Fahlnem stumbled forward. His body temperature wouldn't stop rising.
In the far corner of the room, a voracious flame ate at a body while still draining away at the pyromancer's mana pool. It fed off of both flesh and mana like a gorging Dwarf, gulping down a chug of ale along with a mouthful of turkey.
His heart pounded faster in his chest. It felt like each hurried beat synchronized with a chunk of his mana being torn away from his soul to sequester itself in his body and a few scarce flames still burning passionately in the room.
He stepped over a smoking corpse bloated with steam. The Rite had burned from the inside out, evaporating the internal moisture into disgusting blood steam that stored itself in any cavity it could. He was trying to reach the pile of equipment at the far end of the room, on the other side of a large banquet table that some of the Rites had turned over to take cover behind. He didn't know why the Rites had behaved in the way they did. They had none of the animosity or vigor that he had seen in Railsource when the fireteam of Rites re-captured him there.
Fahlnem felt exhausted. Disgusted. His peripheral vision outlined the face of one of the Rites, flattened by the force of one of the explosions and unrecognizably burnt. His throat felt tight, and a tiny amount of vomit leapt up into his mouth to moisten it. He needed to stop the flow of mana, regain control. His body was drying out and he was nearing the state of unconsciousness, but he could see portions of his armor amongst the pile of spare equipment. He was afraid of that- the possibility that his equipment was split up based on magical influence, and not random chance. In other words, he wouldn't find any of his focuses or enchanted items in the Maw. Just unenchanted equipment that the Crown deemed safe.
He collapsed to the floor, relegating to lean up against the pile of armor and sword scabbards, desperately trying to wrench control over his magic to lower his temperature. He could hear the commotion from outside growing closer, and he felt like an injured, caged animal. Armed citizens stepped into the room, with a number of them covering their noses to keep out the smoke and airborne ash. The pyromancer raised a hand as a few of the individuals approached, swords and spears at the ready.
"Stay the fuck back." A fireball gathered around his hand, wisps dancing between his fingers and curling around his thumb like loose strands of hair.
"Shit... This guy's a genuine warlock." One of them bravely spoke up but kept his sword aimed at Fahlnem's neck. They all seemed interested, and some even had a tinge of hope in their expressions. But most were still scared, and they were all cautious.
"Yeah. And I'll show you what it... I'll.." Fahlnem stuttered as droplets of sweat formed into globs on his dirty skin.
He passed out, and the remnant flames in the room slowly died out as they ran out of flesh and cloth to eat through. Fahlnem succumbed to fever dreams of his past.
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He had traveled with Kali to the Elven continent of Celitrem. Ilyenora, the Elven homeland; it had fallen just over a century prior to Fahlnem's return. Kali was too young to remember, but Fahlnem recognized a few of the places they visited. He immediately obtained ownership of the bar in town, taking time to decorate and establish a brewing chain. It hardly got as much business as the original Fiery Wench in Eldham, but he didn't really need the money. It was someplace to stay, and it was fun when he did get customers. His passion was the brewing and the social interaction, not the economic success.
Argus had also gone on the trip to Ilyenora, returning to his home estate and establishing a new school of magic in the form of floating islands chained to the eastern coast. Each island was attuned to a certain type of magic for its respective teacher. A paradise of ponds and overgrowth for Fandral, the Nature magic teacher, a pile of gravel, sand, and rocks for the Earth teacher, whom Fahlnem did not know, and an uncomfortable hellscape for Argus' practice of Fire magic.
Fahlnem arrived at the chain of islands, having left Kali at the bar to greet any customers that came in, only to see a gathering underneath the shadow of the floating magic schools. Argus was fighting the champion of the Keepers, a malevolent group of mad gods that were generally considered evil. Fahlnem hadn't seen the man since he became the Keepers' champion, but he understood his immense power. He wore a dark set of spiked armor- big surprise there- and wielded a massive flanged mace. He had to have been at least seven feet tall, muscles bulging underneath his menacing plate. Fahlnem understood the champion to have been a kind man, friendly and boisterous, and he used to come by the Fiery Wench often.
Argus had drawn the champion into a pool of lava he formed as a defensive maneuver, having suffered significant injuries. Argus himself was invulnerable to the lava, but the champion had started arrogantly wading into the pool as Argus backpedaled further away to the far end of the lava pit. A large crowd had gathered around to watch the fight, and Fahlnem joined them.
"What's happening?"
A humanoid woman with sheep-like qualities such as sheep ears and a sheep tail, as well as patches of wool dotting her skin, replied in a soft, kind voice. "I think Argus upset Coribus somehow. It's a religious dispute, I think."
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Fahlnem wasn't particularly familiar with Argus' religious alignment. At that moment, actually, he wasn't sure he knew much about Argus at all. He had only ever asked general magical questions up until that point.
