Vorenus pauses, thoughts racing through his mind. You know, I’ve never understood my magic, how it occurs. What if… what if this is actually the way to opening up more power .. by a connection directly to my body, perhaps I could be a conduit for magical energy, perhaps I can redirect it, and destroy these madmen! Or, have they plotted all of this out, do they fully understand all contingencies, would it be futile, would I become used and drained, or… worst case scenario, stripped of my powers or killed? Would I even be able to control it if I could harness the energy? Many other thoughts are going through his mind, he starts chewing on his lip and cheek in the darkness. Then he hears Shenua talking about light, it takes his mind down a whole different pathway.
“Too much light draws notice. By who? On what authority are you doing this? If what you are doing is honorable, and right, then why not out in the open? Why are you so opposed to bringing things into the light? My eyes, my human eyes, unlike these two, need more light. I can’t be expected to work in conditions like this, if you would like my help, you need to put more light on the situation both physically and in the context of explanation. Who are you, really? Why should I believe one damn word out of your mouth? If you want us to assist, you must explain. This is so confusing…”. Vorenus tilts his head low, still giving the outer appearance of one who is vanquished, who merely wishes to comply and understand. But he bides his time, still considering possibilities..
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
The masked figure listens in silence, still as stone. When at last he speaks, his voice is steady, deliberate, edged with something both patient and dangerous:
“You ask why the light must be hidden. Because the Crown has eyes in every lantern, every sconce, every mirrored glass of this city. The more you burn, the sooner you are found. You think yourselves unseen now? No, you are only tolerated, because you are useful. Draw too much notice, and that tolerance will end. Brutally.”
The pale veins of the fractured node pulse once, dim but insistent, a heartbeat tethered to his words.
His hooded head tilts toward Iromae. “You are correct: not all who were meant to stand here are present. But three is enough to begin. The binding will hold, if only for a time.”
Then toward Shenua. “You are bound because the lattice recognizes you. The others will follow once the channel is opened. Their role is no less vital, but it begins with you. With your hands. With your mind. The Weave remembers you.”
And finally, his gaze settles on Vorenus. Though the mask hides his expression, there is the faintest flicker of amusement in the voice. “Skepticism is the mark of a man who knows little, but longs to know more. That hunger is dangerous. But it makes you … useful.”
Another pause, weighty. Then the masked figure’s hand rises, palm outward, and the guards by Shenua step back a pace. “The choice is simple. You can obey — and see for yourselves what this fractured stone holds. Or you can resist, and watch your ally bleed the last of her life into it. That is all the explanation you require.”
Behind the grate, Lirae shifts faintly at the base of the node — whether in pain or in defiance, it’s hard to tell.
Shenua clicks her tongue, equally frustrated, worried ... and scared. "Damn it," she mutters. She takes a couple of steadying breaths, glancing at Iromae and Vorenus and biting her lip as doubt clouds her eyes. But then she looks toward Lirae, and finally back at the masked man. "Let's be done with this,"she finally says.
Freed from the guards who stepped back at their master's command, the tiefling walks toward the node. She still doesn't know what to do, and this uncertainty gnaws at her. Still, a part of her trusts she'll know what to do when she stands closer to the node.
As Shenua approaches the masked man and the node, she casts a quick glance at him, hoping that being closer might reveal some hint of a distinctive feature. (Perception: 16) But then, she turns her full attention to the fractured stone.
Once again, she reaches for her magic. Not casting a spell, not yet. Rather, she tests whether, combined with her proximity to the node, even a touch of her power will provoke any kind of reaction.
"Agreed. I'm tired of waiting any longer. We really don't have a choice.." Vorenus stands as tall as he can in the cramped space, walks over beside Shenua, looking back at Iromae and gives her a weak smile. I'm not going to let them do it. If anyone should take the risk, it should be me. I'm a failure, a liar. Perhaps, this could be my last, good step for the greater good. If anyone is to test it, it should be me.
Vorenus looks over to Shenua, saying "Let me." He reaches his hands out and places them on the node, firmly and with confidence, looking up at the masked man as he does so. "How does it work, what should I do?" He looks with sadness at Lirae, Shenua, and Iromae, ready to give his life to protect the three of them.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Iromae really wanted to just do something, but she still couldn't decide what should be done. But then she watched as first Shenua, then Vorenus moved forward towards the node. She sees the look on Vorenus' face, just as he moves to touch the node. She still doesn't know what is going to happen, but her concern forces her to call out. "No!"
