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[nextcol][font=cambria][size=5][color=392c1a][b][i]KAVRA
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[font=cambria][size=3][color=#392C1A]Kavra simply stands & watches as Ceres pulls Behrad to her whims, down to his knees & then to the floor, impassive & almost curious, hands neatly folded behind their back. Their eyes land on Autiot, as his movements become more defensive, & while they don't flinch as Frequency summons their weapon, there's an almost imperceptible tensing in their shoulders at the possibility of a confrontation with the tundra.
A moment later, at Sacrifice's request, they nod in response, & cross the immense chamber between the line of scions & the line of mages. "[b]Of course,[/b]" they say. Kavra takes a moment to regard each of the scions: this strange, ragtag group that the gods have supposedly chosen, & they figure, at least, that this will be [i]interesting.[/i] "[b]If you would,[/b]" they say, before traversing the rest of the room, & leaving through the opposite door, glancing over their shoulder to see if the scions follow.
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Kavra simply stands & watches as Ceres pulls Behrad to her whims, down to his knees & then to the floor, impassive & almost curious, hands neatly folded behind their back. Their eyes land on Autiot, as his movements become more defensive, & while they don't flinch as Frequency summons their weapon, there's an almost imperceptible tensing in their shoulders at the possibility of a confrontation with the tundra.
A moment later, at Sacrifice's request, they nod in response, & cross the immense chamber between the line of scions & the line of mages. "Of course," they say. Kavra takes a moment to regard each of the scions: this strange, ragtag group that the gods have supposedly chosen, & they figure, at least, that this will be interesting. "If you would," they say, before traversing the rest of the room, & leaving through the opposite door, glancing over their shoulder to see if the scions follow.
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Mazon made sure that Eiko was secure before following after the tall Imperial. She just hoped that no one else tried to cause a fuss and start a fight. They'd be crushed in an instant.
Mazon made sure that Eiko was secure before following after the tall Imperial. She just hoped that no one else tried to cause a fuss and start a fight. They'd be crushed in an instant.
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[columns][img]https://i.imgur.com/jvDAo3N.png[/img][nextcol][color=transparent]...[/color][nextcol] Oh geez. That had really... Gone. Deimos quietly muttered a prayer of safekeeping to the Shadowbinder - he'd certainly need Her help, if they were going to make a habit of speaking back to people vastly more powerful from them. [/b] [/columns]
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Oh geez. That had really... Gone. Deimos quietly muttered a prayer of safekeeping to the Shadowbinder - he'd certainly need Her help, if they were going to make a habit of speaking back to people vastly more powerful from them. [/b]
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[indent][indent][indent][font=courier new][size=3][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/rp/2816073/41#post_43496492][i]23. [b]THE SCIONS[/b] are lead away by [b]KAVRA[/b].[/url][/columns]
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/sqnloTi.png[/img][/center]
[center][font=courier new][size=4]⌈ [b][color=C575C8]CAMUS[/color] ⌋[/center]
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/QB2c2BU.png[/img][/center]
[columns][color=transparent]____[/color][nextcol][font=corbel]As soon as the twelve dractare leave the chamber of The Council, it almost feels like a palpable weight has been lifted from their shoulders. The glaring eyes of powerful mages no longer stare down at them with ferocious intensity, and they are left with nothing but themselves, their thoughts, and the enormous halls that crisscross the capital building. There are what seems like a hundred branching paths leading off of the main hallway, but it's almost impossible to tell where they go. Who knows if they lead anywhere at all? Magic users do often delight in illusory spells, perhaps they are tricks meant to lead intruders astray, there's no way to tell.
The Archives are easy enough to spot, as there are another pair of extravagant double doors awaiting the scions at the end of their journey. They are closed, of course, but seem to have been left ajar with an empty glass vial, so it's easy enough to push through. What awaits them is, once again, a sight to behold. It seems that Croswell was built with the sole purpose of amazing newcomers, rather than with any thought of making architectural sense.
A tall chamber that reaches far higher than what should seem possible stretches out before the dractare. A single polished stone path leads to the center of the room, guarded on each side by marble busts of what one can only assume are important figures in this city's history. The decor is all nice and good, mind you, but what is truly astounding is the sheer number of tomes present in the space. It's almost difficult to perceive of the space, the sheer quantity of bookshelves stacked with volumes of all kinds is hard to look directly at. Conjured familiars dart to and fro, organizing and reorganizing and stacking and unstacking, their work never finished.
