Spellcrafting at the Society

Log Info

• Title: Spellcrafting at the Society

• Characters: Ravenstongue, Slixvah, Telamon

• Place: Society for Progressive Arcanists

• Summary: Cor'lana and Telamon arrive at the Society to do some research, and for Tel to meet with Slixvah, from whom he had commissioned a wand. Discussion about the nature of magic and its use and misuse ensue, as well as possibly the least helpful answer ever from Pothy.

Arcanists' Society, noon.

It's a foggy winter day at the Courtyard of the Arcanists' Society, but that doesn't seem to deter two particular half-elf sorcerers in the slightest, as they are dressed well for the cold and the grey. Cor'lana's arm is wrapped around her husband's as they sit down at a particular bench. "I'm glad they haven't moved this one anywhere," she says, grinning widely. "To think it's been nearly a year..."

Pothy flaps down onto the bench, too. He looks a little urgently in the direction of the dining hall, but he seems to supress the urge to demand snacks for now.

"I wish we were here only for nostalgia, though," Cor'lana adds. "I want to do more research on the Felwood and... what exactly happened." She doesn't look like she's in a rush to get to the library immediately, however.

Tel's arm is around Cor'lana's shoulders, as they sit down together. "Seems like it's been forever, doesn't it?" he comments. "Hard to believe it wasn't that long ago." He smiles at his wife. "Still... I wonder if I can bribe the Society to leave the bench here permanently. Maybe put up a little plaque. 'Dedicated to all young lovers who found their heart's desire here.'

Telamon nods thoughtfully. "From what you said about it, it was a hell of a mess. I feel better about going on this trip with Dolan now, though -- I know you can handle yourself, but it's nice to -know- it. Confirmation is a wonderful thing." He taps the fingertips of his free hand on his knee. "I wonder where Slixvah is. She did say she'd meet us here..." At Pothy's worried stare, he rolls his eyes. "There'll be time for snacks soon enough, Pothy. Patience."

A rail thin half-oruch woman almost swallowed completely in robes, seemingly to ward off the chilly air. Or to harbor comfort of home wherever they travel. A pair of large framed spectacles slide down her face as she walks, wily, poofy hair black hair bouncing with every step.

Her heading passes by a bench where the two half-sil were remeniscing. And she stumbles as she just catches note of them. Barely catching herself, she grabs at her tomes and robes with one hand, the other pushing her glasses back up her olive tinted nose, which does nothing to hide the fluster on her face. "O-Oh my g-g-g-goodness, it's-it's-it's the S-Starcrossed D-Duo!" she squeaks in surpise. "A-And here I-I am interruptin'. I-I'm s-s-so sorry! U-Um!"

The young scholar waffles about, fidgeting with the single, tiny tusk sticking out of the mouth.

GAME: Slixvah rolls disguise+10: (15)+8+10: 33

GAME: Telamon rolls sense motive+3: (3)+20+3: 26

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls hmm: aliased to Sense Motive+3: (14)+19+3: 36

The sorceress half of the 'Starcrossed Duo' blinks--and then her eyes narrow in on the half-oruch girl's eyes. A little smile perks up at the corner of her mouth. "Hi, Slixvah," she says cheerily. "What's the name of this disguise you're wearing today?"

She curls up a little closer to Telamon, as is her right, with a grin. "Don't mind the two of us," she says. "We're taking a moment to reminisce. This bench is where I confessed my feelings to Telamon. In a month and three days, it'll have been a year since we became a couple."

Pothy looks at not-Slixvah in a longing manner, big blue eyes in beggy-bird-mode. He doesn't seem to much care who or what the half-oruch girl is, so long as there's the possibility... Of snacks.

At first Telamon is taken in (perhaps he's distracted thinking about the trip) by Slix's disguise. Then Lana calls her out, and the half-elf squints a little, like he's trying to do an Aryia impersonation. He can't quite pull it off. "Hey there," he says with a grin. "You might want to wear some heavier garments though, the weather's getting colder."

Indeed, Tel's nod to the elements is with long wool trousers, and a heavy cable-knitted sweater that looks thick enough to deflect arrows. His feet tucked into his cold-weather boots, the sorcerer leans back a bit on the bench, studying Slixvah's oruch disguise. "Looks pretty close though. Just experimenting, or are you trying to avoid someone?"

