abraxaslogs | [ NPC ] move fast, stay low, be the first for all they know.

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[ NPC ] move fast, stay low, be the first for all they know.

WHO: Ronan Lynch & Ambrose Rhett
WHAT: Ambrose rejects Ronan's scheme to move against Solvunn.
WHERE: The High Mage's Tower in Castle Thorne
WHEN: After Eifstide

"Why the hell not?" Ronan demands.

Maybe that's the wrong tone to be taking with the High Mage, but it's just the two of them now and there's no one here to stop him. Anyway, an explanation's not too much to ask for. It's a good plan. It's a fucking brilliant plan, actually, and the only reason not to let him do it must be because they don't think he can pull it off.

If that's the case, they're dead wrong. He's perfected it. He's been experimenting with it for weeks. Longer, actually, if he counts his time studying under Bryde back home. It's not easy magic, of course. It's expensive, Bryde used to say. But Ronan's paid up. He's put in the time. He could march out of this room and have dozens of people under his enchantment with the detonation of a single elegant dream.

"They wouldn't even see me," he presses on, stalking closer to Ambrose. "It wipes them out for a good hour. At least. They're so braindead they're lucky they remember how to breathe. Then we're gone and it wears off and it's no harm done. They deserve a lot worse after what they just did with the dead. We're being real fucking merciful here."

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Ambrose's room remains in the state of organized chaos it ever is, tomes and scrolls stacked and tucked in order only he understands. He sits at is desk between two towers of parchment, indicative of the work he has been doing since he faded into the shadows not long after their prisoners fled from Thorne. A mistake. Not one he intends to relive.

He's silent as he watches Ronan make his case. His eyes narrowing behind the rims of his glasses at the approach. There is a pregnant pause before Ambrose humphs and leans back in his chair.

"It is not with mercy that we make our actions." He laces his long fingers together. "It was not with mercy that we put half of the lot into cells or with mercy that we welcomed the other half into our halls."

He lowers his hands onto his desk with a thud. "What is it that you hope to accomplish here, Ronan? An act of goodwill to your fellow Summoned? Recruitments for Thorne's ranks?"

"No offense to Their Majesties," Ronan scoffs, "but I didn't come all this way just to pad the body count. Recruitment's a job for someone with a pretty smile and a good handshake."

However, even Ronan can tell that looming over Ambrose's desk gives a more threatening impression than he means to give. He's not here to put the squeeze on the High Mage. Very much the opposite, in fact. He bows down low, until he's practically kneeling, so he can meet Ambrose's eyes on an even level.

"We — and I do mean we, including me... We let the Summoned fall into the hands of people who can't even control their own magic, people who are messing with shit they don't understand. Whether they realize it yet or not, the Summoned aren't safe there. They should at least have the chance to get out of there. If we can give it to them, why shouldn't we?"

A much more fitting position. Ambrose is the High Mage for a reason and deserves the respect that comes with it. Useful though his abilities may make Ronan, Ambrose will not tolerate indolence.

"You're not the first to suggest this and don't think that you will be the last," he says with an air of exhaustion about the whole matter. "Mistakes were made, yes, unfortunate ones at that." Mistakes that were his as much as he loathes to admit. So, he won't.

"But any moves taken onto occupied territories of another faction will be seen as an act of war, no matter the 'genuine' intentions behind them. That would be a mistake." It's clear he thinks little of offering an olive branch of sorts to those who fled.

"Do you believe anyone in Solvunn has the ability to whisk off several of their newly collected Summoned? Who would they conveniently point fingers at?"

He leans forward, brows heavy and stern.

"I would not risk what we have accomplished for the sake of deserters. Not unless you have good reason to believe they would not only accept your proposal but willingly put themselves in our custody."

It's clear he would not see them as free peoples of Thorne should they return.

Diplomacy isn't Ronan's strong suit. He's never been the smooth talker or the brains of the operation. He's a king and a soldier. What he can't bend to his will, he forces with his might. Why should he worry about Solvunn's reaction? How can a bunch of hippie farmers pose any real threat to Thorne at this point?

He can recognize an immovable object when he sees one, though. Ambrose isn't just going to change his mind on this. Ronan's still learning how to shut up and take orders, but he can at least avoid running straight into a brick wall. Inclining his head in tacit deference, he sets his jaw and takes a moment to consider his next words.

"I'm a weapon in your hands," he utters. Not a mockery, but an emphatic statement of the truth. Resting one knee on the floor, he adopts something more like proper form and meets the High Mage's eyes again. "Think about that for real. You haven't even begun using me the way you could. Everything you've seen from me so far? That's just a taste of what I can do for you."

This isn't swagger. He's not bragging about his magnificent power. There's a point to this.

"I'm just one. How many did you summon? It was over fifty, right? If they're even half as powerful as me, that's still a whole arsenal you're handing over to Solvunn. If we leave them there, at least a few of the Summoned are gonna become as loyal to those hicks as I am to you. And if we sit back and let them get stronger, we might never have another chance to disarm them."