Meandering towards the center of The Archives, the scions get a glimpse of what it contains. There is a sphere there, held aloft by nothing... but it is odd. Rather than a featureless stone ball, it is ridged and carved, showing valleys and mountains and sometimes tiny depictions of settlements. It's a map, it seems, one forged from magic and exquisitely detailed in ways one would not expect. Standing at the foot of it, our heroes spy not one unfamiliar face, but two. One is a haggard looking Wildclaw, though he has a certain air of poise about him, robed in glowing fuchsia fineries. He stares off into the middle distance, the scars around his eyes and the milky white irises themselves telling all what misfortune had befallen his sight. The other is a Mirror descendant, green eyes flitting over a book held in their hands. For some reason, the eleven get the sense that this one shares a certain kinship with them, though it's hard to tell what that might be.
Upon their approach, the blinded Wildclaw looks up and towards them, brows lifting in surprise at their presence. "[b][i][color=C575C8]The Scions...[/i][/b][/color]" he mutters, almost reverent in his tone. He murmurs a quiet prayer under his breath before he grasps the shoulder of the dractare next to him, gently shaking them as he addresses the approaching group, specifically the Imperial leading them there. "[b][i][color=C575C8]Kavra... do not lead me astray and do not let my hopes soar only to come crashing down in ruins around me. Have they arrived at last? The Chosen?[/color][/b][/i]"
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[img]https://i.imgur.com/Z1onllt.png[/img]
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/YHWkT6H.png[/img][/center]
⌈ CAMUS ⌋
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As soon as the twelve dractare leave the chamber of The Council, it almost feels like a palpable weight has been lifted from their shoulders. The glaring eyes of powerful mages no longer stare down at them with ferocious intensity, and they are left with nothing but themselves, their thoughts, and the enormous halls that crisscross the capital building. There are what seems like a hundred branching paths leading off of the main hallway, but it's almost impossible to tell where they go. Who knows if they lead anywhere at all? Magic users do often delight in illusory spells, perhaps they are tricks meant to lead intruders astray, there's no way to tell.
The Archives are easy enough to spot, as there are another pair of extravagant double doors awaiting the scions at the end of their journey. They are closed, of course, but seem to have been left ajar with an empty glass vial, so it's easy enough to push through. What awaits them is, once again, a sight to behold. It seems that Croswell was built with the sole purpose of amazing newcomers, rather than with any thought of making architectural sense.
A tall chamber that reaches far higher than what should seem possible stretches out before the dractare. A single polished stone path leads to the center of the room, guarded on each side by marble busts of what one can only assume are important figures in this city's history. The decor is all nice and good, mind you, but what is truly astounding is the sheer number of tomes present in the space. It's almost difficult to perceive of the space, the sheer quantity of bookshelves stacked with volumes of all kinds is hard to look directly at. Conjured familiars dart to and fro, organizing and reorganizing and stacking and unstacking, their work never finished.
Meandering towards the center of The Archives, the scions get a glimpse of what it contains. There is a sphere there, held aloft by nothing... but it is odd. Rather than a featureless stone ball, it is ridged and carved, showing valleys and mountains and sometimes tiny depictions of settlements. It's a map, it seems, one forged from magic and exquisitely detailed in ways one would not expect. Standing at the foot of it, our heroes spy not one unfamiliar face, but two. One is a haggard looking Wildclaw, though he has a certain air of poise about him, robed in glowing fuchsia fineries. He stares off into the middle distance, the scars around his eyes and the milky white irises themselves telling all what misfortune had befallen his sight. The other is a Mirror descendant, green eyes flitting over a book held in their hands. For some reason, the eleven get the sense that this one shares a certain kinship with them, though it's hard to tell what that might be.
Upon their approach, the blinded Wildclaw looks up and towards them, brows lifting in surprise at their presence. "The Scions..." he mutters, almost reverent in his tone. He murmurs a quiet prayer under his breath before he grasps the shoulder of the dractare next to him, gently shaking them as he addresses the approaching group, specifically the Imperial leading them there. "Kavra... do not lead me astray and do not let my hopes soar only to come crashing down in ruins around me. Have they arrived at last? The Chosen?"
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[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=59491895][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/portraits/594919/59491895p.png[/img][/url]
Feeling Camus gently shake their shoulder Blaise's head shoots up in a mix of shock, and suprise from being interrupted from the book. They flit their eyes quickly around the room before locking onto the approaching group. They let out a soft gasp when Camus questions the group eyes widening in hope.
Tucking the book under their arms Blaise stares at the group. "Is it them?" they utters softly "Are they actually the ones?". A million other thoughts race through their head, but none stay long for Blaise to voice. Were they truly the chosen?
