Velho
Approved Character
- Messages
- 200
- Race
- Æld'Norai
- Profession
- Ferrier
- Location
- AElheim
- Arcana
- Character Sheet
༺༉❁ August 17 year 124 of the third age ❁༉༻
<Gore/body horror involved in a Galdr initiation>
<Gore/body horror involved in a Galdr initiation>
As the final leg of the summer season began, Æhti had grown increasingly anxious. Velho had told him that he would, eventually, end up in possession of all five elemental Galdr, or he would die in the process. It'd been some months, two seasons, more precisely, and the boy still only had three of them– it was beginning to feel long overdue for the elder Ælf to impose another on him.
And, well, it was, as the young man had barely the time to finish eating breakfast at the start of the evening before another sveinn entered the room and informed him that Velho had requested his presence in his operating suite– a room Æhti had only ever been in for his Galdr initiations or if he'd injured himself on an errand. He certainly wasn't injured at the moment, so that meant the former option was all but inevitable. Velho wasn't a patient man, but he was a man who preferred to take his time; that meant that Æhti would have a few moments still to gather his thoughts before he really had to move, but he really oughtn't push it.
He took those moments to brace himself before he headed down from the third floor to the second, wherein the surgery suite his master awaited. Unlike before, his prior initiator wasn't there– Eyrie only had Terra and Aqua, so at this point, she could no longer aid in this endeavor. In her place was another woman, this one with features far less dressed in empathy than the other's. She spoke to Velho in Ælvish– a language he didn't understand– briefly, before Velho beckoned Æhti to the forming bench which had been laid flat for the moment.
"To avoid surprising you too much, it's Fulgur today," Velho spoke as the Fælnir made his way over to the bench. Æhti bristled; Fulgur, arguably, possessed the most excruciating initiation in terms of raw pain.
The Ferrier sat where he usually did, in a chair set up a few feet away from the bench. He was there largely to observe, but also unlike previous initiations, he fully intended to use whatever of his own Arcana to keep Æhti alive. He wanted to make a figure of legend– something he'd only ever read about; a Paragon. And at this point, three initiations in, he really would prefer not to have to start over with a different subject. Further, though he'd never admit it, he was starting to grow fond of Æhti.
Once the young sorcerer sat down, Velho spoke again. "This is Magnea, though she won't be speaking much to you– she isn't well versed in Common."
To that, Æhti nodded; he had actually been surprised that Eyrie was so well versed in the Common tongue, as many Æld'Norai simply didn't care to learn unless their chosen life path required interacting with the Fælnir or any other sort of diplomacy. Velho and Magnea spoke to one another once more, though again, their words flowed into a mellifluous, incomprehensible sort of gibberish to the human's ears. His curiosity ate away at him; he really did wish he understood them. Alas, a Fælnir would never be granted the privilege of learning such a language.
As Magnea gathered the same metal implement Eyrie had used to mark him prior, the Ferrier spoke again. "Oh, if you've any fondness for what you're wearing, I suggest removing it. The fires of Fulgur are unpredictable; they'll burn your possessions just as easily as your body," he'd say, speaking in a tone casual enough to unnerve the initiate.
The young man shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like the vulnerability of being naked, much less in front of Velho and a stranger, but he was able to rationalize doing so– reluctantly, he nodded and followed through with this suggestion. Velho had, after all, already gained a fair bit of familiarity with his body; Æhti had been mauled more than once by now during the Ferrier's many errands and thus stitched up by him each time.
Once he'd done that and sat back down, Velho gestured towards the young man's right shoulder– unmarked, thus far– and Magnea carved in Fulgur's symbol with a few swift strokes in a location mirroring Terra on the opposite side. Then, he accepted her offered blood to begin the process. Once done, Æhti's anxiety had spiked so high that he barely noticed the women getting up to leave. She didn't care to watch the process, and unlike Eyrie, had little desire to stay and offer the boy any sort of succor or support; this was a favor for Velho and nothing more. Watching Æhti immolate wasn't a sight she had much interest in bearing witness to.
When the Fælnir did realize she'd left, he'd actually felt ever so slightly better– like the constricting binds of his anxiety loosened just a bit 'round his chest. Her gaze directed on him in this vulnerable moment had actually made him feel worse; more exposed, more vulnerable, more uncomfortable, more…paranoid? He couldn't really explain it, even to himself. Plus, how would her presence have aided in this endeavor, really? Though she might've been able to control any wayward flame, it was unlikely she was a better healer than Velho, and it was evident from her attitude and lack of ability to even speak his tongue that she didn't care much for him– or any Fælnir for that matter. It's not like Velho's presence was exactly pleasant, either, but at least the old, withered creature was the devil he knew.
