It was hard to deny the fear that tried creeping inside with every step he made along the ascending stairwell. With each progressive stride Elkinid felt the protective artwork decorating his mauve flesh tingle in preparation, though the half-breed elf was astute enough to know that his magical wards were useless against the powers that caused them to stir. The arcana that taunted his tattoos was extensively potent; far more than he could handle.
At the top of the stairs he paused and observed the scene before him. A corridor decorated in darkness, with a ceiling so high that it blended into the shadow, stretched out to a pair of dull silver doors emblazoned with magical sigils long removed from every day spell-casting. Though the portal was currently inactive, sealed closed, Elkini could still feel the energy permeating from it. It was a dangerous sensation, like sneaking past a snoring dragon.
He glanced over his shoulder at the stairs and considered fleeing. Fear often made one weigh even the most unavailable options, and flight was certainly that. He almost chuckled at the lunacy of the deliberation. What good would it do to try and escape the invitation of Arkon Daraul? The Dark Mage certainly had the means of finding him wherever he would try to hide, and Elkinid couldn't even imagine the punishment that would await him once discovered.
The distance to the door was crossed easily, quietly, with focused footfalls made as though he were afraid of breaking the floor with his weight. Even the slightest sound echoed along the hall, amplified and disturbed, which served as motivation to increase his speed. As he moved closer he realized that there was no rope to pull or bell to ring, no signal to his arrival whatsoever, and that he was going to have to just barge in...or knock. Neither seemed like a favorable option considering that he wanted to astound the Headmaster of the Institute with a strong first impression, but what was more menial than the rhythmic rap and idle wait? As far as he was concerned: nothing.
He arrived, though the doors slid inward and open before he could grace them with his knuckles.
He never broke stride, crossing over the threshold and into the chamber beyond, feeling a wave of magic wash over him as he did so. The magical artwork that had been ignited outside the room fell dead upon his flesh, the magic from the tattoos stolen, and with that came a tangible weight that nearly stole the Elf's breath. He staggered to a stop and clutched his chest desperately, almost missing the sound of the doors closing behind him.
"A rather timely arrival."
That simple statement was enough to garner all of Elkinid's attention. He lifted his eyes from where he stared at the floor, and through the razor fall of his wild bangs he found the robed form of Arkon sitting behind a grim looking bone-white desk. Though the Archmage's attention was consumed by the book that he patiently scribed, there was still a sense of menace directed at Elkinid, and it was this feeling that kept the Elven Mage from progressing deeper inside the room.
"By means of your lineage would it be fair to assume that you are a pundit of both light and dark elves?" Arkon asked, and while his features were eclipsed by the silhouette of his hood, the antiquated inflection that emerged indicated a feeble age.
"I am." Elkinid promptly answered. "My upbringing and insight spans both realms of the Tel-Quessir alda."
The pen came to a standstill, as did Elkinid's heart. Perhaps he answered the Dark Mage incorrectly. Perhaps that was a test of humility that he just so arrogantly answered. By Elven standards he was barely beyond a youth and yet there he stood, describing his ingenious and thorough mastery of two ancient cultures with a regard as though they were recipes in a cook book. He would have brought down a ball of fire upon himself had he not been all but sure that Arkon's magical barriers would keep him from casting.
"Then I have a mission for you." The Dark Mage said, the tip of the pen held stationary upon the splayed tome. "Unless, of course, you are unfit to partake in such a quest."
"Nono!" Elkinid answered a bit too quickly, daring a step forward. "Please, mastema, I am more than prepared to undertake any task you set before me."
Arkon placed the pen along the spine of the book and then slowly brought his hand up. Fingers were cambered at the knuckle like hawk's feet and adorned with nails that resembled talons, though their ungainly appearance did nothing to hinder their ability, and with a quick and intricate gesture the Dark Mage drew a sign upon the air. Magic came to life, and where he traced that sigil a face appeared.
A familiar face to Elkinid.
"Noluakar." Elkinid mumbled before shifting his tawny gaze to the Headmaster. "My brother."
"That he is."
Elkinid drew in a deep breath and hardened his features. It was time to make that first impression felt. "Do you want me to kill him?"
"On the contrary, I want you to show me the way to him."