Feeling Camus gently shake their shoulder Blaise's head shoots up in a mix of shock, and suprise from being interrupted from the book. They flit their eyes quickly around the room before locking onto the approaching group. They let out a soft gasp when Camus questions the group eyes widening in hope.
Tucking the book under their arms Blaise stares at the group. "Is it them?" they utters softly "Are they actually the ones?". A million other thoughts race through their head, but none stay long for Blaise to voice. Were they truly the chosen?
[columns][font=times new roman]This chamber was just as grand as the last, and he was starting to sense a bit of a pattern of such architecture in Croswell. He allowed himself little time to gawk like he'd done in the Council hall though, too tense from Kavra's intimidating presence to relax.
He didn't speak, and instead crossed his arms and eyed the two warily. One of these must be Camus, but who was the other? At least these two didn't seem as... Openly threatening, as the Council had been.[/font][nextcol][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=38902766][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/389028/38902766.png[/img][/url][/columns]
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This chamber was just as grand as the last, and he was starting to sense a bit of a pattern of such architecture in Croswell. He allowed himself little time to gawk like he'd done in the Council hall though, too tense from Kavra's intimidating presence to relax.
He didn't speak, and instead crossed his arms and eyed the two warily. One of these must be Camus, but who was the other? At least these two didn't seem as... Openly threatening, as the Council had been.
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[columns][img]https://i.imgur.com/jvDAo3N.png[/img][nextcol][color=transparent]...[/color][nextcol] [b]"Oh... That's... That's beautiful..."[/b]
The words were out before Deimos could stop them. It really was, though. Nothing like he'd ever seen! Magic users were really something unto themselves.
He shook himself. There were things to be done.
[b]"That's what everyone keeps telling us." [/b] [/columns]
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"Oh... That's... That's beautiful..."
The words were out before Deimos could stop them. It really was, though. Nothing like he'd ever seen! Magic users were really something unto themselves.
He shook himself. There were things to be done.
"That's what everyone keeps telling us."
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[nextcol][font=cambria][size=5][color=392c1a][b][i]KAVRA
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[font=cambria][size=3][color=#392C1A]Kavra smiles gently as they enter the Archives, & while the confident way they carry themself doesn't falter, they do seem to ease up slightly. Makes sense—they're a mage, & where does a mage feel more at home than in a library?
"[b]Camus[/b]," they say warmly, "[b]Blaise[/b]." Their gaze drifts to the small crowd they lead & back again to the Wildclaw. "[b]Nothing is certain, but the Council suspects, & even hopes it,[/b]" they say, "[b]Which is why I've brought them here. No one knows the motions & myths of the gods as well as you, Camus. Might you give them an introduction to, ah, your studies?[/b]"
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Kavra smiles gently as they enter the Archives, & while the confident way they carry themself doesn't falter, they do seem to ease up slightly. Makes sense—they're a mage, & where does a mage feel more at home than in a library?
"Camus," they say warmly, "Blaise." Their gaze drifts to the small crowd they lead & back again to the Wildclaw. "Nothing is certain, but the Council suspects, & even hopes it," they say, "Which is why I've brought them here. No one knows the motions & myths of the gods as well as you, Camus. Might you give them an introduction to, ah, your studies?"
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[indent][indent][indent][font=courier new][size=3][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/rp/2816073/41#post_43496492][i]24. [b]THE GROUP[/b] answers [b]CAMUS'[/b] question.[/url][/columns]
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/sqnloTi.png[/img][/center]
[center][font=courier new][size=4]⌈ [b][color=C575C8]CAMUS[/color] ⌋[/center]
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/QB2c2BU.png[/img][/center]
[columns][color=transparent]____[/color][nextcol][font=corbel]Camus makes a noise that's somewhere between relief and pure joy, one might even worry that he were about to pass out if he didn't seem so animated and excited by the news. "[b][i][color=C575C8]At last, the prophecy is realized! What a joyous day, and that I should live to see it...[/i][/b][/color]" The Wildclaw breathes out another prayer, this one of thanks, before unclasping his hands. He bows so low that his hair almost touches the floor, straightening again soon after. "[b][i][color=C575C8]As Kavra has mentioned, I go by Camus. Though I am not native to Croswell, I was accepted here due to my nature as an... augur, of sorts. I serve as an imperfect line of communication to the gods, though I hear from them as often as once every fortnight, it is often through disjointed feelings and confusing visions. Ah, but I suppose I should start from the beginning.[/color][/b][/i]" He clears his throat and opens his palms, at which point a large batlike familiar descends from the sky, dropping a light leatherbound volume into Camus' hands.