Whatever relief he felt from Magnea's leave was quick to fade, however, as the initiation soon began in earnest. It started with nerves all over his body beginning to react, each prickling with an unpleasant sensation that slowly bloomed into bright, vibrant pain. Outwardly, the young man would wince, twitching the portions of his body that felt each of these sparks of sensation. He didn't like showing reactions of pain to others, and even though Velho had bore witness to two initiations and numerous injuries prior, he still, almost reflexively, tried to hide his pain.
His pain had no centralized location– it'd flash and burn in one place and then fade to a simmer before a new flare would light up elsewhere. His torso, his limbs, his neck and his head– as the minutes ticked by, his entire body eventually fell victim to one of these flares at one point or another, eventually leading to every inch of his flesh feeling like it was on fire. It wasn't, though…at least, not yet.
Æhti wished badly to offer himself succor through either his Abation or fledgling Aqua, or perhaps simply through turning his body to ice, stone, or water, but he'd been told over and over and over again that to utilize one's other Galdr during an initiation was to invite death. Whilst one's Other was adjusting to the new mark, they'd said, attempting to cast through it could only destabilize it– and as a consequence, destabilize one's soul, thus greatly increasing the chance of catastrophic injury.
It made him wish another Aboteur was present– they'd be able to cool him, for their magic wouldn't stress his own. He also knew that this worked, as many Æld'Norai would have somebody present during their initiations who possessed the opposite element. These mages utilized their spellwork to quell the initiate's symptoms along with the soothing nature of Draoidh. Unfortunately, Velho had no Galdr at all, and he hadn't invited anyone along for that purpose; to Æhti's knowledge, the old man only had Draoidh to work with. That, at least, was far more than nothing.
Once the young man was in visible enough pain, Velho would offer the boy some semblance of a reprieve. Through Vitalitas and Vicissitude, he altered the Æhti's body chemistry, instilling temporary numbness to some of his nerves and increasing his body's natural ability to shrug off pain, flooding his system with endorphins. The Devorare was able to make these adjustments with an acute amount of precision, utilizing his mastery of his craft, his medical knowledge, and his Lifesight combined to monitor his patient's vitals and adjust accordingly.
Æhti had no idea why he suddenly felt better, as Velho had done nothing more than simply place a withered hand on his shoulder. Though it was possible for him to have cast like that, Draoidh was fairly obvious when utilized...or at least, he thought it was. No plants had been made manifest, and the Ferrier had said nothing– usually, the Ferrier would cant a few words or some such. What exactly had he done? Invigoration, too, to his knowledge, didn't offer pain relief, only the mending of bodily damage. Granted, he didn't exactly care at all what spell the old man had used, only that it worked. The rolling boil of his blood, of his pain, had his mind so clouded he couldn't really think that coherently to begin with.
Any degree of pain relief, however, did not stop the slow burn of Fulgur's initiation from progressing. Æhti curled forward, burying his head in his arms, fingers digging into his skull as fiery pain fought through the Ferrier's spellwork. His back had begun to immolate, skin blackening in a spot 'round his right shoulder blade. The conflagration spread at the pace of an agonizingly slow crawl, flesh burning away to bone as time ticked on. He grit his teeth, the thin patina of sweat that'd covered him before rapidly increasing in turn with the uptick of his heart rate and ragged breathing.
The young man's leg kicked involuntarily, toes curling as the back of his calf began to burn away in a similar fashion. The smell, too, was foul– and that surely did nothing to help him in this scenario, as the pain alone made him nauseous and those two things combined had him absolutely struggling to stop himself from vomiting. He couldn't sit still, now, either; he was visibly shaking as more of these burning wounds formed and festered, beginning their own insidious expansions outward.
Velho found himself somewhat distracted by the sight of these strange, burning wounds. Though he realized his patient might be better served were he to actively close them as they appeared, there was something about watching them bloom brighter, burn bigger, that he found beautiful in a fashion most macabre. Further, he found it immensely fascinating to watch them grow and reveal the muscle and bone that twitched and shuddered beneath, each expanding wound accompanied by the lovely crimson composing the young man's blood.
All of that combined with the effervescent, spidering webs of Saol that composed all living things was truly an enchanting sight, at least, in the elder Ælf's mind. The Ferrier, however, was alarmed to see the thick veins and arteries that ran through the boy's chest start to flicker, burning too bright for his tastes, for what he knew to be safe. After a second or two, Æhti couldn't contain his pain anymore– his heart had set fire, and the brilliant agony of that sensation had forced him to evacuate his stomach, resulting in a mix of food, blood and viscera being expelled onto the floor below.
Truly, in these excruciating, slow moments, the young man wished he could pass out– but he knew he couldn't. During a Galdr initiation, one was forced to endure the entire trial conscious; something about it kept the body awake and alert, the only exception being death. He could feel his heart struggling to beat as it actively continued to burn away. During this process, he was left sputtering and struggling to fill his lungs with any air at all. And a double edged sword, that was– the flow of oxygen seemed to fuel the fire, and yet if he stopped breathing, he'd die. Was this it, then? Was he done?
