aionlogs | The Door Opens

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The Door Opens

WHO: Emet and open to any Kenoma
WHAT: After being confined, Emet gets out and explores
WHERE: Various locations around Achamoth
WHEN: Three days after this.
WARNINGS: None right now.

After his exit from the dinner party, Emet-Selch appears in his room amidst a billow of black and purple. He can immediately sense a change in the air, as if there are eyes watching him from some undefined place. The presence is the familiar one from the Dining Hall.

He inhales deeply and sighs. "Oh? Have I earned your attention now? How gracious." He takes a few steps to a luxurious cushioned chair and sits. As if in reply, the bolt on the door to the room clicks shut.

I. Days Later, The Door Opens
It becomes clear that the room is meant to be his prison. With no clear exit, fixtures that are impervious to magic or tampering, no assistance from the outside, and no food or water, the thought does arise on whether it is meant to be a grave as well.

Three days on and the lack of nourishment has made him weary. Thinking turns difficult, as does all else. He resigns to sitting in the same cushioned chair with his head resting on the back, eyes closed as he tries to gather his thoughts for a viable solution. There is a book on his lap that he has since stopped reading for lack of clear focus.

It's then that the bolt to the door clicks noisily, indicating that it is unlocked. He drearily peeks at it from across the room.

Emet-Selch stands - steadies himself with a hand to his forehead - and makes for the door. Finding some food and water would need to be the utmost priority.

II. The Library
It seems that the natives take particular 'notice' of his presence. People part in an effort to avoid him as he moves through the crowd on his way to find the Library. Many give the mark on his wrist a disapproving glance. Nevertheless, Emet-Selch can't help but give a small smile of delight. "A true blessing to move about wholly unbothered." He comments. Perhaps the Regent's ire is owed a commendation for this one thing.

He sighs. "Although that does make finding the Library a much more laborious task." So he explores as much as he can in order to find a room filled with books. Perhaps it would have more about this world. Or the meaning behind the sigil he now bore.

III. Magic Lessons
With that excursion out of the way, now comes the matter of looking for a place to work. There must be some open field or facility meant to train individuals - this city has a military, after all. So he sets out to explore the Citadel.

Once he finds a suitable open area, Emet-Selch begins to work. His magic has been strange to him since arriving and this is a good opportunity to work on it with so few people vying for his attention.

He lifts a palm into the air and tries summoning his creation magic to make the smallest of things. Any observers may see him motioning at nothing in the air with his palm, a few glimmers of magic sparking in the air now and again as he tries to conjure. Frustratingly, nothing seems to take form...

IV. Other?
HMU If you'd like another prompt!

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Emet-Selch lets his hand fall to his side at the sound of someone's voice and the fragments of his conjuring dissipate as a result. Ah. If it isn't the 'student'.

"Imprisoned, undernourished, superintended, and it seems as though I have earned the ire of most else." He doesn't sound particularly upset by these circumstances, in fact, it is said with almost a sigh in his voice. "All of which will not make what I said any less true."

As before, it takes him a moment to parse the hoity-toity style that Emet-Selch always speaks in. But then Gen glances over his shoulder, back towards the grandeur of the Citadel's towering spires, before returning his gaze towards Emet-Selch. His voice is a touch lower when he mutters, "-- yeah, I'm not gonna disagree with you."

Despite how tough he acts, he's scared of punishment from the Regent. Of course he is. Otherwise he'd be more open about his (very modest) respect for Emet-Selch for having the gumption to speak out during that banquet. A pause before he tries to move on from that subject, nodding towards the rapidly-dissipating remains of that conjuring.

"So, what. You're just supposed to act like nothing happened, otherwise? Working towards the same goal?"

The subtle glance and hushed tone are not beyond his notice - the boy is cautious of being caught voicing his opinion. In sharp contrast, Emet-Selch speaks his mind at normal volume.

"Though I may not agree with the Regent's methods, I still share their motives. I intend to continue working towards that goal regardless of what transpired." Which is part of the reason for being so critical of the execution.

"Although I hope that I may instill some emphasis on preparedness along the way."

Predictably, Gen perks up a little bit at that last part. Only slightly, because it's not in his nature to break his stoic facade, and he quickly tries to hide it afterwards. But still, it's there, and Gen fidgets afterward. Looks away, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck for a moment as he hesitates over his words.

Then finally mutters, "-- I'd still want you to teach me. If you can."