He flips through it, hands skimming over the raised bumps on the pages with rapid movements. He nods thoughtfully, turning his head in the general direction of the scions. "[b][i][color=C575C8]You all know of the old gods, those that perished in the conflict between the ancestral dragons and the Shades.[/color][/b][/i]" He suddenly casts his hand upwards, and shimmering projections of the old gods as depicted in ancient texts appear in the air. They move about as if having a life of their own, but there is one in the mix that the scions do not recognize.
Its lean, muscled form reminds one of a lion, along with the mane of fur around the base of its neck. Though, the beginnings of its muzzle reveal a slender (but furred) reptilian jaw that parts to reveal rows upon rows of teeth as long and as sharp as daggers. Glowing eyes are framed by a mask of bone, extending into long, branching antlers that seem to reach towards the sky like grasping hands. The figure possesses four legs, though the two front are almost mammalian in nature, the back end in fearsome talons that mimic those of the griffins. Scars litter its furred body, all the way down to its long, lashing tail. Its presence amongst the gods of old indicates that it is a deity... but not one that the scions have ever seen before.
"[b][i][color=C575C8]The legends say that each and every one gave their lives to protect what they had created, but what the texts did not reveal that it was only their physical forms that faded from our reality. Their spirits remained, though tired and spent, slumbering peacefully as they tried to reawaken and finish the battle that they had started. But of course, for beings as powerful and vast as the deities of old, reincarnation is not such a simple task. They could no longer reclaim their old forms, and there was nothing strong enough to withstand the sheer force of magic that they would exude,[/color][/b][/i]" Camus says, and as he does, the deities fold into themselves, becoming glimmering pinpricks of light that dance like stars. "[b][i][color=C575C8]So they waited, searching for someone or something that they could use as a conduit. Their first opportunity came in the form of relics.[/color][/b][/i]" The pinpricks of light once again morph, forming weapons, armor, and other accessories, though it is impossible to gauge any details. It's likely that Camus does not know how they look.
"[b][i][color=C575C8]For a long time, we merely believed that they were things left behind by the gods as they died, but now we know they were forged from beyond. Each contains a small fragment of a deity's spirit, distilled enough to grant it a fraction of the god's immense power. But the trouble with such things is greed.[/color][/b][/i]" The relics vanish one by one. "[b][i][color=C575C8]Those who sought power and wealth chased what was left behind, and some managed to find the relics, and kept it for themselves. Through sheer force of will, the gods tried to return their stolen artifacts to their resting places, but fate is often cruel and taciturn in her ways.[/color][/b][/i]"
"[b][i][color=C575C8]So yet again, the gods waited for eons, hoping against all hope that they would find something with which they could sate their restlessness... and then came tell of the scions. Beings who, upon their birth, were chosen by the gods, their own souls intertwined with the most minuscule of fragments from a deity.[/color][/b][/i]" An image of twelve individual dractare appear, each holding the relic from before. "[b][i][color=C575C8]They would be conduits of the gods, wielders of the ancient power, and together they would finally be able to put a stop the magical chaos that had for so long held so much sway over Sornieth... but this was foretold centuries ago, and many ceased their search, content with the thought that perhaps t'was yet another old wive's tale, or that perhaps the scions had perished before they could do anything at all.[/color][/b][/i]" He closes his book, letting the images vanish. "[b][i][color=C575C8]But you are here now, and though I cannot know whether you are truly the heroes we seek, I can feel it in my bones, you are special, there is something about you that I cannot place.[/color][/b][/i]" There's a twinkle of hope in his sightless eyes, but then he shakes his head, putting the book down for it to be taken away by yet another flying familiar, this one in the form of a large mosquito. "[b][i][color=C575C8]I apologize, I have a tendency to ramble without context when I get excited. I'm sure you have endless questions, and as long as you remain here, I will be more than willing to answer them for you.[/color][/b][/i]"
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[img]https://i.imgur.com/Z1onllt.png[/img]
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/YHWkT6H.png[/img][/center]
⌈ CAMUS ⌋
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Camus makes a noise that's somewhere between relief and pure joy, one might even worry that he were about to pass out if he didn't seem so animated and excited by the news. "At last, the prophecy is realized! What a joyous day, and that I should live to see it..." The Wildclaw breathes out another prayer, this one of thanks, before unclasping his hands. He bows so low that his hair almost touches the floor, straightening again soon after. "As Kavra has mentioned, I go by Camus. Though I am not native to Croswell, I was accepted here due to my nature as an... augur, of sorts. I serve as an imperfect line of communication to the gods, though I hear from them as often as once every fortnight, it is often through disjointed feelings and confusing visions. Ah, but I suppose I should start from the beginning." He clears his throat and opens his palms, at which point a large batlike familiar descends from the sky, dropping a light leatherbound volume into Camus' hands.
