Too Old For This

[StingyParrot 1595]

The wind was brisk, chilling, filled with the metal sounds of war-preparations. It swept its plaintive warning up, up around the fortress of Dwarven architecture, bristling with the blackened iron of cannon bores. Opposite it stood a war-camp of packed dirt, raised wooden palisades and a similar group of siege weaponry, of Oyashiman, Idunian, Imperial and Caurosi make. Generals, captains, masters-at-arms, draftees and veterans manned both side's walls - orders were barked, weaponry readied, stores revised, plans given their final look-over before the unabated chaos of battle. An arcanist of the faraway continent Veruhkt manifested in this wind, resolving with crystal sound upon the keep's highest, central tower.

 

Sereven was clad in armor of shifting, scintillating ice, and had stocked enough components to level small villages - shards of prismarine in place of arrows or bolts, prismatic fish-scales rather than shielding, and a gleaming stave made from glacial symmetry in place of a spear, sword or axe. He linked with another archmagi in a high cannon-slot, and watched as horns blew on both sides, artillery becoming a booming, irregular beat to the onwards march of the Empire and its allies. Working in unison, he and the other Hydromancer wrought great chunks of ice to slam outwards, adding to the swarm of heavy iron filling the sky. When his counterpart was struck - having to expend precious stores of energy to avoid death - he left his place to add his efforts to the dwarven rally as Idunian emplacements battered down walls, giving the swarming troops below entry to the fortress. 

 

It was strange, he reflected, how lopsided battles could be - either a long, terrifying slog that might last for days, or a sudden collapsing of defences as was seen now. The Emperor of Man had decreed his will upon the dwarven state, and his will was enforced as ladders were raised, soldiers swarming upwards. Sereven gave his stave a spear-blade, and assisted in repelling forces from the tower that had gone from vantage point to that of final retreat. Ever vigilant and paranoid for his own survival, he was one of the first to spot the larger ladder that had been placed, some of the Imperium's finest making their way up assisted by ranged support. As the Urukim and Dwaves began to die, he slipped down to a lower level, aiming to make his escape out the back of the fortress - unfortunately, his inexperience with the particular structure stymied this attempt, and he was inevitably located by a Petrine wizard.

 

The younger magician wove spells of flame and hardened air with techniques Sereven did not recognise - he was put on the back foot almost immediately, before he employed his own tricks - freezing and shattering the stonework around Sir Thomas, chilling the water in his eyes to distract from lances of ricocheting ice. Both magi accumulated a series of small injuries as the battle went on - a terrible, contained display of potent wizardry and gruelling mental calculations as element countered element that provoked technique which was met by rigored defence. But, while perhaps outmatching his opponent in expertise, Sereven suffered from one simple, utterly mundane weakness - age. His suit of magical armor shattered as the Mage-Knight wrought a tricky bit of sorcery to break it with chains of winding air, pushing him back against the wall. It was only with the barking of a warped spell and the consumption of some very, very expensive components that Sereven was able to rift-hop away in time to save his life.

 

He came to leaning against his front door, his reserves utterly expended. Sereven stumbled into his home, checking the time - it had been hours already - and he began to pack his things away, loathing the circumstances that had made him do so, and further loathing himself. He was no longer in his prime, nor would he ever reach it again, and he hated that - hated the leadenness of his limbs, the faint delay in fine movements of his hands, the aching in his joints and the blurring of his senses. Little wonder why the stately Elves took best to magic - their faculties would last for centuries, forever perfectly intelligent and physically capable. It seemed, to him, that he may as well retire - find or build some cottage in the hinterlands and fade away where he was supposed to. After all, war was taxing, and the elderly arcanist was simply too old for this.

[MrGarden 295]

Sir Thomas fell to the ground as the mage teleported away and their battle ended. The air around the corredor carried Thomas aura and the cold breeze of Sereven spells. The Mage Knight could only call forth a flame to warm himself and remove some of the ice that formed around his body and face. "Gott. Ich haven't had ein fight like zhis in ages, du have mein fully respect Mage." He bowed his head trying to calm down and set his mana back to normal as his companions came rushing to aid him. He laughed removing some of the icicles from the wall and throwing at one of the Soldier "Du are all late. Und du vouldn't had be able to do anyzhing towards ein Mage on zhat scale." He spoke grasping the soldiers hand as he helped him get up and walk as he went to celebrate the new victory with the rest of the soldiers on the rooftop.

[Riot 743]

Spoiler

Posts like this remind me of the reason people like this were made st's. Sick post. Thx for trying to help us. Its all been greatly appriciated.