She was so sensitive to the ether that she could feel it rolling clear across the library in waves toward her. Carefully spreading two tomes apart on the shelf that hid her from view, she peered between the old books to identify the source of magic. Not the artifact she expected to see, but another late-night visitor clad all in red robes seeking refuge in the subterranean archives.
Her interest piqued, she kept a watchful and curious eye on him as she browsed the disorganized selection of scrolls and tomes. She had been annoyed that she was having trouble finding what she sought in the poorly-maintained library ( was anyone bothering to look at the titles before re-shelving these books? ) and so the distraction was both welcome and exciting.
Does he even realize he exudes his ether, or perhaps I am far too alert?
With a resolved sigh, she tried to regain her concentration. There had to be something in these archives about the Archmage Anon, but she was finding nothing in this half-organized mess. Anon should have been at the other end of the bookshelf, but so far she had only found a myriad of biographies about Nystul and other famous mages and extremely out-of-place documents about the most mundane things like exotic recipes from Paws and the migration rituals of North Britannian barn owls.
And suddenly he was on the other side of the bookshelf and her focus completely shattered. He was an oven that had been stoked up, only instead of that intense heat there was a persistent and subtle energy, part electrical and part acoustic, that seemed to pulse from him. Like that energy, she felt the small hairs of her arm lift and her heartbeat quicken. She closed her eyes with a tight swallow and softly chanted the first mantra that came to mind.
“Un..” She took a deep breath. “Un..” Keep it up.. “Un..” There we go..
At peace, she quickly ended the spell that increased her magical awareness. Even dampened, she could feel it at this close range. There had to be more to it than mere aura, perhaps some charm he was wearing or some trinket.
Peering over the top of a row of books at eye level, she got a closer look the robes he wore. They were purely red and marked with the arcane symbols of her most recent peerage. A controller. She did not remember any of the others broadcasting such energy. Had he discovered some new method of power storage? The implications were tremendous. The amount of machinery that could be powered by such a device had the wheels in her own mind turning at an alarming speed.
Be he madman or be he fool?
To stroll about with that much energy blaring unknowingly was akin to strapping raw meat to oneself and trying to swim across the Britannian Sea. Every tried and dedicated mage seeking power would lock onto such a beacon almost immediately and try to acquire it, some by any measure. Again, that question played in her mind.
Does he even realize what he is doing?
She quelled a moment of panic. So far, she had managed to keep well below the notice of Minax, but who knew how long that would last, she only hoped the dark enchantress might not even be aware that she was still alive. Either way, if Minax was looking for power ( and she frequently was ) there was a risk that she would notice the man in the red robe, and that might not be so fortunate for Mal. She slipped her hand into her pocket, fingers closing around the shard hidden within. That would not be fortunate at all.
She turned the corner of the bookshelf to confront him about his foolishness and was very nearly floored. He didn't even bother looking up from his book, he was so absorbed, but he didn't have to. She'd had years, long decades to commit that visage to memory. Every etch and curve, aye, she knew the outline of his face all too well and here he was after so long. The gypsy vision flashed in her mind. She took a breath and steeled herself for her next words.
Her interest piqued, she kept a watchful and curious eye on him as she browsed the disorganized selection of scrolls and tomes. She had been annoyed that she was having trouble finding what she sought in the poorly-maintained library ( was anyone bothering to look at the titles before re-shelving these books? ) and so the distraction was both welcome and exciting.
Does he even realize he exudes his ether, or perhaps I am far too alert?
With a resolved sigh, she tried to regain her concentration. There had to be something in these archives about the Archmage Anon, but she was finding nothing in this half-organized mess. Anon should have been at the other end of the bookshelf, but so far she had only found a myriad of biographies about Nystul and other famous mages and extremely out-of-place documents about the most mundane things like exotic recipes from Paws and the migration rituals of North Britannian barn owls.
And suddenly he was on the other side of the bookshelf and her focus completely shattered. He was an oven that had been stoked up, only instead of that intense heat there was a persistent and subtle energy, part electrical and part acoustic, that seemed to pulse from him. Like that energy, she felt the small hairs of her arm lift and her heartbeat quicken. She closed her eyes with a tight swallow and softly chanted the first mantra that came to mind.
“Un..” She took a deep breath. “Un..” Keep it up.. “Un..” There we go..
At peace, she quickly ended the spell that increased her magical awareness. Even dampened, she could feel it at this close range. There had to be more to it than mere aura, perhaps some charm he was wearing or some trinket.
Peering over the top of a row of books at eye level, she got a closer look the robes he wore. They were purely red and marked with the arcane symbols of her most recent peerage. A controller. She did not remember any of the others broadcasting such energy. Had he discovered some new method of power storage? The implications were tremendous. The amount of machinery that could be powered by such a device had the wheels in her own mind turning at an alarming speed.
Be he madman or be he fool?
To stroll about with that much energy blaring unknowingly was akin to strapping raw meat to oneself and trying to swim across the Britannian Sea. Every tried and dedicated mage seeking power would lock onto such a beacon almost immediately and try to acquire it, some by any measure. Again, that question played in her mind.
Does he even realize what he is doing?
She quelled a moment of panic. So far, she had managed to keep well below the notice of Minax, but who knew how long that would last, she only hoped the dark enchantress might not even be aware that she was still alive. Either way, if Minax was looking for power ( and she frequently was ) there was a risk that she would notice the man in the red robe, and that might not be so fortunate for Mal. She slipped her hand into her pocket, fingers closing around the shard hidden within. That would not be fortunate at all.
She turned the corner of the bookshelf to confront him about his foolishness and was very nearly floored. He didn't even bother looking up from his book, he was so absorbed, but he didn't have to. She'd had years, long decades to commit that visage to memory. Every etch and curve, aye, she knew the outline of his face all too well and here he was after so long. The gypsy vision flashed in her mind. She took a breath and steeled herself for her next words.
~~~~@~~~~