Ustalavic Academy of Metaphysical Brilliance: Headmaster's Perogative

[Biabri]

It's been a long day. The faculty room is full of teachers for now, and isn't the relaxing place that it is when everyone is out teaching. You rest in your office for now, enjoying your comfy chair and looking around at what you've collected over the years, reminiscing in a way. Staves, scrolls, gems and the odd potion are all about the room. Your staff is at hand and your weary old bones itch for a walk soon, but not yet. You are the headmaster of this place, a sanctuary established by you in order to teach real magic and deter students from falling into the darker taint of sin magic. You find yourself slightly at odds with your teachers at time, masters of their respective magic. They tend to work in vastly different ways to you, but you keep them in line well enough. You're less involved in this place these days than you've ever been. Drawing away into the privacy of your own rooms hasn't helped a lot. Once, your name held extreme prestige. You were a hero at a time, your name was sung on the streets with those of your fallen allies. Now, others have taken your place. Scholars still know your name, and some bards still sing those old songs, but that is rarer and rarer as time goes on. Fewer students come here these days, but you have always had enough anyway, more than enough in the early days.

Maybe that isn't so bad, the fact that things are slowing down and moving away. You got sick of being called upon to deal with issues at a point, a while back. You have had more important matters to deal with, you redecorated this place off of your own back. You dealt with the apprentice Sin Wizard here with ease and laid claim to this whole area within Ustalav, perverting it to your need. History would not repeat itself under your watchful gaze. Though despite the immortality of your eyes, your gaze has been markedly less focused as the years pass, and you become more and more anti-social, sinking into your own mind, haunted by guilt, shame and regret. With the power you have now, you tell your staff frequently, you could have stopped a lot more, saved so many more people in the chaos...

Something snaps you out of your relaxation, a loud knock at the big wooden door that separates you from the rest of the world. Someone wants your attention, it would seem.

"Master Archus Haldavyre, you may be needed in the Faculty Room.

There has been an issue."

[Hattish Thing]

Haldavyre:

The dim flickering of orangeish light coming from the massive, crackling fireplaces which dominates the Headmaster's office reflects beautifully upon the glittering, pure white robes of Archus Haldavyre, light reflecting in all directions off of extravagant runecarved virtue-stones worn over sparkling foreign silk. The imperious and serious-looking human wizard stands unusually tall and strong for his age, his form unbent and unbroken despite the ravaging of time, his body language elegant and smooth, matching perfectly with his slightly slumped, relaxed posture. The archmage stares forward into the dying flames with piercing, deep, angular eyes of a steely gray shade, a hardened look of concentration and self-assured superiority worn upon the deep, dark lines of his harshly-angled face. Shadows flash and jump across the room as the fire slowly dies, his high-angled cheekbones causing a shadowy cleft to appear on either side of his face, a perfect contrast against the archmage's pale, weathered face. The Headmaster's harsh, steely-gray eyes appear sunken in upon closer inspection, a trait kept well-hidden by feeble glamours haphazardly applied, meager attempts to appear as respectable as possible in front of his faculty. In addition to his sunken, penetrating eyes of dull gray, the archmage's curling, scarred lips seem permanently set to frown in a grim sort of fashion.

The Headmaster can be seen clad in an exquisite, intricately-styled, form-fitting white robe, lavishly fashioned of the finest silk, decorated simply with precious ioun gemstones, shimmering runic patterns, and glittering diamond dust, lined with accents of a golden shade and glittering rows of perfectly polished, shimmering gemstones. Long white hair pools over the Headmaster's pure white mantle which hangs upon his broad, angular shoulders, acting as a connective fabric, indirectly linking the glittering white mantle with the archmage's glamorous gossamer cloak. The wizard's long, billowing white cloak flows down to his pointed, diamond-studded, white slippers, its wintry interior decorated with runic motifs and glittering diamonds, while its shimmering, white exterior is lined with a pattern of ground ioun stones. Over the chest of his intricately-styled white robe, a sharply-angled tabard crafted of glittering golden threads is worn, rows upon rows of solid golden beads hanging off the tabard, attaching it to the rest of his wintry fabrics. Cascading down from the wizard's luxurious, diamond-studded mantle, a sash of of glittering white cloth can be seen, decorated with all manner of occult symbols, spun of shimmering golden thread. A pair of pristine white gloves studded with glittering rubies and rune-carved diamonds envelopes the wizard's spidery digits. Finally, a fist-sized diamond talisman decorated with flecks of gold and silver hangs from the Headmaster's neck, glowing with a soft light, standing out in contrast against the spellcaster's sharp, angular collar of white and crimson cloth.

