From quinn@fazigu.org Fri Jan 06 13:47:11 2006 Return-path: Envelope-to: quinn@fazigu.org Delivery-date: Fri, 06 Jan 2006 13:47:11 -0500 Received: from yami.57thstreet.com ([216.110.12.54]) by work.fazigu.org with esmtp (Exim 4.50) id 1EuwcJ-0002Gj-8L for quinn@fazigu.org; Fri, 06 Jan 2006 13:47:11 -0500 Received: from moo.ghostmoo.org (yami.57thstreet.com [216.110.12.54]) by yami.57thstreet.com (8.13.1/8.13.1) with SMTP id k06IwoXo089098 for ; Fri, 6 Jan 2006 18:58:50 GMT (envelope-from quinn@fazigu.org) Message-Id: <200601061858.k06IwoXo089098@yami.57thstreet.com> Date: Fri, 6 Jan 2006 12:58:50 -0400 From: "Quinn@Ghostwheel" To: quinn@fazigu.org Subject: Ghostwheel Message(s) 320 from *storylines (#5236) X-Mail-Agent: Ghostwheel (moo.ghostmoo.org 6969) X-Spam-Checker-Version: SpamAssassin 3.0.2 (2004-11-16) on work.fazigu.org X-Spam-Level: X-Spam-Status: No, score=-1.0 required=5.0 tests=AWL,BAYES_05 autolearn=ham version=3.0.2 Status: RO Content-Length: 3641 Lines: 90 Message 320 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Nov 14 13:10:41 2005 EST From: Daryan (#41242) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: A daunting task Five precious stones lay arranged before him, on the small oaken table. Velvetine slips rested beneath each of them, shielding their surfaces from any flaws the table might inflict. One of them sat apart from the others; a glittering green stone, an emerald. Around it, upon the surface of the velvet pad, lay a circle of silver dust, with lines crossing its inside. Lines that formed the vertices of a six-pointed star. Of course, that was mostly just for show; the really important stuff wasn't visible to the untrained eye. What was complicating his job was the fact that he'd never really -done- anything like this before. Sure, he'd created a few small trinkets, like the rose. But he'd never actually tried to imbue something with power, or to strip that power away from it. And that's just what he had been instructed to do. Rill had handed him the small pouch of stones, and told him to take them apart; well, not in so many words, but that was the gist of it. The emerald lay before him, revealed in all its glory by his magesight. It wasn't an overly complex working, but it was one that had to be approached carefully. Simple lock... simple trap. Carefully, he reached out toward the gem. The backs of his hands, habitually lined with red, were clean today; gone were the runes he so often etched into his own skin. There was simply too much at risk to play with fire, as it were. The threads of enchantment woven around the gemstone before him lay as clear as day; all that remained was to figure out how to unravel them. "The proof is in the pattern... the pattern..." With a gesture, he forced the jewel to rotate, slowly, its surrounding cage of silver-white ley lines rotating with it. They were too close together to unravel; if only he could make them larger, make the field they encompassed greater... His eyes narrowed; the easy path was the one that led most often to the dead end. If his experience with the wyrm bard had taught him nothing else, it had taught him that. He gritted his mental teeth and dug into the problem at hand, throwing his entire will and focus against the task. Threads unravelled; the entire process took a matter of seconds, but the gemstone was suddenly bereft of all magical influence. It wasn't the most subtle of methods, nor was it the easiest; it required raw power in spades, and left him on the edge of madness. But it worked. And it also gave him a glimpse into how the threads had been woven to begin with... a glance that would be helpful in unwinding the others, hopefully in less brutal methods. Hopefully. He closed his eyes and took a sip of water; the bracing cold galvanized him, gave him something to grab hold of, something to focus on. He realized that he was still looking at the spectral side of things; even through his closed eyes, he could see the cages of light around the stones... But only the energies around them. If he... If that one was there... The flask of water fell from suddenly limp fingers as all thought of fatigue left him. Like a blind man, he reached out, feeling the enchantments rather than seeing them with his eyes. His fingers touched something hard, and cold; the sapphire, then. As he worked his fingers around it, the cage slowly began to unravel, threads falling away at his touch. It was intoxicating, watching the ebb and flow of energy in its rawest forms. And, he had to admit, more than a little frightening. --------------------------