Noal Dagar - Master of Illusionary Arts

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Hagra
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Re: Noal Dagar - Master of Illusionary Arts

Postby Hagra » Thu May 12, 2016 1:23 am

Whispered callings...

I shot up quickly from a deep slumber, sure that something had brushed up against my ear and whispered, but the room I had rented had not been disturbed. Unable to return to sleep, and dawn drawing near, I washed up and made some notes until sobbing beyond the door grabbed my curiosity. As I creeked open the door, the miss who owned the establishment was soothing a young boy and girl, two I had seen earlier the day before playing outside. As they told their mother about hearing something in their room too, did the front door bang open.

Trouble in Sarshel and many already dead. The Temple attacked. Both children began to cry again at hearing that.
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Outentown provided comfort a bustling city did not, and little distractions. Even seeing the gates down the road brought a sense of anxiety spinning about in my stomach. Indeed, smoke curled beyond the walls and the metal gate was bent in a number of places. Crushed bricks, splintered beams and scattered shingles splashed outward from structures that were perfect just a day before.
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An eerie silence lay over Sarshel, broken now and again by the caw of a distant crow. I stood still before the statue that graced the city square, and the many candles that had blown out on my last visit, flickered brightly. Not a single candle had its flame winked out this morning.
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Passing beneath jagged arches and around piles of rubble, did I learn what had attacked Sarshel, originated from the Temple. A demon of sorts. No one was actively standing around discussing it, but any pair who brisked on by were talking about it in sharp whispers. The damage only became worse as I drew near, stopping shortly to purchase a clay bowl, before carrying on.
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A gathering of crows out in the street pecked at red-stained stones, flipping strings of what looked like noodles into the air before snapping their beaks around it, pulling it apart with chaotic calls to one another.
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Long shadows stretched outward then as the morning sun splashed across the land, yet it seemed to avoid touching the smouldering ruins of the temple. Large cracks graced the foundation of the temple, and the large pillars that helped support its roof, bent and ready to crumble at any moment. Curls of smoke billowed from a ripped hole, the inner halls surely still hot from extinguished fires.
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A familiar voice called my name then. Adorned Teresa, wearing an exhausted and pained expression, brushed down her robe as I approached.

"You should keep some distance, the structure is no longer safe."

My gaze fell upon the cot of injured, wrapped in thick blankets, others covered completely.

"You got out just in time," Teresa added as she caught my gaze.
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Her voice trailed off as I stepped around the building she stood by. It felt familiar.

"Noal?" Teresa asked, her head rounding the corner of the building. I pressed a hand against the grain of the door and pushed forward. Locked.

With a slight smile and a pat upon her shoulder, I began to make my way out of the city.
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No matter where one gazed, smoke, rubble and the covered dead came to greet you. With the coming rains, it would wash a lot away, but with it would come the smells. Those smells. Those familiar smells.

...and familiar scents.

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Hagra
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Re: Noal Dagar - Master of Illusionary Arts

Postby Hagra » Sat May 21, 2016 4:17 pm

The practiced somatics ...

A short hike out of Sarshel and through Outentown erased all of what I saw out of my mind. Sarshel was in ruin and ruin always brought people closer together. The residents of the city were better for it in the end.

Upon passing by Outentown did I come across a posted notice. Clearly word of my strength and health returning had spread throughout the Weaving community and they required true insight into the events that had transpired in Sarshel. I tore it from the post for reference.
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For now, it was time to work and review particular somatic gestures that in time, would give spells of illusion upon creation more realism. I found a quiet rock with an excellent view to focus upon and began working out the proper pattern.
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Focusing on holding the raw energy that began to form was exhausting, the glowing ball starting from a pin point into the size of a pumpkin made beads of sweat trickle from my brow. Its rough shape needed to be smoothed out, compressed and held perfectly before the next somatic gestures could be introduced.

It was so taxing that I failed to hear the growing footsteps approaching from behind.
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"What, by the Three, is he taking so long to cast?" a very familiar voice questioned as they came near.