It could be taken as swagger and it would not be unwarranted. Ambrose has seen the forest Ronan created, and though he had not put much stock into them at the time, the gifts that Ronan had bestowed upon him sit on a nearby shelf. He can respect a brash and aspiring mage wanting to stretch his wings and prove his worth.

To leave it unnoticed would be foolish. Ronan has already offered himself as more malleable than Jolene has in years.

"They are weak," he says as he leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "They are foolish, single-minded and they would let the Singularity devour their lands and ours. They believe in things they don't understand. Launching an attack of any size on the Commune would be a victory for Thorne."

He exhales sharply through his nose.

"But it wouldn't be without cost. A cost that we're not equipped to pay right now."

And that is really where it stands. The downward turn of his lips evens out for a moment as he straightens in his chair.

"But you, Ronan... you've stood out amongst your fellow Summoned. I was right about you when we pulled you from that fountain. And I trust that I am also correct that you have a modicum of patience when it comes to making a move on our neighbors, aren't I?"

"I'm not a patient person," Ronan answers, because he'd be lying to pretend otherwise. "But I'm not going to go behind your back and mess everything up, if that's what you're asking."

And if that's Ambrose's assessment — that Solvunn is so weak it wouldn't be worth the political inconvenience of bringing the hammer down on them — then Ronan will just have to trust him on that. He couldn't follow politics in his own world. He certainly doesn't get the nuances of this one.

"What's the cost?" he asks. Not to be argumentative, but because there's obviously a lot he's not seeing about the situation. An easy victory should be an easy victory, right? So where's the hitch? "It'd help if I knew what was tying our hands. Maybe I can fix it."

"No," he says plainly. "But I'll take your reassurance. We don't need anymore mistakes."

We, since Ronan is so generously shouldering some of the blame of that debauched execution. There are few things Ambrose dislikes more than being at the mercy of someone else's magics.

He likes speaking of his own weaknesses and shortcomings even less, even if they are not of his own doing.

"Tell me...what do you think the Free Cities would do as soon as Thorne and Solvunn were locked in conflict?"

This sounds like a test. Ronan is very bad at tests. What would the Free Cities do?

"Something they'd regret, probably."

He should have brought Kylo with him. Kylo's the one who's been paying attention to who wants what from whom. The Free Cities are the ones that hate magic, right? Ronan's natural enemy. Likely Thorne's, too. So maybe they'd go on the offensive. But would the target be Thorne or the Singularity? Ronan doesn't want to ask. He'll look like an idiot. Someone in his position ought to know the answer already.

"You don't think we could handle both?"

Not the answer Ambrose was looking for. His lips turn downward once again.

"Our common interest lies in the Singularity itself."

With a grunt, he pushes himself out of his chair and steps around the side of his desk.

"Turn our backs on it to squabble with Solvunn and we are leaving the door open for the Free Cities to strike. Not at the heart of Thorne but on the Singularity itself. They would hasten the death of this world and all worlds in just one imprudent act and undo all that we have built. Centuries of research, all for nothing!"

He forms a fist and holds his knuckle to his lips.

"No."

Ambrose drops his hand and refocuses on Ronan.

"It is our duty and now your privilege to make sure that doesn't happen. We must take hold and claim the Singularity before any of the other factions. Then our victory will be assured and we can finally end this stalemate."

Ronan's pulse slams in answer to those words. Yes, something shouts in him, igniting after months of quietly smoldering. We must take hold and claim the Singularity. Yes, that's exactly what they need to do. That's what he's been thinking all along. He feels it with as much conviction as he'd needed to wake the ley lines of his own world. His mission hasn't been derailed, but expanded to include an even greater source of magic. The source of magic.

Solvunn is immediately forgotten. What a small and petty distraction a fight like that would be, when there's nothing more important than the Singularity.

"You're right," Ronan says, remaining on his knees but holding Ambrose with a fiery gaze. "I'll keep my focus on the Singularity. How much will it take to secure it? Your wish is my command, My Lord. There's nothing you can ask that I can't give you, as long as I have enough to feed on."

Of course he is right, but the way he raises his chin shows he is pleased to see that Ronan agrees. He steps away from his desk entirely, walking back towards a large wooden door, situated between to equally tall bookshelves.

"I have a job for you."

He stands in front of the doorway, holding is hand up to a large glass orb that is embedded in the frame above it. It glows, resonating with his hand and there is the click of a lock. The orb dims as Ambrose drops his hand back to his side.

"Or a project, I should say."

Candles dotting the area all flicker on cue in this new stone side room. Absent are the tomes and scrolls that all but painted a good portion of the walls of his office, instead the walls are lined with cabinets and strange apparatuses, some old and dusty from disuse. The ground has imprints of old circles that were erased numerous times. It smells old in here, a little like ash.

"I would have you know that only my apprentices are allowed in here."

The High Mage picks up what appears to be a lantern, glowing with a light that does not come from flame. It is all but full to the brim with raw magical energy. He holds it out on full display for Ronan to admire.

"Tell me, Ronan, can you tell what this is?"

