Scrivener's Entry 2008 - Of Prestidigitation

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Madeline Merri
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Joined: Thu Jul 29, 2004 3:14 am
Location: Guelph, Ontario

Scrivener's Entry 2008 - Of Prestidigitation

#1 Post by Madeline Merri »

The streets held on desperately to the whistle of wind through the aged and weatherbeaten wooden buildings as if to hang onto the last vestiges of life. Nestled deep into the mountains south of troubled Marienburg, the small city seemed to fit into the landscape of tall, cold crags, the isolated and altogether sparse clusters of pine and fir resembling their people. Striding through the streets of Umbarden, the thought crossed the mind of the young man as he saw through the snow-cornered windows to spy in passing at the sallow and empty faces of the people. He turned his face down to the cobblestone streets as his gaze met the bleak and expressionless eyes of the populace.

He stood out in the palette of greys and browns surrounding the wintered city, resplendent in his reds and golds. More and more people noticed the closer he drew to the city proper, passing in the streets without urgency or drive, feet shuffling heavily, the stones grinding through the leather-cobbled shoes.

Opening into the square, Umbarden rose up into a tower, the home to yet another Count of the Empire. As much as he was used to fraternizing and becoming bored with the nobility of many cities within the Empire, he was intrigued by this particular Count's invitation. His reputation had reached Tilea quite easily, where many would lessen the quality of the local magicians, comparing them to 'The Count of Prestidigitation.' It was not unheard of to have a magician take up a position of importance within the bosom of the Empire, but it is remarkable to note when the Emperor chooses a Count that isn't a part of one of the knightly orders. Walking amongst the agape mouths of the people as they all stopped to stare at his passing, he found himself at the gateway to the tall magician's tower.

"I am Luca Ochiuzzi, apologies for my early arrival." The young man spoke to the gatekeeper as he approached, answering a question that had yet to be asked in voice, but clearly by the expression on his face. He seemed sharper, alert and awake compared to the average Umbarden peasant.
"Right this way." The guard articulated in a gruff, non-syllabic sound as the wrought-iron gate opened up to the Tilean, allowing him to enter the tower.

The guard did not escort him, for there was only one passageway to follow, not a single door or fork to be found. The tunnel kept his head cocked to the side, avoiding the shallow ceiling as he draw his fingertips to the nearest wall, guiding him in the ever-diminishing light from the outdoors. He walked for several minutes, realizing the first veil of enchantment had been draped over his eyes. The tower was humble and of a sane proportion from the exterior, but was vast and incalculable to him. His feet continued as the light crept back into the tunnel, pouring in a rich bronze colour, warming his approach.

The passageway rolled upwards into a spiral, tilting evermore vertical with each step. The space widened, the sides of the hall being lit with torches as his senses began to swirl with the scent of some rich eastern incense. Swimming as he was, he found his feet continuing their pace as the fragrance and the rich and luxurious interiors drew him to near the end of the stairwell.

Bathed in the light of hundreds of alchemical braziers, the finality of the passageway was reached, an expansive rotunda that stretched for hundreds of yards in each direction, every inch covered in a crimson red carpet, embroidered like a tapestry of some great kingdom long-lost. In the center, he squinted to see a figure standing on a small dais, working at a podium. To see the Count of Umbarden was a thrill of his young life, causing the goosebumps to roll and ripple up and down his spine. To approach the man, he found that the red tapestry was not a floor cover, it was drawn up and cinched around his neck, a cloak and hood that spanned the entire floor. Suddenly his mind was filled with apology and regret at not asking.

"You must not feel sorry for what you are doing. It's a fool that doesn't expect a cloak to draw a bit of mud, mm?" With a soft tap of his hand, the Count tapped a lavish quill into an ink well before drawing it across an illuminated piece of parchment, an elegant motion signing the name 'Simon Umbarden III'.
"Count Umbarden, it is a great and unexpected pleasure to have been requested to your audience."
"I did not look for audience, I tired of that ages ago-" His face bore several decades of experience on the stage, as per his reputation. "-please, you are to be *my* guest of interest." Count Umbarden flourished as his cloak raised as if on a flutter of wind, and settled down to mould the shape of an ornate chair that Luca could not be sure existed underneath. His tired feet found the relaxation real enough as he reclined back into the chair.
"Dear boy, I think you know that I do not bring you here for simple tricks or for a show."
"I had inklings of such, but none can be sure as to what you were desiring from this meeting, my lord."
"I surround myself with those that I trust - and none of them are from the Colleges, or the Orders."
Luca let a small smirk cross the corner of his mouth, finding common ground as to the importance of the two most ancient organizations in the Empire. "You have found yourself in a predicament lately, and one which I think I can be of great assistance to your cause." Luca's tongue licked his lip as it stiffened to the news that his exploits had traveled far to the north.
"It was no coincidence that I asked for you to come. You are unwelcome in your nation lately - taken with a certain daughter of a Torbaron Prince?" With a laugh, the greyed Count continued. "A predicament such as this leaves you with nothing but the clothes on your back, which although are expensive and austere - will soil and wear down quite soon."