Æhti couldn't help but feel like he was utterly hopeless, unable to hold onto a single rational thought whatsoever– or any thought, really, for more than a few seconds. His body was burning, his mind melting, and then, all of sudden, there was relief. Velho had reached out again, realizing from the additional distress and conflagration of the boy's veins that he was, indeed, actively dying. From his touch, much of the damage that had thus far been done began to reverse, though the Ferrier's features briefly twisted to vexation. He was actively fighting against the burn of the initiation, and he didn't like this; with his mastery of Devorare, he never struggled to cast. On his end, it felt as if the boy's wounds were refusing to close, flesh continuing to burn even as it was regenerated. Luckily for Æhti, at least, Velho had ample reserves of Absentia to fuel his Vicissitude long enough to achieve stability.
And for a moment after such had been achieved, neither of them could tell if it was over. What gave it away, then, was Æhti finally losing consciousness whilst he still drew breath. Velho, slave to sanguine hunger as he was, couldn't help but to draw some of his patient's blood through the air– it flowed forth in a dark, crimson tendril, meeting his lips after only a few seconds. Alone in the room with Æhti unconscious, he was fairly shameless about this act; because while the Devorare still knew not why, his patient's blood was still the most delectable he'd ever tasted. Surely, it would be remiss of him to pass up any opportunity wherein he could partake in it freely.
Then, he moved to use what of his Saol reserves he could without inviting Mageburn, Invigorating his patient, healing him the rest of the way. Though the boy still looked a bit of a mess, his flesh had been restored, his body healed enough that one might never guess he'd even gone through such an arduous trial only minutes before. Velho was more than satisfied with this result– he'd been successful, and no long term harm had come to his patient.
In the ensuing moments, the frail, old elf stood, walking over to wheel a gurney next to the forming bench on which a now unconscious Æhti lay. Lacking the strength to move the young man himself, he'd then take his leave, quitting the room to go fetch a few sveinn to both clean up the initiation's aftermath and transfer the now fourfold Galsterei back to his chambers. Æhti would be given ample time to rest, but after that Velho would see that he'd be taught to control his new abilities– Fulgur was, after all, the most unstable of the elemental Galdr.
And, well, it was, as the young man had barely the time to finish eating breakfast at the start of the evening before another sveinn entered the room and informed him that Velho had requested his presence in his operating suite– a room Æhti had only ever been in for his Galdr initiations or if he'd injured himself on an errand. He certainly wasn't injured at the moment, so that meant the former option was all but inevitable. Velho wasn't a patient man, but he was a man who preferred to take his time; that meant that Æhti would have a few moments still to gather his thoughts before he really had to move, but he really oughtn't push it.
He took those moments to brace himself before he headed down from the third floor to the second, wherein the surgery suite his master awaited. Unlike before, his prior initiator wasn't there– Eyrie only had Terra and Aqua, so at this point, she could no longer aid in this endeavor. In her place was another woman, this one with features far less dressed in empathy than the other's. She spoke to Velho in Ælvish– a language he didn't understand– briefly, before Velho beckoned Æhti to the forming bench which had been laid flat for the moment.
"To avoid surprising you too much, it's Fulgur today," Velho spoke as the Fælnir made his way over to the bench. Æhti bristled; Fulgur, arguably, possessed the most excruciating initiation in terms of raw pain.
The Ferrier sat where he usually did, in a chair set up a few feet away from the bench. He was there largely to observe, but also unlike previous initiations, he fully intended to use whatever of his own Arcana to keep Æhti alive. He wanted to make a figure of legend– something he'd only ever read about; a Paragon. And at this point, three initiations in, he really would prefer not to have to start over with a different subject. Further, though he'd never admit it, he was starting to grow fond of Æhti.
Once the young sorcerer sat down, Velho spoke again. "This is Magnea, though she won't be speaking much to you– she isn't well versed in Common."
To that, Æhti nodded; he had actually been surprised that Eyrie was so well versed in the Common tongue, as many Æld'Norai simply didn't care to learn unless their chosen life path required interacting with the Fælnir or any other sort of diplomacy. Velho and Magnea spoke to one another once more, though again, their words flowed into a mellifluous, incomprehensible sort of gibberish to the human's ears. His curiosity ate away at him; he really did wish he understood them. Alas, a Fælnir would never be granted the privilege of learning such a language.
As Magnea gathered the same metal implement Eyrie had used to mark him prior, the Ferrier spoke again. "Oh, if you've any fondness for what you're wearing, I suggest removing it. The fires of Fulgur are unpredictable; they'll burn your possessions just as easily as your body," he'd say, speaking in a tone casual enough to unnerve the initiate.