Coribus' intimidating pace slowed as his armor started to weaken. Fahlnem could hear popping as the armor expanded from the heat. From his point of view, the fight was sad. Slow. Tantalizingly unfair. Coribus was bound by rite to win against Argus, and apparently, he had paced around the pit of lava for an extended period before Fahlnem showed up. Argus knew that the Keeper champion's hands were tied, so he just waited it out in the safety of the lava. The fight ended with Coribus overheating and collapsing into the lava, sinking beneath the surface. Argus let the lava cool after that point, but was too injured and exhausted to do much else other than collapse as well. His lover, along with Fahlnem, excavated him out of the cooled magma once it was no longer hot enough to injure them by touch. Likewise, Coribus' followers respected the outcome of the duel and dispersed.
Fahlnem went home once Argus was safe back at his estate, left to recover. He contemplated whether he made the right choice to abandon Ciron in the pursuit of more magical power. Once he was back at the bar with Kali sleeping on the counter, he managed to convince himself with delusions that he needed the power to protect her.
As if she was ever in danger to begin with.
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Fahlnem awoke with a start. He was surrounded by the same faces that he remembered glowering at before losing consciousness, but they were excited now. Glad to see him conscious again. He liked to think that they were also glad that he was no longer hostile. But then he became hostile again.
"Fuck away from me." He sat up, ignoring the pain in his knee.
"Woah. Cool it, mage," one of them announced. Probably the leader.
"Where am I?" Fahlnem was frowning. He had had enough of waking up in weird places surrounded by a circle of smiling people. So salty...
"You're safe. We brought you to our hideout."
Fahlnem dispersed the mana he had sent to his hand, for the time being. The leader seemed genuine enough, and he could always prep another spell if danger resurfaced.
The leader continued, putting a hand on his own chest. "I am Samael. I lead the local resistance. We call ourselves the Bluntears."
Fahlnem groaned. "Ugh. You people." In a show of mockery, he covered the points of his ears with his hands. "Look at me. I'm a terrorist. Woo."
Samael laughed, but the rest of the spectators looked uncomfortable. "I understand the concern, but we're just fighting for our right to be free and do as we please. You and I are the same."
Samael was a tall and charming individual, but far too bubbly for Fahlnem to appreciate. He flaunted shaggy, curly brown hair just short enough not to cover his matching brown eyes. His left hand rested on the pommel of his sword, which Fahlnem thought was a lame and typical choice. Everyone used swords.
"Did you touch my shit?"
"No." Samael chuckled. "No, I'm having one of my men clean it up a bit. Seems like you got into quite a tussle when you were first captured in this realm."
Fahlnem leaned over the edge of the bed to see the pair of boots he had leased from that individual on the train to the Maw. He rotated his body, carefully maneuvering his injured knee over the bed to put the boots on. "What do you want? How much do you know about me?" He figured he didn't have enough time to ask one question at a time.
"We heard about your tussle in Railsource. We're willing to look past what you did in the market district; you were threatened and, like a cornered animal, you reacted negatively towards the Humans there." Samael frowned sadly, and the others in the room followed suit. "May I ask your name, wizard?"
Fahlnem glanced up at Samael and his group of cronies, curving his lips into a sort of judgemental smirk. "Fahlnem Elenvaul."
"You're like a hero to these people, Fahlnem." Samael's smile returned, and so did that of his group. "We moved in after you cleared out the checkpoint, and we've maintained order since."
"Since? Since how long?" Fahlnem forgot to ask how long he was asleep.
"You've been out for almost a whole week. We prepared a meal for you with plenty of water to power your magic with."
"...Fire mages don't use water to cast magic, but thanks anyway. I'm not here to help, or be a hero to your people. I just want my shit so I can move on to the next city and find a way back to my native realm."
"We understand that. But I still want to show my gratitude. You dispatched the guarding Lilac Rites with such ease and finesse-- we would have easily lost a dozen men trying to take them down. They are like lumberjack machines, cutting down insurgents in a sweep of their axes."
Fahlnem would take the free food and water, but he was determined not to help these people further. The more he got involved in the politics of the Magisterium and the Human cities, the longer it would take for him to get home.
"What do you know about mages, Samael?"
"Not a lot, I'm afraid. There hasn't been a living, free mage since before I was born. We've tried asking around the Maw for any records, but there's- little"
"Little here in terms of reading material, yeah. I asked around when I got here."
He was still concerned about his little outrage in the barracks. He hadn't lost control in a long time- before he became a mage, as a matter of fact. This time was worse in the sense that he didn't really feel much better after sleeping it off. He still felt drained of mana. His acting theory was that this realm had been stripped of mana after the mages were killed; either by some divine act or something the Crown did. It was a wild thought, but he had been to places with no inherent mana before. If that's the case here, then my body is falling apart trying to generate its own mana, rather than passively regenerating it from the aura or my focuses.
He needed to get to Erumar. Getting his armor back was a good start, but now he was pressed for time.