Ominek stood outside of the foremost ranking Spell Weaver college on Eryn. In his black suit, he looked out of place on the college grounds. Like a Brotherhood business executive who’d taken a wrong turn and landed himself here instead of a New Terra mega tower or Dome. He idly toyed with the amulet he’d requested Allosius remove from the Emerald Guard’s armory of banned magitech. He could see the lattice work of runes and glyphs that created the complex absorption and diffusion spell contained within the amulet and the binding linked to it. Whomever wore it would have their spells sucked in and dispersed into useless aether shards. A magical castration.
“A handy toy for using against a powerful elder mage.” He mused aloud. Even if someone had suspected his true nature, he wore a powerful illusion spell that would make him slip off of anyone’s notice. He was invisible. No, he was forgettable here, and that raised far fewer suspicions. No one cared about a person of no consequence. But an invisible person raised questions and tripped wards. Glamors? Different story. And today he would test his skills against the very best mage this planet had produced next to its demi-god guardian.
Ominek was stalling, and he knew it. Ahead of him lay an immense challenge. Facing off against one of the top elder weavers here made him anxious. He was a powerful dread lord and was the most primed for this mission. But even he was canny enough to know he was flirting with death. Any mistake could cost him not only his life, but his father’s legacy. Standing at the precipice of fate was a humbling prospect. It made him realize how truly small and insignificant he was.
Ominek drew a deep breath in slowly, letting it out of his nose. He forced some steel into his spine and walked. Win or lose, he would meet his fate today. Defiant if he must. Stepping inside the college, the smell of vanilla, musty tomes, and honey filled his nose. A small smile cracked his expression. These tree folk were truly something special.
His prey lay within the college, and doubt threatened to seize his stride. He woves a few mind and soul signs and his current quest information unfurled in a flaming illusory scroll.
System Info : The Quest Info missive has been updated for ease of use. Enjoy!
Quest: [Hammerfall]
Cripple the heart of the Mage Federation.
* Objective : 1 Poison the Champion - Completed. 2 Bind the Elder Weaver. 3 Destroy the Golden Well and the ArchPriest.
* Reward : Unknown.
He waved a dismissive hand, and the scroll broke down into motes of pink and red aether that winked out after the spell sustaining them collapsed. He knew his task, and checking it again was simply an act of emphasis. This had to be done. Bind the weaver.
He’d spent centuries attacking the weak humans and their pathetic attempts at pushing the Sauridius back. Never again, though. Dragon kind would rise resurgent. They would show those opulent fools on Anazi Prime what the Wings were truly capable of. They’d grown too full of themselves, too complacent as dominant creatures. The Sauridius were going to grab the food chain and violently shake it. But for all that to happen, though, first, he had to bind the weaver.
He pushed deeper into the college. Beyond the stacks in the library, through the training rings, where junior mages ineptly sketched or wove runes and glyphs, and passed the classrooms before slipping into a restroom. Personal wards on his person rendered him uninteresting to any students. Any gazes that fell on him slid off without a care. Otherwise, a tall man in a dark suit in the girl’s room would probably raise a great deal of protest and concerns.
Inside a closed stall, he wove an elaborate illusion spell. He sank additional aetherpoints into it for added flourishes, costing him 6AP. When it finished, pink magic spiraled out around him and slowly cascaded all around him. He lost a few feet, his hair color changed as well as his eyes. Even his clothing had morphed. When it finished, he released the obfuscation ward and emerged from the stall slowly to study his glamor.
A young feminine face met his gaze. Green eyes like glowing jade held his own. A soft rounded face smiled softly and shook locks of blonde hair free. Ominek smiled, practicing the look. A true artist dedicated themselves to the craft of creation, and beauty itself was a craft. Be it masculine or feminine.
The young student smiled again and twirled in her apprentice robes. “I always knew I’d be pretty.” He said in a young woman’s voice. It was strange, hearing his words from another’s lips. Ominek cleared her throat and produced a tome to read aloud. She needed to get used to hearing her voice in order to speak as confidently as its natural owner might. The looks alone would only fool a weaver as powerful as Erlaut for so long if Ominek stumbled over every other word like a clumsy child.
The door opened. A few second-year apprentices came in laughing softly with each other before smiling at Ominek and nodding. Ominek returned the smile. “Just practicing before a report I have to give.”
“You’ll do great.” The first girl said.
“Go knock ‘em dead.” the other said.
Ominek grinned. Well, now. What a delicious idea that would be , she thought to herself. But no. She needed the Elder Weaver alive. For now, at least. Ominek practiced the reading several more times and finally nodded her approval when finished. Opening a void portal, she withdrew a long obsidian spell staff coated in frost. She then wove an elaborate glamor on the staff, changing its appearance to look like a simple tome.
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Satisfied with her preparations, Ominek strode towards Elder Weaver Erlaut’s office with her weapon tucked under arm like a natural book. Ominek passed through Erlaut’s doorway and crackling, crippling pain cascaded down every muscle fiber and cell. Ominek let out a shriek of pain as he crashed to his knees. The glamor spell collapsed as motes of pink and white fell away from him, and he reverted to his usual masculine morph.