An elaborate, sparkling white wand composed of glittering diamond and encased in golden, rune-carved plating can be seen worn over his belt and numerous rings of polished diamond, glittering rubies, and expensive-looking sapphires adorn his uncomfortably long, thin fingers, each ring worn over his ornate white gloves.

After a moment, he gestures towards the door, causing it to open with ease. Haldavyre continues to stare towards the fire, clearing his throat for but a moment before speaking, muttering to his staff.

"Trouble, is it?"

"Whatever is the matter?"

[Biabri]

The being before you is a small, humanoid fox creature. He swishes his tail slowly, eyes fixed on you. As the door opens, he takes a step or two back, before tugging at his loose belt. You recognise this thing, it's a frequent companion to the Master of Conjurations, the teacher here that specialises in summoning, calling and teleportation. The small form and lazy demeanour is mostly an act. The constant, slowly pulsing, invisible aura about him is some measure of his hidden power. You easily brush it aside. It regards you for a moment before grinning.

"Sorry, sir! Can't turn that off! As I said though, you're needed in the faculty room, the Mistress of Divination has seen something bad and no one is fully sure how to explain it to you. It'd be better if you heard it from her mouth, sir. It's quite bad."

He bows with a flourish, before turning on his heel, boots clacking on the floor.

Another voice whispers in your head in the language of the earliest runes: "Something seems off."

[Hattish Thing]

Haldavyre:

The archmage frowns intensely as his concentration is further broken by the extraplanar annoyance, turning his head over slightly to glance towards the thing, causing dark shadows to flicker and dance across the deep lines of his weathered face. Haldavyer clasps his hands together before turning away, gazing into the fire once more, his tone dark and rather harsh, his low voice echoing throughout the massive study. "Bah, dammit all. What, dare I ask, is the point of one's feet if one consistently refuses to use them? Though, I suppose I should expect nothing less from one whose power comes more from the talent of other entities than the talent of one's self."

"Foolish man."

The old man shakes his head slightly before sighing as the last ember of the fire finally dies, plunging the room into darkness for but a split second, before the magical animated lamps decorated about the study activate, performing their duty. He glances back towards the summoned creature before steepling his fingers together, clearing his voice once again. "Mm. I appreciate your message, outsider. If you would like, feel free to take a chocolate."

"They're in a small bowl upon the table to your right."

--

Haldavyre waves away the outsider afterwards, before leaving the comfort of his study, ensuring that his complicated system of magical guards and wards go up before he bothers leaving. Would not do, with the new batch of students coming in, to leave important doors unlocked.

"Ah, let us step into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure."

Slowly, the archmage strides through the halls of the university, unbothered by his slow pace, until finally, he arrives at his destination.

[Biabri]

The little fox thing beams and palms a few candies before suddenly vanishing from sight. Footsteps in the carpet indicate it's exit, and you can guess that this thing is invisible, but not trying to hide from you particularly. By the time it's gone you've remembered what it was. A creature from Nirvana, a fine example of a Vulpanin Agathion. Quite a few students settle into summoning this type of outsider as the starting steps onto bigger things, but this one is made distinct by the sash it wears, a gift from the Master of Conjurations to set him apart from the others. He looks like he's grown older along with the ageing man that he has made some kind of pact with. These creatures don't age, but typically take on a form that matches how old they physically feel. Normally, Vulpanin settle at one age, this one must feel close to your subordinate in order to change so drastically for him.

"It is a quirk of temptation that a fall traditionally follows."

You quickly arrive, passing by a boisterous orc student on your way there. The return to the faculty room isn't particularly excting.

You take in the scene before you. Only non-magical candles are lit, and there is a distinct lack of the usual lighting in here. A big teapot of Mystic Tea rests on the central table and a pale looking student sits in a chair. She looks troubled, her hands are white, as if she had been holding tight onto something and the circulation is yet to start up. Her gaunt features and drained life energy suggests some some sort of necromancy to your experienced magical eye.