The glowing sphere of power fell toward the rock and splattered outward as if it was made from water. Sparks sprinkled off the rock and down toward the river below. As I turned, my eyes caught sight of the mad surgeon Kelda, and her nurse Artemis. Along for the hike was Jerek and a second man I did not recognize.

They looked like a hunting party and I was their prey.

I dipped my head in greeting. If there was to be a duel today, it would be done with some form of respect.
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"Good eve, good business to you, traveller. You are an adept from Songhall?" asked the nurse. She did not recognize me. Not yet.

I kept my eyes on the fellow named Jerek. He would be the most dangerous with that sword he had at the ready. My hands flashed quickly. Surely one of them would know signing. Definitely the surgeon Kelda would.

- I am unable to speak by normal means. -

"He says he can't speak," did surgeon Kelda translate.

- What is your name? - Jerek flashed in return.

- Why, I am Noal Dagar, Master of Illusionary Arts. It has been a long time. -
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The nurse shifted a little closer then, her hand on the hilt of a nasty looking mace. It was not held in a threatening way, but memories of her holding me down for the surgeon flashed before me.

"Noal?" Jerek said with widening eyes.

- Noal Dagar. - I corrected.

My eyes remained locked to Jerek as questions began to pour in by the others. I caught movement in the corner of my eye as another I recognized stepped out from the treeline with a bow in hand. Celith, a poor tracker by trade. I do hope he received those books I had delivered to better his quality.

"Mister Noal? The gods were merciful - you were not at the Temple of the Triad. What - or who - brought you out here?" the nurse asked.

The surgeon appeared wary then, and despite watching Jerek, there was a sudden alertness about me and the surroundings became clearer with each passing breath.

- I ... was tended by Teresa while there. I left some days ago. I brought myself to this spot. -

"Did you do something before you left, in the temple...? Something you learned at the Citadel, perhaps?" did the surgeon ask but she received and deserved no response. The cool tone in her voice flashed an image before me. The sounds of cracking bone and moist, bloody digging. It made me take a step back.

- I look for a man named Anton. It is not a name I am familiar with. Do you know of them? -

"Why Anton?" did the surgeon question. Again, she received no response.

"I have not seen him in some time." Jerek added.

- If you see him, do let him know I am in the small town down the road. -
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"I will. For now though, we must go. Not much daylight left." With a nod, Jerek and the others began to depart, leaving the nurse standing alone a short ways away.

I stood to watch the surgeon depart until she had vanished from view behind the treeline.

The nurse spoke softly then. "Miss Fenneken spoke of what you must have seen. I ... am sorry, whatever torture you were wrought by. I hope you will know freedom from them, now, or one day. May the next day be brighter, mister Noal -- and I hope to see you again soon."

As she departed, I watched her vanish behind the treeline as I had done with the surgeon. The nurse it seemed, was still an aid in some form or other. Yet, her voice had a soothing warmth to it.
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Alone once again, I turned to resume my focus. It seemed clearer this time around, and upon creation, the energy burst to form, and perfectly smooth.
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The second incantation of the Weave was about to begin!

... of knowledge gained.

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Re: Noal Dagar - Master of Illusionary Arts

Postby Hagra » Tue May 24, 2016 2:36 am

Of parlor tricks ...

The afternoon of the following day I kept open, remaining in Outentown to organize a number of notes as well as catch up on some reading. It was today that a gathering of minds required my wisdom regarding the most recent troubles that had fallen over Sarshel. Of course, I made no promises, and I'd decide for myself after examining the gathering up close.

It was to the establishment of the Sailor's Star in Sarshel they all wished to see Noal Dagar, Master of Illusionary Arts. I would not disappoint.
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"Reveal yerself, both of ye. This be a honest establishment, where showin' yer face be required of ye," spat a familiar, yet rounder face than I recalled upon my entry. He shot a glare toward a fellow wearing the mask of a skull as I walked on by.

I took my time coming down the flight of stairs, taking note of all those already present. Hróin and Fenneken stood out, previous ventures together in our past allowed us to have crossed paths.

"Dagar," Hróin growled dourly as I removed my hood.
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"Hello Noal," came Fenneken's friendly voice, although her eyes held a different thought for the masked man still standing on the stairs.