God, it's so hard asking for that like a normal person. Still, he's gotten the hint that Emet-Selch isn't the type to budge without at least a cursory show of humility, so he hurries to add, "If it's a give-and-take thing, I get it. I'll do what I can. So."

A second request to teach. Emet-Selch gives him a critical sidelong look.

The first request had not been completely rebuffed, but troubling himself with teaching others was not high on his list of priorities. Considering what lack of support was given by the Regent, perhaps he needed to take a more active role to tip the scales in their favor.

He grimaces and looks off. Ugh. An active role. Though the expression may come off as though he dislikes the sound of such a request.

"I need you to understand that the laws that govern this place are unfamiliar to me. If I were to impart some of what I know, that does not guarantee you may use it the same way. Or at all.”

Brash, stubborn, prideful teenager that he is, he can't help taking that look of displeasure on Emet-Selch's face as some sort of challenge that he has to conquer, and Gen bristles a touch as he steps closer.

"Don't care. I'll make it work."

-- well, no. He'd said that mostly as a kneejerk reflex, and it's obvious in the way he hesitates immediately afterward. Gives a puzzled tilt of the head. Setting aside how exactly he's going to 'make it work' when he knows absolute zip about magic in the first place ...

"What, so you're managing to make your own magic work here without even knowing how it works?"

'The fuck kind of hack are you?' is the underlying implication of that question, though he at least has the minimum sense to keep it unsaid.

"I understand the fundamentals of magic. There are elements of this world that operate similar enough that I can 'make it work' although not with as much potency as what I am accustomed to." A few of those words have their own emphasis to underline the fact that they have the same stubborn mentality in that regard.

Emet-Selch looks to his potential 'student' with quiet contemplation. How could he best approach this? Suppose the best approach would be to try and find his natural inclinations and build on those.

"Tell me." He begins slowly, obviously considering what to do next. "Since you know no magic, how would you defend yourself or your allies in a battle? Be the Aggressor? Or perhaps you would rely solely on diffusing the situation?"

... he still doesn't exactly get where Emet-Selch is coming from, but fine, he'll concede for now. Especially since if it's as the man says -- that it's possible to make magic happen here even without full knowledge of its inner workings -- then it gives him some hope, as well.

"The aggressor, I guess."

The answer comes a touch hesitant only because he's not sure what Emet-Selch is getting at, and is swiftly followed grudging clarification as Gen crosses his arms.

"Not like I'm a soldier or anything, but I'm used to fights. Don't mind getting my hands dirty, and there's another guy here who's been training me a bit. But I've seen what people here can do -- don't think I'm gonna get far just 'cause I learn to use a sword or something. I don't mind fighting a little dirty either, so ... I'll use whatever I can."

"Then the aggressor it shall be." Emet-Selch repeats, satisfied with that answer.

He thrusts a hand outward and a bright streak of light shapes itself into a large broadsword at his behest. The sword is as tall as Emet-Selch himself. It has a large dark gray blade with an intricate black hilt. Most notably, it looks impossibly heavy.

"A sword is one facet of it. The magic that supports the swordsmanship is what makes it truly formidable in a fight." He takes one step back and motions to the sword with a hand. It's a silent offering to take it, though it would only last as long as he is in the vicinity.

"So if you are familiar with the sword, let us endeavor to show you its magic."

Gen stiffens when that sword suddenly bursts into existence, expression hardening a touch. Partly just because it's a startling sight, but partly because he's internally kicking himself for his own dumb mouth -- he doesn't particularly like dealing with blades, and he'd only mentioned a sword as an example.

But he's not about to show any signs of balking now after running his mouth and acting strong.

So Gen ends up taking a short breath before stepping forward to (try to) take up the sword. It's probably obvious at a glance that he hasn't had much training so far, his hands struggling for a moment before finding their grip. But he has good instincts and just enough experience doing physical work; his movements are decisive and determined as he tries to lift the sword.

... and tries not to think about how ridiculous this probably looks as he shoots Emet-Selch a slightly nervous glance to ask, 'now what?'

"Now," He says as if to respond to that unspoken question. "You must use the desire to protect others and fortify your strength with it. Your allies depend on you to be their shield, and you cannot fail them no matter what you face."

Emet-Selch closes his eyes and holds both palms skyward. "Feel the resolve that your desire conjures within you and call to it. Permit it to consume the darkest parts of your heart. And then -" He holds a hand out in front, though he does not make it a point to cast any magic. "Let it spill out into the world to consume those who stand before you."