"Ah! Headmaster. Sorry for bringing you here but we're worried about moving her. The girl you see before you was- No, is, our very own Mistress of Divination." The Master of Conjurations speaks up. He is a simple man in his later years, for a human. He is almost druidic in fashion, matching with his love of agathion outsiders in particular. Furs adorn his garments, and from what you know of him, he practices a lot more like a druid than a real wizard. Caution and reverence rather than the arrogant wit shown by many with arcane power. Even the balded look suits him more than most, strangely enough.

The Mistress of Divination looks younger than you last remember seeing her. You reckon that it's roughly a decade of difference. Her hair is longer and darker than you typically remember, and her hands are less worn down by the pawing through books that has become her job over the recent years. Divination magic has never had a particularly large following here, the magic itself is considered less flashy by many, and isn't really favoured. It's nice to have a master of divination around though, in case disaster arises.

She looks up at you, blinking a few times as her gaze meets yours. When she speaks, her voice is raspy and slightly hoarse, as if she had been shouting or screaming for a while.
"I've seen something bad..." She half whispers this, before letting her gaze fall to the ground.

The atmosphere is tense, other teachers stand around the room, huddled close in the candlelight. The Mistress of Conjurations, looking truly disconcerted, pours another mug of Mystic Tea out and pushes it before the girl.

[Hattish Thing]

Haldavyre:

Once the archmage enters the Faculty Room, he frowns slightly, looking about and scowling at the lack of proper lighting. Effortlessly, the headmaster mutters something quiet under his breath, causing a comforting white light to fill the room, illuminating the darkest corners and casting away any sign of shadow.

After this is done and over with, Haldavyre wordlessly comes close to the Mistress of Divination, utilizing a small but potent bout of magical telekinesis in order to pull up a chair close to her. Setting his staff down, allowing it to float slightly off the ground, the headmaster reaches forward, clasping her hands in the palm of his own. His harsh gaze softens as he stares towards her, somewhat put off-guard by the rather serious situation. The aged man raises a large white eyebrow before gesturing towards the door, causing it to slam and lock abruptly.

"Indeed you have. The rest of you, out."

--

As the others leave, Haldavyre closes the doors behind them again, before returning to the Mistress of Divination. The headmaster holds her hands tightly, squeezing for a moment before retrieving a long, white rod from his belt, tipped with a glittering diamond ioun stone. The archmage holds the wand in front of him before speaking quietly to the Mistress of Divination, his tone cautious but compassionate. "This is for the best. You may feel a headache for some time afterwards, but do not struggle, it will only make it worse."

Immediately after making the rather ominous statement, Haldavyre gestures with the wand, muttering to himself before a potent spell immediately knocks the Mistress of Divinations into unconsciousness. Following this, Haldavyre closes his eyes, drawing a particular memory lasting over a particular period of time from within the depths of her mind. As he wordlessly extracts the liquid memory, he stores it away within a small vial held at his belt. The archmage quickly modifies the memory blank, replacing the gap with a pleasant recording, depicting Haldavyre explaining the reasons for his editing.

Following the potent use of magic, Haldavyre snaps his fingers, returning the Mistress of Divinations to consciousness before waving her off.

"Have one of the servants retrieve a satchel of diamond dust from the vault, then return to me. Now go, and knock before you return."

--

As soon as the Mistress of Divinations leaves, Haldavyre immediately retrieves the bottle of liquid memory, before transferring the energy into a modified Major Image, mirroring the chunk of memory so as to ensure his own safety. Several powerful abjurations are cast before the archmage activates the major image.

"Hmph."

[Biabri]

The woman nods meekly, unable to really resist at the moment. She relaxes, and allows your intrusion. When you're finished with her, she nods meekly, offers her thanks, and leaves with a slightly furrowed brow. She's slightly confused, but mostly understands the situation.

