[Dar Havark] Dead Air (Invitational, Enchantment Creation)

[Shei'yein Neydremi]

1158 Hours
Dar Havark
Junctior 8th in Era I of the Celestine Mandate
Era XIII Post Fractum

The elf held many sanctuaries in the empire. There was the elaborate manor of Ziel Aerca within the walls of Diana, hiding the cancer that would eat away at the heart of the church. There was the garden he maintained within Natura, a safe haven for any harm that would come to him in the outside world. And of course, there was the new hope that waited for him aboard the deck of his catamaran, Faith. Yet, amongst the sanctuaries he sought, the greatest and best protected was not his, but rather, his brother’s. Dar Havark – a veritable fortress, armed and armoured, staffed with hundreds upon hundreds of men. Sometimes, even an elf had to descend into the heart of darkness, and the frigid caves of the underground.

Safety was of the essence. The elf’s sword, great as it had been in slaying man and beast alike, was mundane. And in this sense, it was weak, lacking the enchantments that so many of his opponents had endowed upon their weapons. The storm was coming. Were his arcane abilities ever to be interrupted, unlikely as that might be, he would have to put his faith in the heart of his sword, the heart of the blade. And for the blade to command such an unwavering faith, it would have to be augmented.

He sat within a cavern, flanked by bodyguards – his brother’s men, trained in the blade, though not in the arts. His honour guard had fallen eras before, in the Zerdargian Wars, and he had never bothered to find new men to fill their boots. With a soft flourish of steel, the elf removed his sword from its sheath, and placed it before him. It was an elaborate contraption, a bastard sword shining with intensity, a hilt carved into the form of a rose. Sinslay Stasis. The bringer of neutrality.

The candles burnt brightly around him, unaware of their own dim mortality. The elf blinked once. Twice. As he opened his eyes for the third time, he saw once more the world beyond – that which was obscured by the veil. He delved into a state of clarity. The information flooded his senses. He became aware of the energy within the room, within his guard, and within the flames of the candles themselves. His own star shone brightly among these, a sun amongst stars. His personal vis was a waterfull, nourishing and crushing. He began to work with the arcana, forming the weaves, going through the forms, the stances; from ara and vis, and later, psychic essence, the elf brought forth arcalyzed mana, to be used for spells. But what would he lay upon the blade? It could be offensive, or defensive – perhaps both? He could employ four shapings, but each of those four shapings could be used a thousand times. The opportunities were limitless.

[Shei'yein Neydremi]

He drew the mana into threads, weaving them around the blade, permeating it in an aura that would radiate outwards. With abjuration and alteration, he formed the aura, allowing it to modulate power, draw power, and deliver it in both directions. It was an aura that would serve as a conduit, interfacing with the minds of all those around him – and for that, the elf began to employ divination, allowing the spell to think, to understand, and to process and relay the experiences that would be in the minds of others. Not only would it do this, but it would speak of its own – to speak the will of the elf, Shei’yein. Finally, he endowed the spell with the shaping of evocation, the deliverer of power and destruction. It would create the static of stasis in the minds of others.

The spell was an idea which had been used dozens of times, in many situations. All knowledge and skills were basically thoughts – memories. A slash, practiced a thousand times, enters the cerebral frame where it is accessed whenever the swordsman needs to attack. Instructions are given to the body, and it reacts appropriately. Mysticism, of course, was the sphere of mind manipulation, and it was but a simple matter to copy the memories of others. To do so permanently would perhaps require a fifth shaping, but there was no need to have a permanent effect. In battle, the brief ability to do so – while the battle continued – would be enough of an equalizing factor.

And as for the evocative powers of the spell? For a pulsing, constantly steady stream of unpredictable static in the minds of those who surrounded him to be emitted. The dulling pain and disruption would prevent mages from attaining the state of clarity, and even mundanes would feel the disruptive state hindering their ability to focus.

[Shei'yein Neydremi]

The elf watched attentively as the sword fused with the spell - for but a brief moment, for it would only be hours before the span of his powers released themselves, and the object was no longer the carrier of arcane power. For this to be extended - for it to be a true enchantment, and not some meager imbuement as an adept might cast, the item itself needed to be taken apart. It would be disassembled not mechanically, but arcanically, broken down into each of its component parts.