It's nonspecific, and purposefully so. Each person has to interpret the instructions in their own way.

This all sounds like something from those bullshit meditation playlists or whatever he sees online sometimes. There's doubt obvious in the way Gen hesitates for a long moment before trying to abide by Emet-Selch's words. Closes his eyes, adjusts his grip on the sword's hilt, takes a deep breath. Inhale, then exhale, slow and hoarse. Again.

And though he's not conscious of it, a faint shiver works through the ground below his feet as his concentration deepens.

Too focused on the thoughts that Emet-Selch has told him to conjure, he doesn't hear the tiny skittering sounds of pebbles vibrating, grains of sand bouncing in place as another shudder works through the ground, just barely reaching where Emet-Selch is standing.

Edited 2022-04-15 05:13 (UTC)

Emet-Selch, on the other hand, feels the slight rumbling under his feet. He spares a glance down to the ground and sees a few pebbles skittering along in the grass. Ah, progress. Good.

"You must concentrate harder." He orders with an authoritative tone. "Guard those you care for with your entire being. Everything that you need to protect them lies dormant within you." He puts a hand to his chest. "Release it."

The tremor that runs through the ground intensifies as his focus deepens, Gen's breaths quickening into rasping huffs as he visualizes as Emet-Selch tells him. Concentrating so hard he can hear his pulse echoing in his ears, sweat beading at his brow, building to a peak until he hears the cue -- release.

There's a sudden crunching sound as the ground beneath him fractures, cracks cobwebbing outwards from where he's standing, and having unleashed that deep focus, Gen's so startled by the noise he ends up jerking back. Stumbles back one, two steps before stumbling over his own feet and landing on his ass, still awkwardly clutching the sword.

"... you --" Sounding a little breathless as he stares at the fractured ground. "-- you didn't do that, right?"

When the ground finally cracks, Emet-Selch has to take a step back to avoid the rubble.

"I did nothing but observe." He gives the boy a small smile. The look on his student's face is so bewildered by casting a spell. Others could be so dismissive of spellcasting, so seeing sincere emotion in the face of new magic is always a small joy.

"Most are not able to produce such results the first time." He moves a foot forward and pushes a rock aside with his shoe. These words are as close to a 'good job' as he would give. "Would you like to try again?"

He did this. He managed to do this. -- when was the last time he felt something like this? A sense of accomplishment over something new; the feeling of actually growing stronger.

"... holy fuck. Yeah. Yeah, I'll do it again."

His pulse is still echoing fast in his ears as he scrambles back to his feet, his hands shaking a little from the excited adrenaline rush. But before he raises the sword once more Gen properly faces Emet-Selch and blurts out, "-- thanks."

That gratitude is weeks late, honestly, but at least it's totally sincere. Gen actually looks his age for once, and there's a remarkable contrast between his usual surly attitude and the earnest, almost respectful look he gives Emet-Selch now.

"I didn't think it was actually possible. Learning magic. So -- thanks."

"It seems you have the capability for magic and manners after all," Emet-Selch comments with a good-natured shrug.

He walks a few paces away from where they had originally stood before turning around and waiting expectantly for his student to follow. The short amount of steps also serves as a chance to recuperate as learning new magic can tax the body and mind. "Come. Unless you would rather practice in a self-constructed ditch."

Though the comment about his manners earns a little frown -- because it's not like he can't be polite, he just doesn't bother unless he feels someone deserves it -- he holds his tongue. Besides, he's much more focused on the elation of this new experience at the moment.

Even if his knee buckles when he first starts following after Emet-Selch, forcing him to prop himself up with his sword to keep from falling over and take a moment to blink away a wave of dizziness. Damn, this stuff's more exhausting than he expected.

"... you get better at it with practice, right?" Gen doesn't otherwise acknowledge the fatigue, forcing himself back upright after a pause and trailing after the other. "You made it seem pretty easy. -- how long'd it take you to get like that?"

"I will not bore you about the tales of my misspent youth," Emet-Selch says with a dismissive flick of his hand. Though 'bore' and 'not wanting to explain' may be mutually exclusive.

"Bear in mind that magic is like any practiced skill. There is no trick to it; it takes time, endurance, creativity, and hard work. Work which will tire both body and mind." He motions to the ground. The look of fatigue is not lost on him, nor is it unexpected. "Now sit."