I offered Fenneken a smile, and she in return offered a faint one of her own before adding, "Well Hróin, please remove the skull faced jester then."

My eyes took in the room, with its lavished drapes, mosaic tiles and large fireplace.
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"It's good to see you walk again, Noal. Who would have thought a year ago we would say something like that." Fenneken's voice pulled my eyes away from the pattern of the mosaic and up along her form until our eyes met.

My fingers flashed quickly before her.

- I am unable to communicate by normal means at this time. I found this in a nearby town. It requested my knowledge and person. -

Digging through my satchel, did I provide one of the many parchments spotted in Outentown and Sarshel. Her gaze told me she may not understand signing. Eventually, we made our way into a more private room for more serious discussions. Or at least, so I had thought when I was given a scroll and some ink to write with.
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Taking a seat at the table, I gathered much of the discussions would begin, but it seemed Hróin had other plans. The dwarf was more interested in cheap parlor tricks for any who happened to walk into the back room.

"Pardon me..." came a softer voice from a woman with long, bouncing curls. "I saw the notice."

"Mmhm. And who ye might be, human?" Hróin asked.

"I am Wilhemina. I saw the fire and lightning in the sky. I waited till it was gone before I came here."

Hróin grunted. "Be ye an adept of the Ways Magickal, human?"

"I...know the ways of what you speak, yes." Wilhemina leaned on her staff then.

"Prove it, then, if ye would. I would see a non-offensive incantation cast from ye hither!"

I used the time to remove a clay bowl and a dry flower, picking each petal one at a time while the first parlor trick was performed.
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"What matters if she can perform a magic trick? We're not here for cantrips," added the woman to my left. I nodded softly toward the clay bowl. Finally, some direction!

But Wilhemina did as she was asked, closing her eyes for a short time until there was a slight change in the air. A small gust flicked up around her, until the flames of nearby candles flickered madly. Too many petals to concentrate on myself, but when I took a quick glance, she had a soft glow about her frame.

With all of that out of the way, I put aside the half-picked flower and got the parchment and inkwell at the ready.

Then the next trick walked on in.
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"Show a magic trick and you may sit. Otherwise you may leave. Please don't interrupt more than necessary," added the woman to my left as a very large man stepped into the room. Why wasn't she running the discussion I pondered.

"You want magic trick?" the large man asked.

- Burp your name and take a seat. - My own fingers flashed before me. It was very unlikely the man would do so.
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A gnome then bumped his way through the door and past the large man still standing in the door. "I convey socially acceptable form of greeting. I am making assertion that I am looking forward in future for our mutual informational exchange!"

I pinched the bridge of my nose, slid the parchment and inkwell aside, and resumed working on the dry flower petals.

The large man responded with his own trick, drawing a very large weapon. Its blade began to burn a deep red. "Is this enough for you?" he asked.

"That is impossible to perform without sufficient arkon radiating translocational pattern!" the gnome burst out with some excitement.

"I study arcana, and that is enough for me to stay," said the large man. He took a seat on a nearby bench. The excited gnome quickly followed.

"This matter will be resolved by vote. Such be the way of this table," Hróin added toward the large man.
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Another entered then and she caught my gaze immediately. Lori by name from what I recalled. She took a seat across from me as the vote to keep the large man at the discussion took place.

"Good evening," Lori said as she took an empty seat. Her stare upon my features lingered. "Noal..."

I found myself sitting a little more straight after that. Her perfume was so exotic!

The vote went as expected, and none raised a hand to allow for the large man, or his red glowing weapon, to stay for the discussions at hand. Although he was not pleased, he left on his own.
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Just as the large man exited, did a frail fellow limp into the meeting room using a walking stick for support. I gave the inkwell and parchment another longing gaze, and continued with what I was already doing. "Be place study daemon?" did he ask.

Another round of requested tricks for the new arrival, and after some back and forth, he promptly took a seat next to the fellow gnome on the bench.

Hróin's voice rose through the room. "This be a place for those of Arcane aptitude, regardless of their origins or differences, be they professional or otherwise, to come together and debate upon matters that be deemed of common interest."