The old man was right. His eyes glowed a gold, as if drawing on some arcane influence to pull this information from the ether. Uncomfortable in his chair, Luca shifted his weight to the other elbow and hip, cradling his chin in thumb and forefinger as if to downplay the seriousness of the situation.

"I would wager your last twenty ducats that you've not realized that you have no sway within the Empire, no power or influence as you had with the scantily clad women, nor the fat and burgeoning princes of your home. What we value here in the Empire is much more invaluable; we value the use of a man, what is in his heart and in his mind." The Count tapped his temple with his forefinger. "Do you believe you have something to offer the Empire, in exchange for safety from the vengeance of Tobaro? Deflowering the virgin princess is a crime worthy of death I am not afraid."

Luca sat for a moment before drawing a long breath. It had been six years since he apprenticed underneath another. He could barely stand the first go-round with calling every old man with a parlour trick 'Master', knowing deep in his breast that he was a greater hand without a single day of training. However strong he was, the Count of Umbarden was entirely right. It would only be a matter of days before a mercenary would show on his trail, hunting him down. That thought in mind, Luca tented his fingertips to his nose.

"I would welcome the sanctuary, my lord - and offer my obedience and anything you desire to compensate for your generosity."
"I thought as much. Being a young man only comes once, you should be allowed to enjoy the simple pleasures in life without worrying about death around the corner. This letter will be sent to the prince, and all will be settled within a day's passing."
Luca let the breath out audibly, his hand scratching up at his fashionably short hair cut in relief. "I am forever in your debt."
"Not forever, it is unfair to ask something of a man for the entirety of his life. This will only last a moment."

The young Tilean didn't even have time to consider the words before Count Umbarden's hand lashed out like a cracked whip to clutch at Luca's head. Fingers grinding aggressively into the man's skull, Luca could not resist, the cloak-chair had shifted to wrap around him like a coccoon, firmly planting him as the Count closed his eyes. The pain of his grip was surprising and altogether harsh as it is, but with a moment's span, pain rifled up Luca's spine, contorting his body as his muscles rippled deep within his limbs, lungs searing and spewing hot steam. In seconds, his body was taut with the pulsating fire moving through his body - and in that last moment, the relief came as Umbarden opened his mouth to the young man's scream.

Deep inside the Tilean, something was shredded, being flayed and pulled up in a vomitous fashion, tearing and clawing it's way up from the depths of his soul, leaving nothing but chill and agony in it's wake. In absolute unbelief, Luca's eyes wiedened to bloodshot as his screams muffled, a red miasma of smoke and brimstone pouring from his mouth, flowing into Count Umbarden's with a carnal thirst. The old man drank the aspiring magician in this manner until the young man's eyes were lit golden, his mind slowly slaking the thirst of the old man. As his eyes dimmed, the young man collapsed to the floor, his body twitching as his brain was wracked and stripped clean.

The gatekeeper had seen it hundreds of times, and bore no expression of wonder as he approached the grey-skinned man as he laid, unconscious on the cloaked floor. Taking an arm, he lifted his limp form up onto his shoulders and watched as Count Umbarden breathed and gasped as he recovered from such a fine meal. Given a minute, he turned to his trusted servant.

"He will wake soon.. I want him to wake in the house on Elm Street - you know, with the fiery one, such a fine young man deserves a pretty wife. He is to be of good standing in this city while I am Count."

---

Waking - the fog was thick, vision greyed as he felt a strange sensation. It was cold, yet refreshing, and as his vision cleared over the minutes, and his skin recovered the tingling sensation, he felt the caress of damp cotton on his forehead and cheeks. His eyes focused in on a marking on the hand that held the cloth - a comet wreathed in fire on top of a scroll. 'A strange tattoo..' He thought. He slowly looked up to a beautiful face, cheeks of polished alabaster, speckled with soft freckles, bordered with copper hair.

"Boy, who are you?" Her voice was hollow, empty as if the vigor had left her soul.
"I... do not know." The Tilean closed his eyes as his mind could not find an answer to the simplest question, and as the unknown piled up in his mind, it drew a well of tears that began to spill down his cheek as the mindlessness of the situation took over. In a moment, the young woman's lips found his forehead in a soft shushing as if to a babe. With the tender sound, her voice hummed a tune that he once would have recognized instantly. She continued humming a melody from the College of Fire as she comforted her strange new husband.

*End*
[i]"So long honeybabe, where I'm bound, I can't tell. Goodbye's too good a word, babe, so I'll just say 'fare thee well'."[/i]
[b]Recent Joys:[/b] MMA Record: 7-5-1 (Retired) Finished a West-Coast tour as a bass player for several acts.
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Ruerl Khan
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#2 Post by Ruerl Khan »

This story has been noted and is in the running. :)
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