The nervous, jittery, stammering demeanor of the half-oruch student drops like a rock as her head lulls back along with her eyes. "Awwww /come/. /On./ At least roll wit' it a bit!" that silky tone dismays, breaking the illusion of demurity. "Her name's Matilda. Mattie ta her friends."

She rifles around in her robes, pulls out a bread roll, and tosses it underhand towards the God of Food in a rote manner. "That's cute, honestly. Places hold lots of meanin' like that."

A side glance to Telamon, and a olive hand pushes the spectacles up. "My brother in magic I am made of feathers and five robes. I am totes toasty. But thankies." A look to Cor'lana, then a 'click' echoes in her throat. "Ah, Telly, ya ain't know, but I /love/ rollin' round as different folk. Tons of fun. Also easier ta blend in, ya dig."

A pause. Then she perks, rifling around in her robe again. "The thing! I have the thing. The... thing is... somewhere..."

"Matilda," Cor'lana echoes thoughtfully. "I like that name. Maybe I'll have to save it for later--if Telamon and I end up having two or three daughters when we inevitably tire of adventuring in a decade or two, and we decide that a sleepy little home in the Mythwood is the best place to have a family." She gives Telamon a playful nudge in the side, her violet eyes twinkling. "I can picture you surrounded by three little women, for some reason."

She can't help but laugh at Slixvah's commentary to Telamon. "I called you out primarily for his benefit!" she says with a grin. "I don't think he's interacted with your penchant for fictional identities as much as I have."

Telamon shakes his head. "I'd have caught it in time, I think. Do you speak oruch, Slixvah?" His eyes twinkle. "'Cause if you don't speak the language, it's a little harder to pull off the disguise. Besides, oruch's not a bad language for certain things. You know, besides swearing."

He smirks at Lana. "Just three? I have this image of me surrounded by five chattering daughters and wondering if I should go on the road again." Laughing softly, he hugs her. "Regardless, it'll be fine. Our house will be a home no matter how many children the gods gift us with."

"Speaking of which, Slixvah, I think you mentioned you had the wand ready, plus there was one other thing I'd like to experiment with. And I need your help with it."

Matilda snorts, shaking her head. "If you two end up having fledglings, keep me away from them. They're probably end up bein' walkin' fireballs." Finally finding whatever it is stashed away, her hand stops. But that's to give the dramatic effect of looking at Cor'lana with a quarter cocked glare. "Buh. And here I thought your fey side would like deceiving him some. There goes the fun in figuring that one out."

A little huff, and she straightens up. "Sorry loves, someone peeved me the other day and I'm still wrasslin' it."

The question makes her smirk. "'course I do. I'm not gonna be nothin' I can't back up now, yeah?" she rumbles in a different, rougher tongue. <Yrch-Speak>

Finally, she pulls out a thin, wooden box with two metal clasps keeping it shut. She holds it out to Telamon. "Should work. Just uh.. don't snap the wand in half and look what I put inside."

Upon opening the small, rectangular box, an ebony wand rests upon a velvet inlay. Dark green striations mar the grain, and dangling off the hilt is that of a tiny, petrified rose, locked in a state of being half rotted away.

A brow quirks at the last bit of suggestion.

The oruch-speak goes over Cor'lana's head. For now. But her eyes do glitter in that rather feytouched way. "Deceiving? No, not really," she says. "Mischief and playfulness comes out in plenty of ways around him, though."

"Oh brother," Pothy groans in a child's voice--before he catches the roll and tears into it. How quickly his happiness is bought!

Cor'lana looks intrigued by the wand as it's offered to Telamon. "Oh, that's kind of what I expected for a hand-crafted wand," she says, clearly a little taken by the look of it. "The rose is a nice touch."

Telamon reaches in to pick up the wand, turning it over in his hands. "Hm. Hadn't planned on it. Kind of grim, but that's necromancy for you. Even relatively benign effects like this one, that increases your vitality." He smiles at Slixvah, before the wand is put back in the box. "Thank you muchly. While you can never control -every- variable... I'm a big fan of stacking the deck in my favor as much as possible."

He sits back. "Which brings me to my next thought. Witch magic is very similar -- though not exactly akin -- to wizardry. But I know witches can also cure wounds." He holds up his right hand, which has an elaborate ring on it. "Could I prevail on you to cast a cure spell, so that my ring here can 'learn' it? As I said, I do like to stack the deck in my favor."

Mattie gives a playful groan in tandem with Pothy before she shakes her head. "Thanks. I was growin' it before I did some stuff ta it," she mentions evasively. "Yeah. Necromancy ain't tha' cleanest thing. But hey. I'm all 'bout stackin' the deck. Tha's literally my whole shtick. Ain't got much here-" she flexes a wimpy arm, "-but I got lots up here-" the flexing arm extends a finger as she taps the side of her bushy head. "Pleasure doin' business wit'cha."

With that out of the way, her brows pinch in concentration, head tilting to the side as the glassess sloooooowly slide down her nose. "Aye. Bards can do da same too," she informs, nudging the spectacles back up as she eyes the ring. A blink. "Yeeesh. Also stackin' ya deck wit' fockin' dosh?" she can't help but comment as she smooths her robes down. "Fine, fine."

She holds out a hand. Inhales. "Xfi ad obobo, hte apni si lla ni oryu aedh," she chants. A white light wreathes her hand, and down it goes to gently poke against the jewelry.

GAME: Slixvah casts Cure Moderate Wounds. Caster Level: 6 DC: 17

GAME: Telamon takes ten on spellcraft: (10)+16: 26

The ring thrums, and several stars shimmer around it before dimming back again -- but not quite going out. "There we go. Oh, that -is- weird." Telamon flexes his fingers. "While -love- of money is a root of evil, money itself, well... it helps grease the gears and make the world turn."

Tel grins at Slixvah. "Thank you again. Do you need something in exchange? I know some spellcasters like 'thank you', but 'have some gold' is a good sign as well. And I like to make sure my friends have well-stocked larders and wine cellars."

"Esoteric knowledge tends ta be a lil' weird, yeh," Matilda bobs her head, hair bouncing as she does so. "Enjoy da boons from the metaphyiscal culmination of wisdom."

That elicits a snort. "It sure does. Too bad what I do makes me broke. Return value on makin' wands is abysmal. But it makes me feel like a wizard, so I can't complain' too much."

The half-oruch holds up a hand. "Naw. It's healin' magic. There's absolutely nothin' worth charging fo' givin' some teeny tiny knowledge on how ta fix a boo boo. Just make sure ya use it whereever ya can. Or slap a zombie wit' it or some shit, I dunno, I ain't ya mom."

Cor'lana watches the process with clear intrigue in her eyes. She smiles once it's done, looking at Telamon for just a glance before she looks back at Slixvah. "You're right," she says, the smile turning into a grin. "Telamon's mother looks nothing like you. Wonderful lady, though--although apparently she's already getting rather fussy for grandchildren."

She sighs a little, but it's a good-natured one. "Anyway, you're wonderful for helping him--us--out, Slixvah," she adds. "We tend to adventure together, although my readings in the Theatre District and his Chalice meetings have resulted in occasions where we're without the other on Explorer's Guild matters and beyond."

Matilda chuffs. "Why tho'? Like, I totes get ya'll ain't gonna be on Ea for as long as I, so I understand doin' stuff faster. But yeesh. Give it a few years, woman," she says, speaking as if Telamon's mother was right there with them.

A thumbs up is flashed. "No probs. Jus' lemme know if you want or need anythin'. Sometimes I kno' some stuff that ya might be able ta use where it's reall' situational, but it's nice ta have. I kno' what its like ta be wit' a group ya ain't used ta, and the lack of familiarity ain't there ta comfort ya," she sighs, putting a hand on her hip.

"Well, Ari--Telamon's mother--she's a human," Cor'lana says with a small smile. "So she has less than the rest of us. Granted, she's not /old/, but Tel's her only baby. I imagine she's just itching for a bundle of children to spoil before it's too late."

She grins a little. "Adventuring /is/ nice with the love of your life by your side," she admits. "Some of the things that Telamon and I have seen--I was glad, more than anything, that I had him by my side, because we were able to comfort each other later. For all of the tales of daring that are told about adventurers, they sometimes neglect to tell the sad stories... And the horrors."

"Jelly snack," Pothy mumbles.

That gets a little pout from Cor'lana. "Ugh," she says. "Yeah, like /that/. Long story."

"I deduced as much," Matilda mentions. "Bein' 'round otha's fo' a hot minute has given me a prett' good vibe check on such things. And, also, despite havin' fourteen kids, momma always told me ta be mindful when talkin' ta others 'bout when they havin' kids."

There's a slow nod. "Yeeeeah. I'm jus' glad I gots a couple people I can chill wit' after doin' some of the rough stuff. 'sides, how ya gonna have people adventure if all people tells ya is how horrible it is? Dammed if you do, dammed if you don't."

A brow quirks. "Jelly... snack?" She peers to the sky in thought. "... an ooze? Please don't tell me you ate an ooze, man."

Cor'lana just stares at Pothy for a moment, like she's trying to make him feel bad for making her tell the story. Pothy, however, just preens his feathers. He is unbothered. Maybe even a little pleased.

"Well," she says, "I was on an expedition once, without Telamon. This was one of my earlier assignments. We were exploring... an abandoned scholarly institution, and we found one poor man who'd... been jellified."

She stares at Pothy again. "This little fool kept calling him a jelly snack and wanted to have a sample."

"Jelly snack!" Pothy insists.

Matilda stares at Pothy. The gaze only growing more affixed as Cor'lana regales the story. "... pardon my language honey. But- Pothy. What the fuck, dude."

A sigh escapes her as she pinches the bridge of her nose, pushing her glasses up in the process. "Well, by the sound of it, at least things ended well and he didn't get a taste. Right?" Her gaze shifts back to him. "... right?"

"No, he never got to taste what jellified person tastes like," Cor'lana says, with both a look and a tone of voice that suggests she shares a very similar sentiment to Slixvah's first statement. I can't really fault him, because he's supposed to be a repository of knowledge, and since he's dedicated himself to food knowledge..."

She reaches over and pets Pothy. "He's only doing what he thinks is appropriate. Even if I think it's gross."

Mattie gives a sigh of relief. "Phew. Good. I know knowledge is power, hon, but sometimes ya gotta have da knowledge of 'should I?'." She blinks at her own words, then taps her chin. "... well, I guess that's called wisdom."

A shrug. "Anyways. Food knowledge....?" A spark appears in her eyes of intrigue. "... Pothy my boi. What's the best food you ever eated?"

Pothy bird-blinks. He pauses for a long, long moment. Out of all of the food's he's ever eaten... Which is presumably a /lot/ of food over his lifetime... What's the best?

There's a look that flashes in the corvid's eyes as he bobs his head around in thought. One can only imagine the thought process going on in that fuzzy little head of his. Perhaps he's wondering: what quantifies as the 'best', exactly? How can he possibly reduce everything in gastronomy down to a ranking system? What right does mere little Pothy have--a stalwart and devoted servant of knowledge--to put order to the beauty of chaos that is cuisine? Yet it must be done. The onus is on him. He has been /called/ to this purpose. In fact, perhaps this is his life's work. *This* is the reason he's selected this knowledge path--!

No, wait! Pothy nods firmly. He seems to have come to a conclusion. Ea's most prominent food scholar has a statement to make!

"Snacks," he says. And he nods again. It is a simple truth... for a simple bird.

Matilda is looking at Pothy with interest. Attention. Any iota of knowledge gained from someone so knowledge is always useful for later, be it that later is a day from now, or decades. Oh. He's doing a little dance. Really thinking about it!

The half oruch woman pulls out a notepad. This has to be good. Familiars harbor such intimidate knowledge on so many things. Maybe the food is some kind of life serum? So much so it heals a soul? A pen comes out, ready to write.

"Aha, I see! Sn--" pen stops halfway. Paper meets face.

A tinny, muffled voice chirps from her robes. "What did you expect, Unmesi? A dissertation?"

"Shut up."

Telamon had been called away by one of the society magicians, and he returns with a faintly smug expression. "Well, glad that's taken care of. Sorry, you two; had some feedback on a paper I submitted regarding an... incident in the University District. Involved a house, a misused artifact, and an interaction with the ward on the city that did not go well." He chuckles. "Three professors agree with my conclusions. One disagrees but he's actually got some valid thoughts; I need to review his references. And one other threatened to feed me that paper without salt. Gods, I love academics when they get all pouty."

Tel stuffs a sheaf of documents into his haversack, along with the wand in its case, before taking his seat again. He quirks an eyebrow at Slixvah facepalming with the paper, and Pothy looking head-up and proud of himself, and then he looks at Lana. "Do I want to know, love?"

Cor'lana almost falls over laughing, giggling about as hard as Slixvah's ever seen her giggle. She tries to speak, but the tears of comedy roll down her face, and it's hard to get both the breath to laugh and to talk at the same time.

Finally, she recovers herself, brushing the remains of the tears from her face. "Pothy's just being silly, darling," she informs Telamon. "Now..."

