Greg and I finished our workout at the gym, a staple in our daily routine. Greg insisted on maintaining his exercise regimen, even while negotiating delicate political matters in Draiocht. The gym we frequented, a popular spot among the city's various enforcers, offered a secure environment for a high-profile VIP like Greg. This also allowed me to stay updated on the latest news and rumors circulating among the enforcers. As we approached the exit, the murmur of voices from outside the gym reached our ears, growing louder with each step.
A large crowd had gathered outside, their voices rising in a chorus of anger and frustration. They were petitioning against Greg, the orc, being allowed to stay in Solas. Judging by the signs they held, each bearing some variation of "Get rid of orcs," it was clear these people harbored deep-seated resentment. Many likely lived near the orc tribes' territory and had been victims of their raids. Among the sea of protest signs, a few floated in mid-air, a clear indication that mages were among the crowd. This added a layer of complexity to the situation, but it seemed I was about to earn my keep while still on duty.
I reached out with my arcane senses, attuning myself to the Weave that flowed around us. The Weave was the lifeblood of mana that permeated the world, shifting and changing in response to perceptions, emotions, objects, and concepts. Mages could see or feel certain spectrums of the Weave, which dictated their magical affinities. My own affinities and talents leaned towards summoning. As I extended my senses, I felt the Weave around us thrumming with anger and resentment, emanating from the crowd outside. Yet, mingled within that turbulence, I also detected the steadfast currents of duty and obligation from the enforcers within the gym.
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Drawing upon these latter strands, I focused my mind on the image of protectors. I chanted my summoning spell, gathering the essence of the Weave into a cohesive form. Gradually, Hound Archons began to take shape before me. These tall, humanoid figures had the heads of dogs, with fur peeking through the gaps in their armor. Each was equipped with a tall, thick shield and a baton, embodying the very essence of guardianship and defense. The sight of these ethereal protectors brought a sense of reassurance, both to me and to the enforcers readying themselves for any potential conflict.
They began lining up, forming a shield wall with their interlocking shields, creating a silent barrier against both magic and projectiles. Summoning so many Hound Archons, especially after our workout, had taken a toll on me. I paused to catch my breath, feeling the strain of the exertion. Greg looked on in astonishment, while the other enforcers nearby seemed impressed by the display of magical prowess. As the Archons worked to clear a path through the crowd, I turned to Greg and said, "Alright, let's get to my headquarters and we'll see about your replacement."
The crowd, for their part, backed away from the imposing creatures. Summoning was a rare talent, and my particular dual affinity made my abilities even rarer. The reaction of the crowd, with many on the verge of panic, suggested that there were very few mages among them. The sight of the Hound Archons, combined with the palpable aura of magical power, had effectively quelled any immediate threat. Greg and I began to make our way through the cleared path, the Archons forming a protective barrier around us as we headed towards the Arcanum Enforcers Headquarters.