When you cast the spell, the memory unravels in the room, spreading out about you. The stuff is inky, more so than usual.

~~~~~

Thick blood slowly oozes down the walls. The room is dark and hot, incredibly hot, but not the heat of fires, instead of boiling blood. It bubbles all around. Intense heat feels like it should be blistering your skin. This is the faculty room, but different. Flesh is discarded in heaps. Whether these are animals, students or the members of the faculty is impossible to discern. A sudden chill descends on the room. The relief from the heat doesn't last long. Something makes you look up at the ceiling. A claw swipes down across your eyes, and the illusion changes, a film of red and other vivid colours obstructing the view. You hear the wrenching female scream and then it ends abruptly.

~~~~~

Your eyes feel strange, remnants of the illusion leaving. The feeling vanishes as the illusion ends, then your mind gets to work, sorting the details.

Through the blood, you'd seen stuff. Words. Names. Yours, the Mistress of Divination's full name, and the Mistress of Necromancy's full name. The words are written over and over, in different tongues. You remember Infernal, Celestial, Abyssal and Aklo.

The language that worries you the most though, is the script of one set of names. Thassilonian...

There's a knock at the door, breaking you out of the reverie.

[Hattish Thing]

Haldavyre:

The archmage snaps a long, gloved finger, causing the small wooden corncob pipe at his belt to animate and float gently to his lips as he lowers the illumination within the room. The wizard smokes quietly as the mirrored illusion begins to activate, projecting the scene across the room. The unusual coloration of the inky liquid memory causes Haldavyre to pause for a moment, but after a small sigh, the wizard proceeds regardless, a sour expression upon his face. As the illusion begins to play, Haldavyre leans forward, steepling his fingers together while he smokes.

The illusion is foul and gory, causing the archmage to recoil slightly as the scene unfolds, his harsh gray eyes flashing about here and there, taking in as many small details as can be received for the duration of the scene. Finally, once the illusion deactivates, Haldavyre rises from his chair, scowling.

--

A knock upon the door follows soon after, causing the archmage to instinctively open the door.

"Bring forth the Mistress of Necromancy, I've reason to believe that she is in some form of danger."

--

OOC Actions: Cast Detect Scrying and Detect Psychic Significance upon room.

[Biabri]

The Mistress of Divination nods, dropping the diamond dust off before turning to leave. As she does, you catch the thread of something big. Something had scoped this room out, and was still watching. You tug on the threads, only to find them nearly yanked out of your grip. You hold tight though, drawing on power to keep them where they are, then measure the thread with your power. You let go, and the scrying goes. Whoever cast that is far, far to the south of here. You struggle to comprehend the distance. An image of the scryer flashes into your head. You see a male figure with three eyes, fully naked and covered in tattoos of more eyes and mirrors. Your gaze is drawn to his face, his right eye winks, but the third eye, not on the forehead as one might except, but where his mouth should be instead, is wide open.