"You, mastema?" The question just sort of blurted out. Elkinid had been through Arkon's seminar on planar travel and had seem him demonstrate his ability to traverse from the realms below to the heavens above. Locating and arriving at House Teken'irrt would be an easy feat to accomplish.
"Perhaps not me personally," The reply came with the drop of his grapnel appendage, fading along with it the hovering face of Elkinid's sibling, "but an associate of mine."
"I'm..." The elf had questions, though he wasn't sure how wise it was to inquire about the motivations of one as dangerous as Arkon Daraul. But then again, since joining the Institute of Arcane Principle he has been constantly reminded that the only way knowledge is found is through the discovery of answers. "Perhaps I am out of line, Mastema, but why is it that you need me to guide you...or your associate? It would be foolish of me to think that you did not possess the means of finding Noluakar and my house without my help."
"A brave petition."
Again Elkinid felt his heart freeze as he braced for the impact of whatever punishing spell the Headmaster had prepared.
Magic came, though not the sort that had been expected. Again those painfully crooked fingers reached forth and marked upon the air, birthing yet another image wrought of mana. This was not a simple face, but an entire scene that was set into motion upon coming into view, and one that was once again familiar to Elkinid.
It was a classroom from some time ago, in fact it was the same classroom he attended where the Headmaster held his seminar on planar travel. Elkinid easily found himself standing near a table behind a crowd of student who astutely listened to Arkon as he spoke. Elkinid remembered that day, standing there with the two girls from the land of Namirah who were both charmed and impressed by his words and knowledge. He had promised to show them the mysteries of elemental magic if they were to attend a late night study course in his dorm room. They were eager to participate.
"And it is this stone that won the war of Azahlahn," Arkon said as he held up the smooth black shard no bigger than a medallion. "It is extremely rare, though highly coveted due to its ability to amplify magical effectiveness,"
The stone had caught Elkinid's eye and attention, and with a haughty bravado he raised his hand, speaking once called upon. "That stuff? My time below the surface was spent tending to that rock. The throne of House Teken'irrt is forged from it."
Arkon's hand fell, and the image faded.
Elkinid swallowed hard, and suddenly the air felt too thick to breathe. He wiped at his forehead and found lines of perpetration starting to bead up, nervousness comingled with his discomfiture. Finally he asked. "When do we leave?"
At the top of the stairs he paused and observed the scene before him. A corridor decorated in darkness, with a ceiling so high that it blended into the shadow, stretched out to a pair of dull silver doors emblazoned with magical sigils long removed from every day spell-casting. Though the portal was currently inactive, sealed closed, Elkini could still feel the energy permeating from it. It was a dangerous sensation, like sneaking past a snoring dragon.
He glanced over his shoulder at the stairs and considered fleeing. Fear often made one weigh even the most unavailable options, and flight was certainly that. He almost chuckled at the lunacy of the deliberation. What good would it do to try and escape the invitation of Arkon Daraul? The Dark Mage certainly had the means of finding him wherever he would try to hide, and Elkinid couldn't even imagine the punishment that would await him once discovered.
The distance to the door was crossed easily, quietly, with focused footfalls made as though he were afraid of breaking the floor with his weight. Even the slightest sound echoed along the hall, amplified and disturbed, which served as motivation to increase his speed. As he moved closer he realized that there was no rope to pull or bell to ring, no signal to his arrival whatsoever, and that he was going to have to just barge in...or knock. Neither seemed like a favorable option considering that he wanted to astound the Headmaster of the Institute with a strong first impression, but what was more menial than the rhythmic rap and idle wait? As far as he was concerned: nothing.
He arrived, though the doors slid inward and open before he could grace them with his knuckles.
He never broke stride, crossing over the threshold and into the chamber beyond, feeling a wave of magic wash over him as he did so. The magical artwork that had been ignited outside the room fell dead upon his flesh, the magic from the tattoos stolen, and with that came a tangible weight that nearly stole the Elf's breath. He staggered to a stop and clutched his chest desperately, almost missing the sound of the doors closing behind him.
"A rather timely arrival."