The moment Iromae’s voice rings out, it seems to hang in the chamber like a struck chord. The pulse of the fractured stone quickens, its pale veins thrumming in answer — as though the node itself has heard her protest.
Shenua’s cautious testing sends a ripple of warmth up her arms, subtle but unmistakable: the Weave is responding, tugging faintly at her presence, eager to be fed through the fractured lattice. Vorenus’s hands press firm against the surface an instant later, and he feels something different — like a current pressed against a dam, demanding a channel, any channel, to pour through. It stings, not painfully, but insistently.
The masked figure leans forward slightly. “Yes. That is it. The lattice will know what to draw from you. Do not resist. Three threads are enough.”
Iromae’s cry pulls his gaze toward her. Though the mask conceals his features, his head tilts, almost quizzical. “Unless,” he says softly, “you mean to take their place. Then come. Lend your hand.”
Behind the grate, Lirae groans, her head shifting faintly as she stirs — weak, but alive. The trail of blood at her side glimmers faintly in the glow of the stone, almost as though the node is feeding from it.
Shenua:
The Weave is recognizing you. You could let it flow — or try to twist it, misdirect it, even overload it. That would mean an arcana check, with high risk and high reward.
Vorenus:
The energy is pressing against you, wanting a channel. You could let it through your innate magic, but doing so risks triggering your chaotic surges. That’s a constitution or charisma save, depending on whether you try to endure it or control it.
Iromae:
The masked man has invited you to join. You could step forward and share the strain, risking yourself but lightening the burden on the others. That would be a wisdom check to align your holy magic with the node, or persuasion if you try to stall and talk instead of acting.
"No, Vorenus, what are you d...?", Shenua protests when she sees Vorenus approaching, and the expression on his face. She doesn't know what going through his mind, but whatever he is thinking, it doesn't feel right to her. Just at that moment, the artificer feels the tug of the Weave, that warm feeling rippling up her arms. It ... feels good. It feels as how it should be. But then Lirae groans, and Shenua's taken aback again. Is she trying to warn them against this?
Shenua wants to help mend the Weave. And she is sure Vorenus and Iromae want as well. But to mend it forcefully, as this masked man is urging them to do? Do the binding or your friend dies? That can't be right!
The tiefling brings her glance from Lirae to Iromae, and then, back again to Vorenus, right next to her. She shakes her head once, sharply. No. They will fix the Weave, but they will do that under their own conditions. Not those imposed by this man. With that in mind...
…she tugs at the source of her magic again. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. We’ll fix you. Just ... not just yet. The thought is aimed at the Weave itself, as though it were a sentient being that could hear, understand, and accept her plea. She wishes the Weave to be patient, to wait until the right moment comes. And this is not that moment.
So Shenua lets the Weave course through her, surrendering to its flow at first. But then—only a heartbeat later, just long enough for the masked man to believe she is doing as he demands—she twists that current, forcing it to surge. She will try to overload the connection, and with it, the node itself.
(ooc: Well .. not great. Arcana: 8. Should I start creating a new character? ^^U)
As Shenua approaches the masked man and the node, she casts a quick glance at him, hoping that being closer might reveal some hint of a distinctive feature. (Perception: 16) But then, she turns her full attention to the fractured stone.
Up close, the mask looks seamless at first, like polished stone or lacquer. But when she squints in the faint, fractured light of the node, she notices a slight irregularity: a crack along the lower edge near the jawline. It’s not a flaw of the mask itself, but rather where the mask meets flesh — pale skin beneath, though strangely dull, as if light itself refuses to cling to it.
And more than that — the voice she hears from this close isn’t quite right. It’s layered, as if spoken by one throat but refracted through another, producing a faint doubled tone. Not an echo from the chamber, but something built into the mask itself.
You understand that the mask is arcane in nature, not merely a disguise, but a conduit of sorts.
Iromae turns to look at the masked figure as though studying the obscured face. She slowly moves forward, whispering, "Deneir, give me strength and guide me." She then sets her hand against the node.