He flips through it, hands skimming over the raised bumps on the pages with rapid movements. He nods thoughtfully, turning his head in the general direction of the scions. "You all know of the old gods, those that perished in the conflict between the ancestral dragons and the Shades." He suddenly casts his hand upwards, and shimmering projections of the old gods as depicted in ancient texts appear in the air. They move about as if having a life of their own, but there is one in the mix that the scions do not recognize.
Its lean, muscled form reminds one of a lion, along with the mane of fur around the base of its neck. Though, the beginnings of its muzzle reveal a slender (but furred) reptilian jaw that parts to reveal rows upon rows of teeth as long and as sharp as daggers. Glowing eyes are framed by a mask of bone, extending into long, branching antlers that seem to reach towards the sky like grasping hands. The figure possesses four legs, though the two front are almost mammalian in nature, the back end in fearsome talons that mimic those of the griffins. Scars litter its furred body, all the way down to its long, lashing tail. Its presence amongst the gods of old indicates that it is a deity... but not one that the scions have ever seen before.
"The legends say that each and every one gave their lives to protect what they had created, but what the texts did not reveal that it was only their physical forms that faded from our reality. Their spirits remained, though tired and spent, slumbering peacefully as they tried to reawaken and finish the battle that they had started. But of course, for beings as powerful and vast as the deities of old, reincarnation is not such a simple task. They could no longer reclaim their old forms, and there was nothing strong enough to withstand the sheer force of magic that they would exude," Camus says, and as he does, the deities fold into themselves, becoming glimmering pinpricks of light that dance like stars. "So they waited, searching for someone or something that they could use as a conduit. Their first opportunity came in the form of relics." The pinpricks of light once again morph, forming weapons, armor, and other accessories, though it is impossible to gauge any details. It's likely that Camus does not know how they look.
"For a long time, we merely believed that they were things left behind by the gods as they died, but now we know they were forged from beyond. Each contains a small fragment of a deity's spirit, distilled enough to grant it a fraction of the god's immense power. But the trouble with such things is greed." The relics vanish one by one. "Those who sought power and wealth chased what was left behind, and some managed to find the relics, and kept it for themselves. Through sheer force of will, the gods tried to return their stolen artifacts to their resting places, but fate is often cruel and taciturn in her ways."
"So yet again, the gods waited for eons, hoping against all hope that they would find something with which they could sate their restlessness... and then came tell of the scions. Beings who, upon their birth, were chosen by the gods, their own souls intertwined with the most minuscule of fragments from a deity." An image of twelve individual dractare appear, each holding the relic from before. "They would be conduits of the gods, wielders of the ancient power, and together they would finally be able to put a stop the magical chaos that had for so long held so much sway over Sornieth... but this was foretold centuries ago, and many ceased their search, content with the thought that perhaps t'was yet another old wive's tale, or that perhaps the scions had perished before they could do anything at all." He closes his book, letting the images vanish. "But you are here now, and though I cannot know whether you are truly the heroes we seek, I can feel it in my bones, you are special, there is something about you that I cannot place." There's a twinkle of hope in his sightless eyes, but then he shakes his head, putting the book down for it to be taken away by yet another flying familiar, this one in the form of a large mosquito. "I apologize, I have a tendency to ramble without context when I get excited. I'm sure you have endless questions, and as long as you remain here, I will be more than willing to answer them for you."
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[columns][font=times new roman][b]"Slow down,"[/b] Despite his better judgement - that being, keep quiet until he's certain this isn't another vaguely-menacing entity - Autiot spoke while shaking his head.
[b]"You showed us the gods, yes, but there's one I didn't recognize. I've never heard about a twelfth deity except in the ramblings of madmen,"[/b] Autiot tilted his head. [b]"And even if there were a twelfth deity, there's only eleven of us here. You're missing a scion, or you've messed up your gods,"[/b] That is, unless Camus was the supposed scion of this strange deity; which seemed all too [i]convenient[/i] for him.[/font][nextcol][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=38902766][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/389028/38902766.png[/img][/url][/columns]
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"Slow down," Despite his better judgement - that being, keep quiet until he's certain this isn't another vaguely-menacing entity - Autiot spoke while shaking his head.
"You showed us the gods, yes, but there's one I didn't recognize. I've never heard about a twelfth deity except in the ramblings of madmen," Autiot tilted his head. "And even if there were a twelfth deity, there's only eleven of us here. You're missing a scion, or you've messed up your gods," That is, unless Camus was the supposed scion of this strange deity; which seemed all too convenient for him.
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