The follow-up spell isn't much help. There's too much meaning and sentimentality in the objects around the room to get any particular reading on anything. There was no need to come close, this creature is powerful enough to scry from that distance.

~~~

The Mistress of Necromancy arrives a few seconds later, a coterie of mostly translucent ghosts swirl about her form. Other things, too. Dark crystal wraps up around her arms, and her eyes light up with an intelligence not normally hers to command.

"There is a threat to our lives?"

She has almost certainly gone overboard, just a touch, but considering what you've just seen...

[Hattish Thing]

Haldavyre:

As the archmage manipulates the divinatory strands cast off from far to the South, his grip upon his sentient quarterstaff grows tighter, his knuckles whitening as he focuses. After several seconds, he begins to shake somewhat, closing his eyes before engaging in a fierce battle of will against the source of the potent scrying magic.

Finally, Haldavyre asserts control over the divinatory link, dominating the strand before reversing the connection. The instant the divinatory link is properly dominated, Haldavyre grows calm and confident once more, his expression severe as he gazes forward towards the foul creature, his grip upon the divinatory link growing more and more intense with each passing second, his concentrating growing as he asserts the situation. The archmage glances towards the Mistress of Necromancy, effortlessly maintaining his control over the connection while he does so.

"Perhaps. We shall see."

--

The archmage concentrates for a moment before shutting his eyes, casting a powerful illusion which generates a perfect simulacrum, sixty feet away from the creature.

OOC: Cast Perfect Simulacrum, Appear 60 Feet.

Active Buffs: Mythic Shield of Soralyon, Rune of Reflection, Foresight, Mythic Entropic Shield, Clone, Moment of Prescience, Greater Prying Eyes, Protection From Spells, Shocking Image, Permanencied Spells.

[Biabri]

"You came." The voice comes from in front of you. A man made of metal turns around a corner. He is engraved all over, his body covered in beautiful decorations of eyes. Looking up to it's face reveals a metal sphere jutting out of where it's mouth should be. The metal twists, and the flesh of an eye becomes visible. The room shifts slightly, thrumming with the magical energy that runs through it.

"I almost thought you wouldn't. You have no idea just how much power I've burned up waiting for you! A low, metallic chuckle escapes the man of metal, and his body shakes in humour. Before you can react, a gun whips up, the thing glowing with light, magic and power abundant in the thing.

"They tell me that you're a master of Abjuration. I hope you prepared for some bullets today!"

The Iron Man doesn't move yet though, he waits. Something clicks, and more voice comes out of him.

"This isn't my real voice. It will suffice as the last thing you hear before we bring you down to hell, Mr Haldavyre."

The other two metallic orbs embedded in his face shift and grind against the metal, then flick open.

There's a soft whoosh as the engraved eyes drawn onto him sudden bloom open, squirming, rolling around madly, trying to find a target before locking onto you.

"Pray!"

[Hattish Thing]

Haldavyre:

The archmage grimaces as he approaches the curious metal thing, already instinctively assessing every inch of its unusual form, including the strange weapon, a firearm, the sort utilized by the wanderers of the Mana Wastes, thousands of miles away. The white wizard sighs softly as the metallic creature begins to speak, its unpleasant tone reverberating through its bizarre spherical mouthpiece. While this thing was certainly a curiosity of sorts, the archmage did not feel particularly threatened, especially due to the fact that his presence here was hardly personal.

After a moment or two, Haldavyre gestures calmly towards the automaton, his expression grim. Yet, the barest trace of a grin can be detected, rising at the corner of the man's scarred lips. Haldavyre speaks now, his voice low and gravelly, echoing throughout the chamber, raising a hand dismissively at the thing.

"I've no time for such foolishness."

--

Immediately, the archmage raises his staff high into the air, scowling fiercely before slamming it down upon the ground, causing gravity itself to reverse in a small radius. Dust rises through the air as an enormously powerful magical shockwave rocks the area with enough strength to reverse the passage of time entirely. Haldavyre moves confidently during his several seconds of apparent time, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath as he reaches for a small silk pouch at his belt. In an instant, Haldavyre retrieves a small rune-carved mirror shard from his pouch, which he promptly crushes beneath the powerful, rigid cloth of his enchanted gloves. As the glass shatters, a rune of Purity appears upon him.

He raises the same fist in the air again, chanting as he channels his innate mythic power, causing the shattered glass to float of its own accord. For a split second, the archmage glows with a fierce light before time itself is reversed once more as the wizard dominates the rules of reality themselves. Utilizing the same several seconds of apparent time he'd just previously spent, the archmage then glares towards the curious glowing firearm held within the automaton's hand, rolling his eyes as he dexterously twirls his staff in hand. The elegant motion culminates in the release of a thin ray of pure magic, which races through the air, leaving behind multicolored smoke as the powerful magic rips and tears miniature holes in the fabric of reality itself.

As time rights itself once more, Haldavyre moves regularly, taking his time to effortlessly gesture with his staff towards the construct once more, attempting to directly dominate the thing.

--

OOC: Expending 1 use of Mythic Power to take 20 on Initiative, resulting in a total of 45 Initiative. As a Free Action, Haldavyre activates his cloak of displacement. As a Swift Action, activating Time Stutter, allowing for 1 Round of Apparent Time. During this period of time, Haldavyre uses a Standard Action to cast Rune of Purity. Expending 1 use of Mythic Power to take additional Standard Action, which is used to cast Maximized, Empowered, Persistent Mythic Disintegrate (using his staff) directed towards the gun. Finally, using his regular action, Haldavyre casts Heightened, Persistent Control Construct, (using his staff) spending 1 use of Mythic Power if necessary to ignore the creature's Immunity to Magic, if it possesses such an ability. The DC for this is 45, rolled twice.

Disintegrate Damage = 540 Untyped, 1d4 Con Drain.