... must've taken a long-ass time, if Emet-Selch doesn't answer his question. What -- forty, fifty years? Longer? Though the guy doesn't look that old. Gen's still giving Emet-Selch a dubious look as he tries to puzzle through that line of thought, and gives a small start when he's told to sit.

"I'm fine." That indignant answer's blurted out almost reflexively, and Gen tightens his grip on the sword even as his stance wobbles slightly. The strain of magic is a little different from the sort of simple physical fatigue he's more used to. "I can take this much. -- you just said it takes practice, didn't you?"

Not like he's a particularly hard worker under normal circumstances. But this is special -- for once, he actually really wants to push himself to improve as much as he can, as quickly as he can.

"Practise, amidst an assortment of other important things."

Emet-Selch motions to the open area. "Try again if you like. I will not stop you. I simply intend to observe and provide any further assistance that I may." Although if he sees too much fatigue develop in this fledgling magic user, he fully intends on making that sword he's leaning on dissipate. See if he could stand without it.

'Try again,' Emet-Selch says, and stupid hot-headed youth that he is, Gen takes it as a direct challenge. He huffs as he trudges to a spot with clear footing, taking deep breaths as he repeats the motions once more, Emet-Selch's advice ringing in his head.

It turns out he's a quick enough learner once he's been taught the basics. The buildup to this second burst of energy is faster, the ground below his feet crackling with after a few moments of focus. But precise control is harder to pick up, and the release of energy this time heralds a smaller-scale shattering of the ground -- along with an explosion of chunks of dirt and rock from underfoot.

A particularly large piece of which goes ricocheting straight in Emet-Selch's direction.

Without the ability to teleport, and without the necessary confidence in the shield magic he had been trying to conjure, there are few options he has in which to avoid what comes his way. So he does the tried-and-true method to avoid such things: ducking. How primitive.

He can feel a breeze as the chunk of rock 'whooshes' by his head. That was very close.

Emet-Selch puts a hand to his back to brace himself as he stands. There is a clear glare on his face. "Very good. Perhaps try controlling yourself this time." Although he realizes complaining without instruction will do no one any good.

"Your magic will run wild if you do not provide it with the proper restraint." Emet-Selch closes his eyes and puts his hands in front of him. "You must tether it to the area in which you want it to go. How far, how fast, the potency of which the spell - these depend on your level of concentration and control." He opens his eyes again. "Focus on the area around you which you want the spell to go. Visualize it reaching that mark and hold it there. Do not let it past that. Pull back your effort if you must."

"So. Let us take one aspect of what I have mentioned and concentrate on that first: Potency." He motions to the ground with a hand. "Use the same spell, but focus on it being only effective enough to stir the surface. Destroy nothing."

"... right." A pause before he adds at a lower mutter, "My bad."

It's partly that he doesn't want to apologize, of course. But also, he's kind of startled by how meager Emet-Selch's response to that danger was? He'd fully expected that piece of rubble to be swatted aside like nothing with some sort of flashy spell, so seeing it simply dodged in such an inglamorous fashion feels ... weird. (Note to self: maybe Emet-Selch is actually kind of frail despite his magic?) His curious stare lingers, but he does move to abide by those additional instructions after a moment.

"Potency." Gen echoes those words quietly as he tries to focus. "-- focus and visualize ..."

He's clearly struggling to abide by that last bit -- 'destroy nothing.' Even as he manages to make the ground at his feet ripple, pebbles dancing upon the jittering surface, he can't prevent tiny fractures from starting to run across the ground. He's never been the type to hold back when it comes to causing damage, after all.

Though maybe it also has something to do with the fact that he's starting to look obviously drained, sweat damp at his brow and chest heaving with quickening breaths. Still stubbornly maintaining his death grip on that sword even as fatigue starts weighing heavily on him.

Emet-Selch watches carefully. He looks down as the rumbling of earth precedes the cracks in the ground. It's different than the previous attempt, yes, but it's not controlled. Still. He lets the fledgling magic-user proceed as he will. There is no learning without effort and mistakes. Perhaps he can refocus his efforts.

As the spell continues, it becomes more apparent that he's straining more than he should be. Pushing is one thing, but forcing oneself to death's door is quite another.

"Enough." Emet-Selch slashes a palm through the air and the sword he had summoned dissipates in streak of glittering white light. See if he could stand without it.

The Door Opens

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