it seems, he isn't here.' With a sigh she regarded the teleport gates. Rillandir could be anywhere on this planet right now...
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Post by Karo on Jul 13, 2006 8:00:02 GMT 1
Something you might need to know. This is a great school, people come in as fools and leave as wise men. People come in like children and come back as adults. Normal folks become mages, wizards and sorcerors. But you need to keep your eyes open, as this school teaches magic, not morale. Keep your eyes on your fellow students as some have darkness within their hearts where others might be spellcasting knights. Be aware and prepared. They learn how to use it but not if it's right. You'll have to teach them. Ibur Stoneturner, 3d year student at Thistledown
He percieved raging emotions beneath the calm surface of her face. Something he said had brought back important memories, he was sure of it. An outcast, that's what he was talking to. "Well, Findrael, your words hide a greater story. You are not searching for Rillandir, but something else. He is connected to something you have lost. And that is what you want to have back." He waited for a few moments. "I might have a way to find him, but it is risky. It's the question if you're morally up to it. How much would you give to find him?"
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Post by kipspul on Jul 15, 2006 17:40:20 GMT 1
Findrael regarded him with empty eyes. 'I already gave up everything to find him, master Bodrah. So I could say I'd give everything - exept for the fact that I no longer have anything to give. Whatever price there is, I doubt if I didn't pay it already.' She sighed. 'So tragically it sounds when talked about. I hope you don't doubt me, old master. If you do, please say so, and I'll just take one of the portals and leave in the hope I've taken the right one.' A little smile followed. 'My mother always said that one step isn't different from the other. They always bring you somewhere, and once you've made the stap, there is no way to rewind your action...'
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Post by Karo on Jul 26, 2006 10:17:18 GMT 1
"Of the eight magic groups the school of divination is least reliable. It offers insight to the past, future and the present, but mostly these are obscure visions, inaugurations, that do not provide direct facts. Scrying, though, provides direct information, unless illusions are used against them. Scrying creates a remote sensor that the wizard can use as a sixth sense. The technique is ideal for spying and reconnaissance but has one great disadvantage. The mage using the spell must know the person or the location to scry on, which impedes the spell greatly. Still, scrying is the best divination has to offer." Guide of spells, Part 1, by Baneab Cir, monk of Settar Priory
He smiled. "I have learned never to doubt. I do or I don't. Nothing in between. And let me tell you, miss Findrael, I believe you. So if you are ready to go, follow me." He turned towards the barkeeper and placed a couple of silverlings on the bar. "I need a room. Just a room, the cheapest you have, but quiet." After he recieved the key, he went upstaires. The room was just good enough. He sat down on his knees and took a mirror, a lens and a rakshasa eyelash from his pouch, placing them on the wooden floor before him. He waited for Findrael.
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Post by kipspul on Oct 5, 2006 16:51:52 GMT 1
Slowly, very slowly, Findrael rose and watched Podheir go. A chance, the reasonable part of her mind said, the chance to find Rillandir. Whoever he was. But somewhere something told her there was more about this man - hidden things. Not exactly. He'd answer her questions, but wouldn't tell her what she wanted to hear. Secrets about... knowledge. And other things that... made her think about her mother. Something recognisable. The reasonable part of her brain won, as usual, and she went upstairs, prayed the heavens that she was making the right choice, and knocked.
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Post by Karo on Oct 22, 2006 10:55:19 GMT 1
To my personal opinion, the practitioners of magic can be divided in two groups; the group with boundaries and the one without them. Magic, people say, has its limits. These limits are great in number and names so may we believe. Death is one, time another, love amongst others named, so many untouchable standards in our lives. That is the world of the first group. The greater mages, the archmages, see these boundaries as obstacles instead of actual borders. Becoming Magister, they claim, is overcoming these boundaries. Unfortunaly, a very few have ever mastered such magic and therefore the claim of the second group remains unproven. Vakache the sixth, High Librarian of Thistledown
The old sorceror gazed over the three items on the floor before him. Around them he drew a circle with a piece of chalk and a row of strange symbols. Useless for anyone but him. Slowing his breath he prepared for the energy the spell was going to take from him. Nearing meditational state he heard someone knocking on the door. That should be miss no-name. "Come in, and mind your step please, I've drawn a magical diagram. Be carefull not to step in it." Around him the world was losing it's colour, a symptom of deep concentration. He waited for her arrival.