Vorenus pauses, thoughts racing through his mind. You know, I’ve never understood my magic, how it occurs. What if… what if this is actually the way to opening up more power .. by a connection directly to my body, perhaps I could be a conduit for magical energy, perhaps I can redirect it, and destroy these madmen! Or, have they plotted all of this out, do they fully understand all contingencies, would it be futile, would I become used and drained, or… worst case scenario, stripped of my powers or killed? Would I even be able to control it if I could harness the energy? Many other thoughts are going through his mind, he starts chewing on his lip and cheek in the darkness. Then he hears Shenua talking about light, it takes his mind down a whole different pathway.
“Too much light draws notice. By who? On what authority are you doing this? If what you are doing is honorable, and right, then why not out in the open? Why are you so opposed to bringing things into the light? My eyes, my human eyes, unlike these two, need more light. I can’t be expected to work in conditions like this, if you would like my help, you need to put more light on the situation both physically and in the context of explanation. Who are you, really? Why should I believe one damn word out of your mouth? If you want us to assist, you must explain. This is so confusing…”. Vorenus tilts his head low, still giving the outer appearance of one who is vanquished, who merely wishes to comply and understand. But he bides his time, still considering possibilities..
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
The masked figure listens in silence, still as stone. When at last he speaks, his voice is steady, deliberate, edged with something both patient and dangerous:
“You ask why the light must be hidden. Because the Crown has eyes in every lantern, every sconce, every mirrored glass of this city. The more you burn, the sooner you are found. You think yourselves unseen now? No, you are only tolerated, because you are useful. Draw too much notice, and that tolerance will end. Brutally.”
The pale veins of the fractured node pulse once, dim but insistent, a heartbeat tethered to his words.
His hooded head tilts toward Iromae. “You are correct: not all who were meant to stand here are present. But three is enough to begin. The binding will hold, if only for a time.”
Then toward Shenua. “You are bound because the lattice recognizes you. The others will follow once the channel is opened. Their role is no less vital, but it begins with you. With your hands. With your mind. The Weave remembers you.”
And finally, his gaze settles on Vorenus. Though the mask hides his expression, there is the faintest flicker of amusement in the voice. “Skepticism is the mark of a man who knows little, but longs to know more. That hunger is dangerous. But it makes you … useful.”
Another pause, weighty. Then the masked figure’s hand rises, palm outward, and the guards by Shenua step back a pace. “The choice is simple. You can obey — and see for yourselves what this fractured stone holds. Or you can resist, and watch your ally bleed the last of her life into it. That is all the explanation you require.”
Behind the grate, Lirae shifts faintly at the base of the node — whether in pain or in defiance, it’s hard to tell.
Shenua clicks her tongue, equally frustrated, worried ... and scared. "Damn it," she mutters. She takes a couple of steadying breaths, glancing at Iromae and Vorenus and biting her lip as doubt clouds her eyes. But then she looks toward Lirae, and finally back at the masked man. "Let's be done with this," she finally says.
Freed from the guards who stepped back at their master's command, the tiefling walks toward the node. She still doesn't know what to do, and this uncertainty gnaws at her. Still, a part of her trusts she'll know what to do when she stands closer to the node.
As Shenua approaches the masked man and the node, she casts a quick glance at him, hoping that being closer might reveal some hint of a distinctive feature. (Perception: 16) But then, she turns her full attention to the fractured stone.
Once again, she reaches for her magic. Not casting a spell, not yet. Rather, she tests whether, combined with her proximity to the node, even a touch of her power will provoke any kind of reaction.
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
"Agreed. I'm tired of waiting any longer. We really don't have a choice.." Vorenus stands as tall as he can in the cramped space, walks over beside Shenua, looking back at Iromae and gives her a weak smile. I'm not going to let them do it. If anyone should take the risk, it should be me. I'm a failure, a liar. Perhaps, this could be my last, good step for the greater good. If anyone is to test it, it should be me.
Vorenus looks over to Shenua, saying "Let me." He reaches his hands out and places them on the node, firmly and with confidence, looking up at the masked man as he does so. "How does it work, what should I do?" He looks with sadness at Lirae, Shenua, and Iromae, ready to give his life to protect the three of them.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Iromae really wanted to just do something, but she still couldn't decide what should be done. But then she watched as first Shenua, then Vorenus moved forward towards the node. She sees the look on Vorenus' face, just as he moves to touch the node. She still doesn't know what is going to happen, but her concern forces her to call out. "No!"