That simple statement was enough to garner all of Elkinid's attention. He lifted his eyes from where he stared at the floor, and through the razor fall of his wild bangs he found the robed form of Arkon sitting behind a grim looking bone-white desk. Though the Archmage's attention was consumed by the book that he patiently scribed, there was still a sense of menace directed at Elkinid, and it was this feeling that kept the Elven Mage from progressing deeper inside the room.
"By means of your lineage would it be fair to assume that you are a pundit of both light and dark elves?" Arkon asked, and while his features were eclipsed by the silhouette of his hood, the antiquated inflection that emerged indicated a feeble age.
"I am." Elkinid promptly answered. "My upbringing and insight spans both realms of the Tel-Quessir alda."
The pen came to a standstill, as did Elkinid's heart. Perhaps he answered the Dark Mage incorrectly. Perhaps that was a test of humility that he just so arrogantly answered. By Elven standards he was barely beyond a youth and yet there he stood, describing his ingenious and thorough mastery of two ancient cultures with a regard as though they were recipes in a cook book. He would have brought down a ball of fire upon himself had he not been all but sure that Arkon's magical barriers would keep him from casting.
"Then I have a mission for you." The Dark Mage said, the tip of the pen held stationary upon the splayed tome. "Unless, of course, you are unfit to partake in such a quest."
"Nono!" Elkinid answered a bit too quickly, daring a step forward. "Please, mastema, I am more than prepared to undertake any task you set before me."
Arkon placed the pen along the spine of the book and then slowly brought his hand up. Fingers were cambered at the knuckle like hawk's feet and adorned with nails that resembled talons, though their ungainly appearance did nothing to hinder their ability, and with a quick and intricate gesture the Dark Mage drew a sign upon the air. Magic came to life, and where he traced that sigil a face appeared.
A familiar face to Elkinid.
"Noluakar." Elkinid mumbled before shifting his tawny gaze to the Headmaster. "My brother."
"That he is."
Elkinid drew in a deep breath and hardened his features. It was time to make that first impression felt. "Do you want me to kill him?"
"On the contrary, I want you to show me the way to him."
"You, mastema?" The question just sort of blurted out. Elkinid had been through Arkon's seminar on planar travel and had seem him demonstrate his ability to traverse from the realms below to the heavens above. Locating and arriving at House Teken'irrt would be an easy feat to accomplish.
"Perhaps not me personally," The reply came with the drop of his grapnel appendage, fading along with it the hovering face of Elkinid's sibling, "but an associate of mine."
"I'm..." The elf had questions, though he wasn't sure how wise it was to inquire about the motivations of one as dangerous as Arkon Daraul. But then again, since joining the Institute of Arcane Principle he has been constantly reminded that the only way knowledge is found is through the discovery of answers. "Perhaps I am out of line, Mastema, but why is it that you need me to guide you...or your associate? It would be foolish of me to think that you did not possess the means of finding Noluakar and my house without my help."
"A brave petition."
Again Elkinid felt his heart freeze as he braced for the impact of whatever punishing spell the Headmaster had prepared.
Magic came, though not the sort that had been expected. Again those painfully crooked fingers reached forth and marked upon the air, birthing yet another image wrought of mana. This was not a simple face, but an entire scene that was set into motion upon coming into view, and one that was once again familiar to Elkinid.
It was a classroom from some time ago, in fact it was the same classroom he attended where the Headmaster held his seminar on planar travel. Elkinid easily found himself standing near a table behind a crowd of student who astutely listened to Arkon as he spoke. Elkinid remembered that day, standing there with the two girls from the land of Namirah who were both charmed and impressed by his words and knowledge. He had promised to show them the mysteries of elemental magic if they were to attend a late night study course in his dorm room. They were eager to participate.
"And it is this stone that won the war of Azahlahn," Arkon said as he held up the smooth black shard no bigger than a medallion. "It is extremely rare, though highly coveted due to its ability to amplify magical effectiveness,"
The stone had caught Elkinid's eye and attention, and with a haughty bravado he raised his hand, speaking once called upon. "That stuff? My time below the surface was spent tending to that rock. The throne of House Teken'irrt is forged from it."
Arkon's hand fell, and the image faded.
Elkinid swallowed hard, and suddenly the air felt too thick to breathe. He wiped at his forehead and found lines of perpetration starting to bead up, nervousness comingled with his discomfiture. Finally he asked. "When do we leave?"