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Post by kipspul on Oct 26, 2006 18:36:24 GMT 1
Findrael stepped inside and closed the door behind her, carefully. 'A diagram,' she said, slowly. 'My... somebody I know used diagrams like this, sometimes. Don't really recall what... he used them for - but this one's kind of complicated, isn't it?' She looked at the runes, chalked upon the ground, and the items that lay before the sorceror.
The Ar-Innigans had a long tradition of magic and runes, with their own secrets about its ways and its dangers. Such knowledge is passed on. Not only trough teachings and books, but it flows with the very blood of the family. It etches itself into the souls of the ones that wield it, leaving its traces upon the person... sometimes not only in personality or habits. Magic, if wielded long enough, influences your body as well as your mind.
And Findrael, in this case, felt a little tingeling sensation in the palm of her right hand. Magic. Real magic, after all those years. It made her feel a little as though she'd come home.
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Post by Karo on Oct 27, 2006 10:26:35 GMT 1
Known from stories believed to be ficticious but resembling truth was the great mage Anamar of Thistledown. He passed beyond the borders of death nine times, and returned. He turned back the wheel of time, and saved the world from its seemingy inevitable end multiple times. Thereby it is right to name this mage the greatest to be yet known. As ye might read this introduction one would think this to be an epic story or a biography, which it is not. Over the past thirteen years I collected many of his teachings and wisdoms, so others might recieve a glimpse of his greatness, more than portraiting him as a saint. Although in the wizarding world he is the one closest to a mage-saint. Rehillan the Silent, Icepeak scholar
"Right you are, it is a diagram. And well... yes, it's complicated. This one is a scrying diagram. Scrying is using a sixth sense to 'see' whoever you want to 'see,' if you get what I mean. I can do so without one too, but I need a diagram for you, miss Findrael. I do hope you remind what he looked like, that would make it a lot easier. Come, sit down, and focus on this Rillandir. I will do what I can." He murmeled an incantation and the diagram began to glow. All the spell was needing now was a target.
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Post by kipspul on Oct 30, 2006 9:28:01 GMT 1
Findrael smiled a little bit. 'I think I can, master Bodrah,' she said. She closed her eyes and focused. Soon, just a bit too soon, came the image of Rillandir, drifting into her mind. A tall nobleman, with blond hair, brown eyes and a stern face. His clothes, finely made, where travel-stained and the once fiery red had faded. A sword hung on his back. She knew he could wield it - very well, in fact. People had told her about him as though he was a hero. But Findrael knew he was afraid to use his skills and title. Just by... listening to what people said. A memory came drifting by. She'd heard his voice once, a voice that was both firm and uncertain. 'We ride until dusk,' he had said to a friend of his. That was all. But she still remembered everything clearly, as if it had been yesterday - but it had been almost half a year ago. She sighed. 'Is this enough, master Bodrah?' she asked.
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Post by Karo on Feb 9, 2007 17:42:10 GMT 1
(OOC: I've run out of wisecracking pieces of text...)
Padheir frowned in concentration. He grasped into the deep magic subconciousness that had revealed itself to him at her words. Several blonde, swordwielding noblemen passed before his inner eye. It surprised him everytime how many people lived on this world. Narrowing down into details, listening to the noblemans voice, which sounded within his skull, choosing carefully. A minute passed in utter silence, as Padheir sat bowed over the diagram, glowing faintly. His eyes moved under his eyelids, not-seeing. All of a sudden, Rillandir appeared to him. His scrying had been succesful. The old mage focused, looking for surroundings. Where was Rillandir? The glowing faded, and the spell ended. Padheir arose and brushed some dust of his robe. 'I have found your friend. The name of his location is Kyur-Lado, whatever that might be. It is north, and your friend is in good health, it seems. That is all I can find. I hope it is of good help to you.'
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