Artuo Aspirant
From Atlantic Roleplay Wiki
Title: Artuo Aspirant
Author: William Smit IV
Prologue:_The mage incited the ancient words "In Vas Mani", and the warrior was brought off his knees and to his feet, a great healing un-winding its power throughout his veins.
Silenlty, the mage muttered to himself a need of embarking as soon as possible. He trotted stiffly to the precipice of the gray-rock tower, looking over the mist-covered plains.
He could see several riders breaking through the gray mist, causing it to dissipate into wisps of smoke and then into nothing. Circlets of deep sea covered their pale foreheads and raiments of blue they wore. They were militiamen of the Moonglow Town Council.
The warrior was now gripping his wrists, which had previously been split bleeding open. 'Please, just you let me die, insufferable bastard,' he seethed under his breath, half-wishing his hostility to be un-heard. 'I still need your strength, fool,' muttered the mage. 'If we are to break the barriers on this tower's portal then your sword might come of some avail. Quickly, follow me!'
To the north-western corner of the tower roof they ventured, the mage giving one, last sidelong glance at the approaching riders down below. He stalked off. His dark green robe seemed to be hiding some sort of secret, and his body subtly writhed within the confines of the green shrouds.
He followed the warrior downstairs, sickened by his gleaming, iron armor. He leaned on a staff now and then for some measure of support. It was then one noticed despite his mannerisms and harsh movements he was an old, haggard soul.
His face was jagged with lines and wrinkles and such. His jaw bent straight and dangerously, and he spout forth his next words with some derision. 'Take the door... Now!' The warrior looked up the flight of stairs at him, as if waiting for him to come down.
And he did come down. He stiff-armed the chest of his armor forcefully, causing him to stumble slightly on his heels.
Spewing his word like acid, he eschewed, 'Go!' The warrior pressed downward past the final flight of steps, which kept him from the ground floor.
Sighing with effort, the mage slowly slumped himself upward and back unto the roof. A large pillar of flames in the center of the roof cascaded upward and disappeared. A new group of pillars repeated the movement and so forth and so on. The sight was easily recognizable. It was the Atlantic Mage Tower.
Footsteps came up and a figure appeared, hands on hips. The mage whirled and yelled 'Where the hell have you been you knave?!' The warrior was marked with the look of battle and torn with marks upon his armor. His body was singed with magic explosions.
He was not a broken spirit, though. He appeared to be holding some secret that gave him what he needed to fight. He was not ordinary. He walked over to the mage and rasped weakly, 'All of them...dead.' The mage nodded, uplifted his hands, and chanted some words not known to the ordinary spellbook. No, neither of these two souls were simple in the least.
And the mage's words seemed to ignite an invisible power which caused the pillars to die out and stop completely. The tower groaned, as if in great defeat. The spent mage grinned crookedly, and he seemed satisfied.