For several candlemarks for each brightening of the following cycles, the elf began to focus his attention on not just the blade, but on the silver’d hilt that bore its frame. The sword would be easily nicked and damaged in combat, but the hilt – the jewels and ornate silverwork that had gone into its construction – would be largely safe. In particular, he began to focus on the silver rose that had been welded to the sword, and thus began to analyze it, marking down in his memory the exact composition of the item. From an item’s vis, as well as how ara interacted with it, one could tell a great deal. As time went on, the elf became fully aware of the material that he was working with. Thus, did he proceed to the next step.

[Shei'yein Neydremi]

The denaturing of the item would finally begin. The expanses of mana swirled around him, gathered by his will, created by his force. They called out to the rose, and in turn, the rose called out to them. The elf was a master of his craft, and a first among equals – perhaps it could be said that in the empire, he was the greatest of masters, experienced beyond measure. He had practiced his skills countless times. Though he spun the weave slowly, deconstructing the rose into its base parts, he did so with splendour and grace, without a single mistake. His art was timeless, his concentration, impeccable.

Within a matter of minutes, the item had begun to fade, losing composition; within a full candlemark, the work was done, and the item had been entirely seperated into its component parts.

This time, the elf began to reform the item, mixing the spell in within the item as if baking a rather sophisticated cake. A cake of tasty, frosting-filled death.

[Shei'yein Neydremi]

- As he reformed the item, he mixed in with it the essence of psionics – the glowing energy of a gate, linked directly to the psionic realm. This would power the spell eternally, to continue on until it were destroyed or the world ceased to be. A feast for the beast, so to speak. With each layer of the item that he laid on, the elf lashed another series of chains to the gate, binding it to the item irrevocably. The spell, too, had been interalized into the object. As he had done dozens of times before, the elf ripped into the psychic realm with metaphysical tendrils, drawing forth an essence gate of great power. He worked with his full strength, having meditated and refrained from casting for a full cycle. With cold fury, he lashed the gate to the spell with precision, deconstructing the item fully in his mind, working over every bit of its essence. He studied the magics before him, the simple, yet elegant construction of steel; the eloquent wrappings of the rose-hilt.

And the command thought-phrase, which would awaken the raging demon within the sword? Fiat iustitia et pereat mundus – let justice be done, even should the world perish.

“Come now, come at me,” the elf said, gesturing to his guards. He would see what breadth of experience lay within their minds.

Desired Characteristics
-Master-Strength aura with 50 feet radius around wielder upon wielder issuing mental command phrase
- Wielder-optional duplication of skills and abilities contained within memories of surrounding sentient beings; fades when target leaves radius
- Inducement of disrupting static in surrounding vicinity lowers focus and prevents enemies from reaching focus or clarity

Moderators and Players Involved
- Master-level Enchantment, Shei'yein Neydremi
- - Pending Approval

OOC: Accidentally posted my CIR here.

[Aesha]

Obediently the guards made their way towards Shei, and once the men had got within fifty feet of the elf, Shei'yein's mind was flooded with all sorts of knowledge. From the first elf he gleaned how to use a handaxe, the weapon in question was currently slung at the guard's side, but not only that, he learned how to care for the axe, how to keep boots nice and shiny, the perfect way to boil and egg so the centre was still runny, and numerous other things that Shei probably had no desire or use in knowing.

Coupled with the knowledge of the second guard it was enough to give the elf a blinding headache if he was not careful. The guard knew how to handle his sword professionally, also knew how the rudiamentary way of throwing daggers. Inexplicably he apparently also knew how to darn a pair of socks. Shei also found that he sudden knew how to strangely, read in orcish, how to play some obscure game he had never heard of before, and how (according to the guard, that was), to mix an interesting cocktail out of whisky, plum juice and mint leaves, amongst other things.

Evidently filtering out all the unwanted knowledge would take a bit of practice. The first faint throbbings of a headache had started nigglingly in the back of the elf's head.

[Shei'yein Neydremi]

The elf motioned for the guards to stop. They, having been prepared and informed about the experiment, would have attacked expecting the elf to bear full martial prowess on their grand level. Of course, that would have the likely end result of a decapitated elf winding up in the apothecaries of Dar Havark, a place in Avanthar’s realms not particularly known for its bedside manner.