Edited (ambrose is infallible but alas i am not) 2021-11-24 06:20 (UTC)

Ronan scrambles to his feet and follows after Ambrose like an oversized puppy. Being allowed into this secret space is every bit the honor Ambrose intends it to be. Ronan's eyes are on everything, absorbing as much detail about his surroundings as he can before the High Mage directs his attention to one object in particular.

Another test. Ronan hates questions like these. His old teacher would ask them constantly and he could never give the right answer. But Ronan looks anyway, his brow drawn first in consideration before softening into surprise.

There's probably some very fancy-sounding Thornean name for what he's looking at. He doesn't know it, whatever it is. With an appropriate amount of trepidation, he steps closer to behold it. He's practically buzzing with excitement all of a sudden, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Blood rushes in his ears as his heart races, pounding so loud he's sure Ambrose can hear it. He feels like the dumbest fish staring at a lure, about to get hooked.

"Yes."

The right answer. Good. The fact that Ronan is clearly enraptured by the amount of effort and skill Ambrose has put into it's creation is not something he will turn down either.

"Then you will be just as surprised to learn that it has been siphoning particles of ambient arcane magics in the air around us for several weeks, all consolidated and conveniently packaged into this storage container.

"But it does have one distinct flaw...not of my own doing, of course. Given the restrictions, a considerable effort has gone into getting it this far. Yet you can understand that for all I have done to rework this reliquary to draw autonomously on the magical energies present here, I'm unable to test or refine it's abilities close to the Singularity."

He looks down the line of his nose, directly at Ronan.

"That is where you come in."

With great care, he holds the reliquary out for Ronan to take.

There's not a zero chance that Ronan will take hold of this thing only to find himself ensnared by the same enchantment. Unlike Ambrose, he isn't human or even fully rooted in the material realm. His corporeal form begins to break down whenever ambient magic is even slightly depleted, because it takes so much ley energy just to maintain his place in reality.

Ronan doesn't exactly know how to express that to the High Mage, though. He doesn't want to look like a coward and he certainly doesn't want to look like he's turning down a quest. He hesitates for only a second before reaching for the reliquary.

Thankfully, he doesn't blink out of existence or dissolve into a puddle of nightwash as soon as he has the object in his hands. It's doing something to him, but it's not unmaking him.

"You want me to take it to the Singularity?"

"Eventually," he says with a nod. Ambrose does not step back, his gaze settling on the reliquary with something akin to fondness.

"As of this moment I have no reason to believe it will work as intended at the Singularity. I want you to ensure that it does."

He does take a step back then as if allowing Ronan a moment to become acquainted with his new charge.

"You have a way with magic and you will see that this is able to collect the energy that emanates from the Singularity as it does here. No matter how much time it takes."

It is not a suggestion.

It's a shame Ronan sucks most at sensing the flow of energy. He can think of several people who could hold this thing right here and tell Ambrose everything he needs to know without having to approach the Singularity at all.

While Ronan is the very opposite of analytical, refusing the task doesn't even cross his mind. He's gazing at the reliquary as attentively as Ambrose, albeit with less fondness and more fascination. This must have taken so much effort for a human, creating something like this. How many years had Ambrose put into building a dream thing with only materials found in the waking world? He's almost not sure he should answer, because even he realizes he might wound the High Mage's pride with his next words.

"It won't be a problem. I can make one that will definitely work."

"Excellent."

He did not expect Ronan to shirk from the task at hand, but it is the agreement he needs nonetheless.

Ambrose motions for Ronan to move back towards the doorway and his study.

"No small amount of effort has been expended to this project. I trust I don't need to impress upon you the demand for confidence... This is something of a personal project."

Not everything needs the sanction and oversight of the Monarchy. Not in the name of progress.

Ronan's head swims as he steps out of the chamber and back into the study. He can't tell whether it's the reliquary that's gotten him all giddy or the quest itself. He's already forgotten what he originally intended to accomplish here, swept up in the challenge ahead of him. He hadn't imagined Ambrose would allow him to return to the Singularity — at least, not anytime soon. Now here he is, not only invited but tasked with harnessing its energy.

"I'll keep my mouth shut," Ronan assures the High Mage. He's an expert in secrecy, being what he is, and once he's given his word, he's bound to it. Especially since he owes Ambrose in particular a debt he doubts he can repay.

"When it's finished, do I hand it off to one of your people or bring it here myself?"

Ambrose gives a curt nod as the door closes automatically behind them, followed by a series of small chimes as the magical wards reapply themselves to the barrier. No one goes in or out without his explicit permission and invitation.

"Bring it to me directly. It's existence is known enough amongst my apprentices, but this is an experiment I want to verify with my own eyes."

He pulls a suitable sack of dark woven cloth from in between a few heavy tomes and hands it over to Rowan pointedly. It is big enough to conceal the reliquary and then some.

"However..."

He pauses, glancing towards a large clock and calendar on the wall near his desk.

"We may find a use for it sooner than later. Make it ready before the land begins to dim. Then will be the true test."

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[ NPC ] move fast, stay low, be the first for all they know.

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