Smoke rolled off his body in wispy waves. Powerful intrusion prevention wards seared away layers of flesh, exposing sinew and bone in many places. The agony served like a focusing rod, returning his mind to the task. His staff reappeared in a flash of light, clutched firmly in cooked fingers.
“Well now. It’s not every day a dread lord strolls into my office. Unfortunately, admissions are down the hall, and I believe there’s a firm ban on Sauridius from attendance. I’m terribly sorry about that.” Erlaut said smugly as he rose from his desk and placed his pipe on a holder.
Ominek knew time was running out and rose through the pain, spinning the staff. He brought the black mythril rod down into Erlaut’s hands as the man wove, shattering his opponent’s spell and focus.
Erlaut howled in pain. His hands trembled with pain as gold magic washed down his arms into his hands. Bones and tendons snapped and popped as the Elder Weaver’s hands reset themselves.
Ominek snarled, leg sweeping Erlaut as the mage snapped off a quick pair of basic light bolts. The magic splashed painfully into Ominek’s exposed shoulder, cooking muscle and filling the air with the stench of burned flesh. The dreadlord spun, avoiding another hasty bolt spell, and brought his staff down to smash Erlaut in the throat. The mage was a big man, but his body was soft and weak.
With the Elder Weaver’s hands occupied, Ominek seized the opportunity to clap the amulet to Erlaut’s chest. The crystal glowed a ghostly white as an enchanted chain wrapped around the back of his neck. Ominek backed up, panting heavily, giving Erlaut the opportunity to weave a disintegration spell. Ominek tensed as a sliver of doubt crept into his confidence.
Nothing happened. Void magic swirled within the amulet’s crystal and nothing else. Erlaut looked at his hands curiously, fear creeping into the corners of his eyes. Rapidly, he cast another simple bolt spell. Brilliant white gold flashed and swirled within the amulet, then nothing else. Horror dawned on Erlaut’s face as he realized what Ominek had accomplished.
Wasting no time, Ominek’s hands flew into a series of signs and sketched several additional overlapping runes as he wove a complex three-level soul shackling. Onion skinning the effect so that even if he were discovered, only the uppermost layers of the shackling would be discovered and undone. The bottom layer was more of a compulsion, really. A slight personality modification should the upper bindings be undone.
Erlaut’s shoulders sagged as the pallid white spell sank into his chest forcefully, throwing the elder weaver into the wall. He crashed to the ground in a heap with a pained groan and slowly stood. “What have you wrought, dreadlord?” the elder weaver asked in a shaky voice.
“I’ve sown the seeds of the end of your world as you know it.” Ominek said through grit teeth.
Ominek’s adrenaline ebbed, the pain becoming more pronounced. He turned his attention to Erlaut. Ominek allowed himself a smug sneer, even through his pain. Strain etching lines near his eyes as he struggled to contain his pain. “Now, be a good mage and heal what your intrusion wards have wrought.” He approached the Elder Weaver and unclasped the amulet.
Erlaut straightened visibly, a heavy burden lifted free of his shoulders. “How long have you planned this?” The elder weaver held his hands out and golden magic pulsed from his palms into Ominek’s wrecked body.
Ominek smiled as burned flesh slowly knit itself back together. Like watching time in reverse. And to think it’d cost him nothing but some pain to experience. After the mage healed his injuries, he glanced up, seeing no harm in sharing now.
“Actively? For decades at least. Since before the war. But we planted the seeds centuries in advance.”
That wasn’t entirely the truth, though. His shackle father, Leviathos was actually the brains behind this operation. He simply entrusted Ominek with the execution and finer details. Erlaut stood upright, a tight expression covering his features. An underlying strain. He was resisting, uselessly, but resisting all the same.
Ominek savored the defiance and inhaled deeply, as though it were a sweet aroma. His moment was nigh. The second major hurtle had been crossed. From here, he simply needed to maneuver his pawns into position before he could execute the final stages of the plan.
“You’ve won my will dreadlord. What now I wonder?”
Ominek smiled coldly at Erlaut. “Now I’ll have you and the champion murder your precious golden well. You’ll poison your world and your Federation with chaos and atrophy. What’s the saying your Brotherhood of Man goons are so fond of saying? Cut the head off the wyrm and the body will wither? Fitting, don’t you think?”
Ominek savored the glare in Erlaut’s eyes as he sneered at the mage coldly. The Elder weaver’s body belonged to him now. A moment later, Lucinda stepped into the room mechanically and her features fell.
“So. He defeated you too.” There was resignation in Lucinda’s voice. As the prospect of his victory over Eryn grew, her resistance faltered progressively more. The ever present March of fate.
“Far easier than my pride would like.” Erlaut offered with comfort.
“Likewise.” She said, clutching the hem of her black leather jacket and glanced down.
“To be fair, you two both had such glaringly obvious and exploitable weaknesses and flaws. You were practically begging for it. Now then, let’s be on our way. We have much to prepare for our big fireworks session.”
The two shackled mages fell in behind him as he approached the doorway. Reality cracked and dark purple and black magic formed a portal into the umbral plane. As the trio stepped through and the portal snapped shut, the only hints of a scuffle were some knocked over decorations. The only sign of the coming doom.