I watched the room. Everyone was settled, so I pulled back the inkwell and parchment. The discussion had begun.
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As if on queue, a broad shouldered man entered the room, and once again it was back to the dry flower petals.

Despite the man departing quickly, I remained working. The next one to saunter through the door may be expected to juggle or swallow a sword. As those around the table spoke, it was decided to vote on Celith being allowed to remain, just like all those previous being asked to leave.

"Those that would have the Elf known as Celith act as a silent observer, under an oath of silence, raise their hands now." Hróin held back no punches.

I was quick to use the quill on the provided parchment to give my vote, letting Isalin read it for Hróin. He called her an apprentice too.

If his silence is as bad as his tracking skills, it would be best suited he depart this room.

"The matter be decided!" Hróin then spoke to Celith.

The Elf paused by the door to address the table, giving me a quick nod. "You would do well to beware this one as well and the dark master he sought to learn from." He then left.
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Finally the room only had those who understood the ability of the Weave, but already two hours had passed from the constant required parlor tricks and voting, that the time I put aside had all been spent. I gathered the plucked flower petals into the clay bowl and cleaned up the table before me.

"To the matter at hand. The demonic attack."

"Where did it come from?" Isalin asked.

"It was summoned in the temple, somehow." Lori replied.

I scribbled quickly upon the parchment provided, once again having Isalin read it aloud.

A pleasure it was to find parchments about requesting my personal knowledge, but I am afraid such discussions are well beyond my abilities.
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Returning the inkwell and parchment to Hróin, I departed the meeting room and closed the door quietly, leaving the remainder to discuss the tragedy that had fallen upon Sarshel just days before.

... and daemons.

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Hagra
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Re: Noal Dagar - Master of Illusionary Arts

Postby Hagra » Sun Oct 09, 2016 3:40 am

Earthly wet leaves.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XGNeBswY084

Many evenings had turned to sleepless nights, and my wandering took me in and around Outentown. Memories and flashes. Flickering candlelight and black eyelids. Rotting leaves and earthworms. Each night welcomed another sight, each night I fought longer to remain awake.

During one of those sleepless nights, did I catch a scent. Earthly wet leaves. It crept over my shoulder as I climbed a ridge ahead.
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My eyes locked and seemed to follow that scent, and I knew. I knew who it was, and I knew why. I stopped just as suddenly as the scent grew stronger. There that scent stood, between two men, one of them the elf Celith. Despite the feeling, I had to be sure.

Continuing on my way, I split them down the middle, holding my gaze upon the source of the scent. The scent grew stronger. Wispy tendrils curling upward on the breeze. It massaged my shoulders now.

She seemed unsettled by it all, but there was no need, for she had to be there. Her scent did not lie.
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Earthly wet leaves. It tickled my nose well down the road, and well out of sight. It was all I could smell after our first encounter. There would be more. I felt compelled to find it again.

As I walked the road, the scent began to fade, and in circles did I walk as dawn crept forward with each step.
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With but an hour left before the sun swept forth, did the scent begin to grow stronger. Like a soft tap on the shoulder, I was reminded of who drew near. A glance back along the road, but a handful of steps away from Sarshel, did the glow of a lantern approach. Earthly wet leaves.
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I stood in eager anticipation and as the swaying lantern reached the fork in the road, did it stop just as she. Frozen. The scent surrounded me when she picked up her pace, skirting around where it was I stood.

I followed.
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Our journey was short lived, for upon entering Sarshel did she go one way, and I the other. Her voice trembled in greeting to another, much larger man. "Heih.... Mehrnehy."

"Geed ehwehnihng, Anehihra. Yeu wehreh ... eud dhehreh en yeur ewn?" came a quick reply.

I opted to wait around the alleyway, close to an inn that had gained popularity with many, and was rewarded with a short wait.

She became startled as I stepped away from the nearby corner, but her footing kept her from slipping or falling in surprise. She stood frozen in place for but a drawn breath, then headed toward the front door of the inn.
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Again did she seem unsettled by it all, but there was no need, for she had to be there. Her scent did not lie.

A scent of a woman.


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