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard ||
Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer
The moment Iromae’s voice rings out, it seems to hang in the chamber like a struck chord. The pulse of the fractured stone quickens, its pale veins thrumming in answer — as though the node itself has heard her protest.
Shenua’s cautious testing sends a ripple of warmth up her arms, subtle but unmistakable: the Weave is responding, tugging faintly at her presence, eager to be fed through the fractured lattice. Vorenus’s hands press firm against the surface an instant later, and he feels something different — like a current pressed against a dam, demanding a channel, any channel, to pour through. It stings, not painfully, but insistently.
The masked figure leans forward slightly. “Yes. That is it. The lattice will know what to draw from you. Do not resist. Three threads are enough.”
Iromae’s cry pulls his gaze toward her. Though the mask conceals his features, his head tilts, almost quizzical. “Unless,” he says softly, “you mean to take their place. Then come. Lend your hand.”
Behind the grate, Lirae groans, her head shifting faintly as she stirs — weak, but alive. The trail of blood at her side glimmers faintly in the glow of the stone, almost as though the node is feeding from it.
Shenua:
The Weave is recognizing you. You could let it flow — or try to twist it, misdirect it, even overload it. That would mean an arcana check, with high risk and high reward.
Vorenus:
The energy is pressing against you, wanting a channel. You could let it through your innate magic, but doing so risks triggering your chaotic surges. That’s a constitution or charisma save, depending on whether you try to endure it or control it.
Iromae:
The masked man has invited you to join. You could step forward and share the strain, risking yourself but lightening the burden on the others. That would be a wisdom check to align your holy magic with the node, or persuasion if you try to stall and talk instead of acting.
“In for a copper, in for a pound..”. Vorenus grits his teeth, then closes his eyes, feeling the energy flow through him…
Vorenus chooses to his his innate magic, trying to control the magical energy flowing through the node -
Cha save : (Nat 20!) : 25
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
"No, Vorenus, what are you d...?", Shenua protests when she sees Vorenus approaching, and the expression on his face. She doesn't know what going through his mind, but whatever he is thinking, it doesn't feel right to her. Just at that moment, the artificer feels the tug of the Weave, that warm feeling rippling up her arms. It ... feels good. It feels as how it should be. But then Lirae groans, and Shenua's taken aback again. Is she trying to warn them against this?
Shenua wants to help mend the Weave. And she is sure Vorenus and Iromae want as well. But to mend it forcefully, as this masked man is urging them to do? Do the binding or your friend dies? That can't be right!
The tiefling brings her glance from Lirae to Iromae, and then, back again to Vorenus, right next to her. She shakes her head once, sharply. No. They will fix the Weave, but they will do that under their own conditions. Not those imposed by this man. With that in mind...
…she tugs at the source of her magic again. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. We’ll fix you. Just ... not just yet. The thought is aimed at the Weave itself, as though it were a sentient being that could hear, understand, and accept her plea. She wishes the Weave to be patient, to wait until the right moment comes. And this is not that moment.
So Shenua lets the Weave course through her, surrendering to its flow at first. But then—only a heartbeat later, just long enough for the masked man to believe she is doing as he demands—she twists that current, forcing it to surge. She will try to overload the connection, and with it, the node itself.
(ooc: Well .. not great. Arcana: 8. Should I start creating a new character? ^^U)
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
(ooc: Btw, did she notice anything?)
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
Shenua (thanks for asking):
Up close, the mask looks seamless at first, like polished stone or lacquer. But when she squints in the faint, fractured light of the node, she notices a slight irregularity: a crack along the lower edge near the jawline. It’s not a flaw of the mask itself, but rather where the mask meets flesh — pale skin beneath, though strangely dull, as if light itself refuses to cling to it.
And more than that — the voice she hears from this close isn’t quite right. It’s layered, as if spoken by one throat but refracted through another, producing a faint doubled tone. Not an echo from the chamber, but something built into the mask itself.
You understand that the mask is arcane in nature, not merely a disguise, but a conduit of sorts.
Iromae turns to look at the masked figure as though studying the obscured face. She slowly moves forward, whispering, "Deneir, give me strength and guide me." She then sets her hand against the node.
(Wisdom Check: 14)
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard ||
Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer