[OOM] Marcuria, Arcadia.
Dec. 18th, 2008 11:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stuck_mynockWhen Atton materialised, in a flicker of silver light, he was on the docks, in the middle of a foggy, humid Marcurian night.
He expected it to be quieter. But somebody was running, backing up towards a pier, holding up a glass vial of something pink threateningly.
“If any of you move,” the runner, a nervous looking, long-bearded old man, “I’ll open this, and blow us all up.”
Atton’s eyes darted over to the figures emerging from the mist. Azadi soldiers, halberds and swords aimed at the old man.
“Stand down, magician. We’ll take you back to the ghetto.”
The gears in Atton’s brain worked. He glanced down at his bag, bulging with the folder within - A folder full of instructions for a magic he didn’t understand. He looked back up at the magician, and the soldiers.
The magician started unscrewing the cork. One soldier grabbed him, snatching the vial from his hand and tossing it into the sea. The pink liquid spread out, before a small, meagre bang sent droplets flying.
Atton raised the hood of his coat, pulled his scarf up around his mouth, and quietly thanked the weather for poor visibility. A scarf and a hood didn’t make for a very good disguise.
“Halt.” The scarf muffled his voice enough that the soldiers didn’t appear to recognise it. Atton considered, for a moment, before finishing, lamely: “Fiends.”
The soldiers turned on him, weapons raised. “This is none of your business. Return to your home.”
“It’s ... er ... Halt?” Atton gesticulated, wildly. “Fiends?” The soldiers did not look impressed. Atton drew his sword with a slide of metal, spinning it in his hand. “Leave him be, and this’ll all end nice-like, okay? Okay?” Beat. “S’not okay, is it.”
“Deal with him,” the lead soldier said, turning back to the magician. “This one’s not going to be causing any more trouble.”
One soldier rushed him, sword raised. Atton blocked, pushing. Adalardo had said that if he put enough effort in, the sword would cut through almost anything.
He strained. Pushed. Focused. The Azadi’s sword split in two, edges bright and molten. A moment later, the gauntlet wrapped around his shoulder and tossed him into the water.
Three cuts and punches later, and Atton pointed the tip of his sword at the lead soldier’s head. Very reluctantly, he let the magician go.
Atton beamed. “Great. Now we run.”
-------
“You want me to build you a key to other worlds?” The magician had asked, disbelievingly, once Atton had explained to him. They had fled the docks, to a cellar where the magician apparently made his home.
“Yep,” Atton smiled. “I have loads of information here. And not just other worlds - One in particular. An interdimensional bar. It’s a crossroad between worlds. Sort of.”
The magician looked at him like he was crazy.
“I can always hand you over to the Azadi,” Atton said, lightly.
The magician grumbled. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good. Here.” Atton handed over the vial the White Dragon had given him. “Keep this safe. It’ll be useful, apparently.”
“Ye-es.” The magician peered at the vial. “Very interesting. Not magic. Older than magic. What is this, exactly?”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter. Long story.”
-------
“How’d your trip go, Doran?” Adalardo asked when Atton returned to his house.
“I met a woman who was taller than me and made a giant folder, and then I pretended I was you. Night.”
“Good night.”
-------
It was a week before the magician had finished. Atton checked every day.
The item he had made looked like some sort of twisted, metal thing with the Dragon’s tear glowing silvery in the centre. It had two prongs.
“Try it. Tap it against a door.”
Atton obeyed, tapping it against the nearest door experimentally before opening it.
A long pause.
“This is a closet.”
Another long pause.
“An otherworldly closet?” The magician asked, hopefully.
“No. A closet.”
“Oh.” The magician frowned. “I tried my best. Remember, travel between worlds is an art that has been lost for hundreds of millenia. Do you want me to continue my work?”
Atton frowned. “No. I have a better idea.”
-------
“Productive day?” Adalardo asked as Atton returned.
“I found a closet, and I’m stealing your weapons to defend myself with in a magical interdimensional maze.”
“Oh.” Adalardo considered this. “Well, you have fun with that.”
“I will.”
------
A shadowy tentacle arced towards Atton as he approached the tree with the triangle carved into it. Atton cut through it, quickly, glaring at the shadow men.
“I really don’t have time for you right now.” He prised open the roots to the tree, peering at the hole beneath it. “Bye.”
As another tentacle flew towards him, Atton clambered down into the hole.
He expected it to be quieter. But somebody was running, backing up towards a pier, holding up a glass vial of something pink threateningly.
“If any of you move,” the runner, a nervous looking, long-bearded old man, “I’ll open this, and blow us all up.”
Atton’s eyes darted over to the figures emerging from the mist. Azadi soldiers, halberds and swords aimed at the old man.
“Stand down, magician. We’ll take you back to the ghetto.”
The gears in Atton’s brain worked. He glanced down at his bag, bulging with the folder within - A folder full of instructions for a magic he didn’t understand. He looked back up at the magician, and the soldiers.
The magician started unscrewing the cork. One soldier grabbed him, snatching the vial from his hand and tossing it into the sea. The pink liquid spread out, before a small, meagre bang sent droplets flying.
Atton raised the hood of his coat, pulled his scarf up around his mouth, and quietly thanked the weather for poor visibility. A scarf and a hood didn’t make for a very good disguise.
“Halt.” The scarf muffled his voice enough that the soldiers didn’t appear to recognise it. Atton considered, for a moment, before finishing, lamely: “Fiends.”
The soldiers turned on him, weapons raised. “This is none of your business. Return to your home.”
“It’s ... er ... Halt?” Atton gesticulated, wildly. “Fiends?” The soldiers did not look impressed. Atton drew his sword with a slide of metal, spinning it in his hand. “Leave him be, and this’ll all end nice-like, okay? Okay?” Beat. “S’not okay, is it.”
“Deal with him,” the lead soldier said, turning back to the magician. “This one’s not going to be causing any more trouble.”
One soldier rushed him, sword raised. Atton blocked, pushing. Adalardo had said that if he put enough effort in, the sword would cut through almost anything.
He strained. Pushed. Focused. The Azadi’s sword split in two, edges bright and molten. A moment later, the gauntlet wrapped around his shoulder and tossed him into the water.
Three cuts and punches later, and Atton pointed the tip of his sword at the lead soldier’s head. Very reluctantly, he let the magician go.
Atton beamed. “Great. Now we run.”
-------
“You want me to build you a key to other worlds?” The magician had asked, disbelievingly, once Atton had explained to him. They had fled the docks, to a cellar where the magician apparently made his home.
“Yep,” Atton smiled. “I have loads of information here. And not just other worlds - One in particular. An interdimensional bar. It’s a crossroad between worlds. Sort of.”
The magician looked at him like he was crazy.
“I can always hand you over to the Azadi,” Atton said, lightly.
The magician grumbled. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good. Here.” Atton handed over the vial the White Dragon had given him. “Keep this safe. It’ll be useful, apparently.”
“Ye-es.” The magician peered at the vial. “Very interesting. Not magic. Older than magic. What is this, exactly?”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter. Long story.”
-------
“How’d your trip go, Doran?” Adalardo asked when Atton returned to his house.
“I met a woman who was taller than me and made a giant folder, and then I pretended I was you. Night.”
“Good night.”
-------
It was a week before the magician had finished. Atton checked every day.
The item he had made looked like some sort of twisted, metal thing with the Dragon’s tear glowing silvery in the centre. It had two prongs.
“Try it. Tap it against a door.”
Atton obeyed, tapping it against the nearest door experimentally before opening it.
A long pause.
“This is a closet.”
Another long pause.
“An otherworldly closet?” The magician asked, hopefully.
“No. A closet.”
“Oh.” The magician frowned. “I tried my best. Remember, travel between worlds is an art that has been lost for hundreds of millenia. Do you want me to continue my work?”
Atton frowned. “No. I have a better idea.”
-------
“Productive day?” Adalardo asked as Atton returned.
“I found a closet, and I’m stealing your weapons to defend myself with in a magical interdimensional maze.”
“Oh.” Adalardo considered this. “Well, you have fun with that.”
“I will.”
------
A shadowy tentacle arced towards Atton as he approached the tree with the triangle carved into it. Atton cut through it, quickly, glaring at the shadow men.
“I really don’t have time for you right now.” He prised open the roots to the tree, peering at the hole beneath it. “Bye.”
As another tentacle flew towards him, Atton clambered down into the hole.
