This voice was not disembodied. It was also not Lenneth's. Huh.
Last-ditch teleportation in emergencies did have its risks. Where was he?
"Sir dark elf." The mage bowed slightly. He had learned to perform such courtly gestures perfectly, long before his time in the royal palace of Dipan. It was another of those things that required long hours before the mirror to perfect.
And he knew a lot about elves, dark and light. Did he ever. Thanks to his ... experiments.
He also knew a lot about gods, thanks to the same experiments, and especially thanks to some up-close-and-personal time with Odin. He could sense that this particular dark elf was not one to be trifled with.
"Jock is a crude term, I admit, but one well-suited to the sort of man it describes. A jock is the kind of man who prizes muscle above all else. I seem to remember that Carrot Top is one such."
Lezard had once described the Philosopher's Stone as a vast codex filled with millions of pages of knowledge. It had not been enough to attain the stone, he had told his classmate Mystina; once he had attained it, he had to read it. Unfortunately, that reading included knowledge of abominations like Carrot Top.
Lezard listened carefully to the request. He himself was not a wielder of blades, but he knew his enchantments well, and he had traveled with fighters long enough to know a thing or two about the kinds of weapons that best absorbed and carried such spells.
"I have such a sword myself, in my tower. To bind the proper runes to it would be the work of but a few moments."
That is, if you had absorbed the powers of a god. Lezard really liked to make things look and sound much easier than they were. They were easy, for him, but it had taken a lot of work -- and a lot of dirty dealings -- to get to that point.
The mage concentrated. A whirring sound arose about him, and currents of air channeled in a spiral. He appeared to spin slowly within the vortex of air.
"Come to me, blade of heroes! Claoimh Solais!"
A burst of blue light; the swish of air parting around steel; laid flat across the mage's outstretched hands was a great blade. A thin cushion of air kept its steel from touching the leather of his gloves.
But he wasn't quite finished, nor did the slow rotation cease. Lezard stared at the blade, and runes appeared in the steel. The surface of the metal shimmered; to the naked eye, the letters seemed to swim up to the surface from within the blade's core. (That was not at all what was happening, of course.)
After some moments of this, his rotation slowed, and the currents of swirling air died down. He floated a foot closer to Selvetarm and proferred the blade.
"Its name is Claoimh Solais," he said, probably unnecessarily. "It should meet your specifications."
Selvetarm nodded and took it. "If you were a wizard before you came here, Ravenclaw should suit."
He'd decided his vote quickly and a trifle perfunctorily. He did appreciate another weapon for his growing collection, but he still wasn't particularly inclined to make further conversation, chitchat, swap war stories about their love lives, etc. etc.
Re: Vote: RavenclawarrogantmageJuly 22 2008, 04:38:29 UTC
Lezard did not contest the man's assertion. Though he knew himself to have become so much more than a mere wizard, it would simply be too strange and wearisome to explain all about the Sovereign's Rite and how he schooled Odin. There was also the minor detail that Lezard could no longer be certain how much of the valkyries' power remained within him. After what Princess Alicia had become, and had done to him ... he did not sense Lenneth's presence. Was he still divine? Was she?
Best not to open that can of worms in unfamiliar company.
Instead he said: "I thank you, sir dark elf. I am Lezard Valeth. By what name are you called?"
"I believe you will find Claiomh Solais most satisfactory, with my little alterations, Selvetarm. But do let me know if you find it lacking in some way. I always enjoy refining such processes."
Last-ditch teleportation in emergencies did have its risks. Where was he?
"Sir dark elf." The mage bowed slightly. He had learned to perform such courtly gestures perfectly, long before his time in the royal palace of Dipan. It was another of those things that required long hours before the mirror to perfect.
And he knew a lot about elves, dark and light. Did he ever. Thanks to his ... experiments.
He also knew a lot about gods, thanks to the same experiments, and especially thanks to some up-close-and-personal time with Odin. He could sense that this particular dark elf was not one to be trifled with.
"Jock is a crude term, I admit, but one well-suited to the sort of man it describes. A jock is the kind of man who prizes muscle above all else. I seem to remember that Carrot Top is one such."
Lezard had once described the Philosopher's Stone as a vast codex filled with millions of pages of knowledge. It had not been enough to attain the stone, he had told his classmate Mystina; once he had attained it, he had to read it. Unfortunately, that reading included knowledge of abominations like Carrot Top.
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Either way. He considered the bribe. "Can you make an enspelled two-handed sword?"
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"I have such a sword myself, in my tower. To bind the proper runes to it would be the work of but a few moments."
That is, if you had absorbed the powers of a god. Lezard really liked to make things look and sound much easier than they were. They were easy, for him, but it had taken a lot of work -- and a lot of dirty dealings -- to get to that point.
The mage concentrated. A whirring sound arose about him, and currents of air channeled in a spiral. He appeared to spin slowly within the vortex of air.
"Come to me, blade of heroes! Claoimh Solais!"
A burst of blue light; the swish of air parting around steel; laid flat across the mage's outstretched hands was a great blade. A thin cushion of air kept its steel from touching the leather of his gloves.
But he wasn't quite finished, nor did the slow rotation cease. Lezard stared at the blade, and runes appeared in the steel. The surface of the metal shimmered; to the naked eye, the letters seemed to swim up to the surface from within the blade's core. (That was not at all what was happening, of course.)
After some moments of this, his rotation slowed, and the currents of swirling air died down. He floated a foot closer to Selvetarm and proferred the blade.
"Its name is Claoimh Solais," he said, probably unnecessarily. "It should meet your specifications."
Reply
He'd decided his vote quickly and a trifle perfunctorily. He did appreciate another weapon for his growing collection, but he still wasn't particularly inclined to make further conversation, chitchat, swap war stories about their love lives, etc. etc.
Reply
Best not to open that can of worms in unfamiliar company.
Instead he said: "I thank you, sir dark elf. I am Lezard Valeth. By what name are you called?"
Reply
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