An Adunian's Respite

[Kvasir 1121]

 

 

A flame suspended before the resigned looking figure over a mountain of papers and diagrams, eyes tired and heavy from lack of sleep, this Adunian slumped over and studied his busy work. The door to the modest hovel he had become acquainted with over the past few weeks already began to accumulate dust. The shimmering flames danced rhythmically above their pylons, gems embedded in the candle-like contraptions. The voidal flames illuminated the aforementioned papers, scribbles, and diagrams on what seemed like nothing particularly useful, spheres, squares, and other shapes he had sketched haphazardly. Words on mana were in his notes, though it seemed to have grown too obtuse a project, the mages tired eyes still scanning the papers. He finally reclined back, the whitening had started earlier than he thought, a grey streak in his disheveled beard, though nowhere as near as white as his kins. The man rose from his chair in the musty hovel, moving to check the lock as he had routinely done for the entirety of his time in the damnable place. Isolation from others bred a weary mind quickly, the modest abode lit by the strange obelisk-like candles, their carvings were skillfully done as if replicating one of a greater magnitude.

 

As the crudely dressed Adunian shuffled to the back of his room, his eyes glanced upon quite the uncommon-looking apparatus, obsidian stone laden with flawless gems, seemingly all touching each other in some way, the obsidian snaking around, having carvings in it, much like the ones etched on the obelisk candles. The Adunian lay his hand down on one of the gems, suddenly a soft glow was seen emitting from his fingers as a soft grey mist emitted from his palm, seeping down into the gem, it seemed to envelop the first gem, until suddenly the mist began to jump and bite, seeping into the other gems on their common path. His other palm shot down towards a gem on the opposite side of the obsidian apparatus, the grey fog beginning to seep down into the paragons before him. His knees locked, and his eyes trembled, eyes glowing a soft brown as more mana escaped his soul. The mists then began to come forth less and less with the depleting energy of the man. His hands lifted and he looked upon the contraption now. 

 

A soft sigh escaped him as he gazed at the object in full now, a strange bent and twisted device. It had three obsidian arms, bending out and up from the base, curling around, emeralds upon the pointed tips of the Stygian Rock, eerie and hideous carvings adorning it, the mage's eyes looked it over with a silent fear. He had carved the patterns himself, having to get them out of his head. The pointed tips and their emeralds were all directed towards a single spot on a silver tray placed below it. The man's lips pursed and he nodded, grumbling tiredly as he turned back to his desk, his calloused hands pulling back a drawer, as he took out a small copper ball, inscribed with words of Adunian origin, he fondled the object in his hands and then turned back to the strange contraption. He took a step forth and then mumbled some grave words towards the object if any nosy halfling had their ear pressed to the door they would have heard a series of noises that did not sound from this realm. As mutterings of the void were spat out, the peculiar instrument began to churn and make noise as the gems were activated, his hand then reached forward near the contraption, going to place the ball mid-air in the middle of the contraption. He let out another voidal utterance, memories of the past rushing forth into his mind, his eyes intently were upon the object. The object began to float, going directly into the middle, right above the silver tray. Telekinetic enchantments being used to keep the small ball suspended in the field created by the obsidian claw. The Adunian's eyes scanned the object and he mumbled in a grim voice.

 

"Finally. Soon the real work shall begin."

 

With another slew of voidspoken noises, the field fell, and the ball fell onto the silver tray with a cling and clang. The Adunian turned towards his bed, trudging a couple meters over to it before saying "Freyl."  In the droll compliance of the void, the obelisk-candles were disengaged, the flame above them falling as he then collapsed onto his bed, sleep taking him later on in the night. 

[Balthasar 2497]

"Huh..." mutters Gwael, one of the few Adunian Rangers still remaining

[Zacho 2177]

Dael, an Adunian fella, thinks that this man smells bad.

[JEEGK 1367]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.