She smiles pleasantly. "/Who/ was it exactly that threatened you? I'd love to have a talk with him."

Pothy looks nervous. "Uh oh," he says.

Matilda slowly pulls herself out of her own paper prison as she stashes the notepad away. "Fine. Keep your secrets," she sighs, bringing her attention to Telamon.

A brow quirks. "Oh? Without salt? That's kind of them. I'm used ta the other way around with salt, makes the paper cuts extra spicy."

Cor'lana's threatening makes Mattie tut. "Sugar, Telamon is a grown man, he can beat 'em up on his own wit. Now, wuzzis 'bout an artifact?"

Telamon just knew Lana would have that reaction. "No, dear. Just no. Besides, the rules in the Society state any disagreements have to be conducted in an anti-magic field, and I don't think anyone would approve of you beating up a one legged old man." He just shakes his head. "Even if he does have oruch mouth and sparrow ass. Let it go."

"As near as we could reconstruct, it was a crystal with some unusual properties. The person in question tried to use it to create an extradimensional space within the city." He taps his chin. "Now, you can -access- extradimensional pockets while you're in the ward -- things like bags of holding or that magic mansion spell some archwizards use, those will function. But you can't physically cram the pocket into the city limits, because the ward reacts like you're trying to create a 'bridge' -- the connection you need for summoning or teleportation. Aaaaaand, well..." He makes a kind of 'poof' gesture with his hands.

"Moral of the story: don't try to subvert the city wards. It won't end well."

Cor'lana pouts, folding her arms. "I wasn't going to beat him up," she grumbles. "I was just going to say some words. That's all."

Pothy just stares at Cor'lana. He clearly doesn't believe that they were going to be 'just words'. Words, yes, but probably delivered in the frightening manner that Cor'lana is sometimes capable of, thanks to her descent from her forebear.

But the moment is over. Cor'lana just curls up close to Telamon on the bench. "Right, the incident," she recalls. "The one your father mentioned. A valuable lesson for all of us, I think."

Matilda raises a brow. "... your entire magic repertoire is 'saying some words'," the witch in disguise points out.

Nevertheless, she shakes her head onto the topic at hand. "... well. Uh. Yeah. If an entire freakin' capital city constructs a ward tha' has mo' power than a dozen dozen high ranking mages, someone's piddly mana spurt ain't gonna do anything at best, and tear you apart at worst."

Again, she rubs her face. "I swear some folks ain't ever stop to figure out if they 'should' do somethin' rather than 'how'."

"Hence, as Lana says, it's a good lesson." Tel's arm is back around Cor'lana's shoulders, and he squeezes her. "Sometimes I think on what could've been. And I'm grateful to Lana, because I think she keeps me grounded. Too easy to let your mind wander into places it shouldn't, or become enamored with your own cleverness."

He kisses Lana's cheek, before continuing. "In any case, it's done, the ward is intact, and hopefully it will discourage shenanigans. Though studying it has led me to some ... theories, on why demons keep turning up in the city. I've submitted a records request on how the ward works, but right now I'm not ready to voice my idea yet."

Of course, Cor'lana's cheeks color as her husband kisses her on the cheek. "Grounded? But we fly all the time," she responds with her own little grin.

Then there's a look in her eyes as she realizes something. "Oh, records!" she says, and she escapes Telamon's grasp to rise from the bench. "We /did/ come here to investigate some things, too--so we should probably get on that."

She looks a little bashful. "Especially since we have that reservation at the Rosalian Rose tonight," she says to Telamon. "I /don't/ want to be late for that."

Mattie gives a light sigh. "Heard 'bout that demon stuff. First demons, then undead. I dealt wit' ghosts recently. What's next, dragons?"

She looks up to the sky. "That's a joke, Tarien. And don't get second thoughts, Vaire."

Her appeasement to the gods out of the way, she shifts her books around and pushes up her glasses. "O-Oh! O-Okay!" Gone is the suave, silky voice of the nomadic witch, instead replaced with the nervous scholar from before. "S-Sorry for keeping you waiting, I-I-I hope t-that t-t-t-thing helps you! A-And hope I didn't s-s-screw it up!"

She fidgets. Then holds one of her books out with her eyes squeezed shut. "C-C-Can you s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-signmyspellbook?"

She cringes. "M-Mattie why would you say that...!"

'Mattie' runs away in embarrassment.