Focusing his thoughts, the elf practiced new ways of organizing his ideas. He had run into the same problems extracting information on the Fire Isles; one man’s mind, no matter how great, could only hold so much. But if that understanding were condensed to a factor where it no longer became intrusive, but rather, indexed, it could be better utilized. It was essential that he be able to instinctively do this, rather than obtrusively – his blade was his last line of defense. Only if his mind were to be compromised to a point where he could no longer cast reliably would he turn to the sword. Yet, if he needed to focus to wield it, what use would that be?

Thus, the elf began to release his thoughts, thinking in new patterns and with new methods of organization that only one who had studied the mind and all its facets could. Rather than digesting the entirety of the information presented to him at one time, the elf took in all the thoughts and skills before him, reading only their most important theme – the skill itself. He would get a grasp of what skills were offered, indexing each one under the skill. Only then, when presented with a list of skills available to him, would he pick the pertinent ones, integrating them into his own memory in a matter of seconds.

Once more, the thoughts of the guards meshed with his. This time, he skimmed them, darting with his tendrils of thought nearly instinctively, integrating the swordsmanship of one; the footwork of another; and finally, the brutal technique of the last one. Finally, he beckoned with his hand, waving the guards forward. However rudimentary it would be, it was undoubtedly time for a test.

[Aesha]

Ever obedient, the two guards stopped at Shei'yein's signal. The stood at attention whilst the mysticist puzzled his way through all the information that was searing through his brain.

Once Shei initiated the experiment once more, the guards came forward again. Initially the contact was much like the previous attempt - all sorts of skills, both major right down to the inherently pointless. Sifting through them mentally seemed to work - somewhat. Using the enchantment of his sword in that way for the first time was naturally a tentative experience, and more practice would be required to perfect the technique and be able to instaneously pick out the skills that he required. The mage was standing there for perhaps twenty seconds sifting through all the data that was being poured into his mind, but after that time the focus was primarily on only the things he desired. However, it took great concentration to prevent the rest of the information from flowing through the elf's mind.

Noting the signal, the first guard, armed with longsword that was a cruder replication of the one in shei's own hands stepped forward and swung his sword merely to maim, aiming at the wrist that held shei's own longsword.

It was doubtful that he would have time to not the third presence in the room, but a magi inhabitant of Dar Havark had wandered into the room, probably interested in the arcanical experiment that had been underway.

[Shei'yein Neydremi]

The elf allowed the information flow from the sword to enter his mind, slipping through the motions that his opponent had done in the past. He internalized them, categorized them, and made them become him – adopting them to his own body. His mind worked furiously, and the elf calmed it, urging it to work naturally, on a subconscious level. For that was the necessary goal, and skill to be required – to be able to work on a subconscious level, so that he would be able to wield these skills even when under undue stress or mental hardship. Time itself stood as a barrier for his survival. For casters on the master level, achieving clara could take as little as three seconds. Yet, a swordsman could draw, slash, and sheath his sword in the blink of an eye. If he intended to compete against such men, he would have to be able to do the same – to be at the top of his game at every waking second.

With the first guard stepping forth to slash at him, the elf narrowed his concentration, further internalizing the information he knew, building upon his own skills with the skills he had absorbed from his enemy. Dozens of replies to the attack ran through his head, and he subconsciously analyzed each one, rejecting them for suitability and the battle position that it would lead to in the next few steps. Time seemed to crawl by, until one remained. Perhaps only milliseconds had passed on the battlefield. He didn’t know. But one defense stood clear in his mind.

As the sword slashed towards his wrist, the elf gripped his bastard sword Sinslay Stasis with both hands, turning the blade towards the ground and stepping forward, aiming to push the guard’s blade high into the air and leaving him defenseless!

[Aesha]

Perhaps is could be said that the guards were reluctant to use the best of their abilities on Shei'yein. Perhaps they would even let him... win? In any case, as guard number one went for Shei's wrist, the elf managed to succeed in getting the sword to do his bidding, albeit in a clumsy manner. Shei would certainly win no points for showmanship unless he practiced much more, but no matter, for Sinslay Statis did what its master had wanted it, and the sword of the guard was nudged into the air, though perhaps not as high as Shei would have liked, for the man was a trained professional, after all. It did leave his body open for a split second however, and whether Shei would be able to continue up on his first move depended on how fast his reactions were.

Meanwhile, the mage who had entered the room looked on in interest at the experiment that was in progress.