The young man shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like the vulnerability of being naked, much less in front of Velho and a stranger, but he was able to rationalize doing so– reluctantly, he nodded and followed through with this suggestion. Velho had, after all, already gained a fair bit of familiarity with his body; Æhti had been mauled more than once by now during the Ferrier's many errands and thus stitched up by him each time.
Once he'd done that and sat back down, Velho gestured towards the young man's right shoulder– unmarked, thus far– and Magnea carved in Fulgur's symbol with a few swift strokes in a location mirroring Terra on the opposite side. Then, he accepted her offered blood to begin the process. Once done, Æhti's anxiety had spiked so high that he barely noticed the women getting up to leave. She didn't care to watch the process, and unlike Eyrie, had little desire to stay and offer the boy any sort of succor or support; this was a favor for Velho and nothing more. Watching Æhti immolate wasn't a sight she had much interest in bearing witness to.
When the Fælnir did realize she'd left, he'd actually felt ever so slightly better– like the constricting binds of his anxiety loosened just a bit 'round his chest. Her gaze directed on him in this vulnerable moment had actually made him feel worse; more exposed, more vulnerable, more uncomfortable, more…paranoid? He couldn't really explain it, even to himself. Plus, how would her presence have aided in this endeavor, really? Though she might've been able to control any wayward flame, it was unlikely she was a better healer than Velho, and it was evident from her attitude and lack of ability to even speak his tongue that she didn't care much for him– or any Fælnir for that matter. It's not like Velho's presence was exactly pleasant, either, but at least the old, withered creature was the devil he knew.
Whatever relief he felt from Magnea's leave was quick to fade, however, as the initiation soon began in earnest. It started with nerves all over his body beginning to react, each prickling with an unpleasant sensation that slowly bloomed into bright, vibrant pain. Outwardly, the young man would wince, twitching the portions of his body that felt each of these sparks of sensation. He didn't like showing reactions of pain to others, and even though Velho had bore witness to two initiations and numerous injuries prior, he still, almost reflexively, tried to hide his pain.
His pain had no centralized location– it'd flash and burn in one place and then fade to a simmer before a new flare would light up elsewhere. His torso, his limbs, his neck and his head– as the minutes ticked by, his entire body eventually fell victim to one of these flares at one point or another, eventually leading to every inch of his flesh feeling like it was on fire. It wasn't, though…at least, not yet.
Æhti wished badly to offer himself succor through either his Abation or fledgling Aqua, or perhaps simply through turning his body to ice, stone, or water, but he'd been told over and over and over again that to utilize one's other Galdr during an initiation was to invite death. Whilst one's Other was adjusting to the new mark, they'd said, attempting to cast through it could only destabilize it– and as a consequence, destabilize one's soul, thus greatly increasing the chance of catastrophic injury.
It made him wish another Aboteur was present– they'd be able to cool him, for their magic wouldn't stress his own. He also knew that this worked, as many Æld'Norai would have somebody present during their initiations who possessed the opposite element. These mages utilized their spellwork to quell the initiate's symptoms along with the soothing nature of Draoidh. Unfortunately, Velho had no Galdr at all, and he hadn't invited anyone along for that purpose; to Æhti's knowledge, the old man only had Draoidh to work with. That, at least, was far more than nothing.
Once the young man was in visible enough pain, Velho would offer the boy some semblance of a reprieve. Through Vitalitas and Vicissitude, he altered the Æhti's body chemistry, instilling temporary numbness to some of his nerves and increasing his body's natural ability to shrug off pain, flooding his system with endorphins. The Devorare was able to make these adjustments with an acute amount of precision, utilizing his mastery of his craft, his medical knowledge, and his Lifesight combined to monitor his patient's vitals and adjust accordingly.
Æhti had no idea why he suddenly felt better, as Velho had done nothing more than simply place a withered hand on his shoulder. Though it was possible for him to have cast like that, Draoidh was fairly obvious when utilized...or at least, he thought it was. No plants had been made manifest, and the Ferrier had said nothing– usually, the Ferrier would cant a few words or some such. What exactly had he done? Invigoration, too, to his knowledge, didn't offer pain relief, only the mending of bodily damage. Granted, he didn't exactly care at all what spell the old man had used, only that it worked. The rolling boil of his blood, of his pain, had his mind so clouded he couldn't really think that coherently to begin with.
Any degree of pain relief, however, did not stop the slow burn of Fulgur's initiation from progressing. Æhti curled forward, burying his head in his arms, fingers digging into his skull as fiery pain fought through the Ferrier's spellwork. His back had begun to immolate, skin blackening in a spot 'round his right shoulder blade. The conflagration spread at the pace of an agonizingly slow crawl, flesh burning away to bone as time ticked on. He grit his teeth, the thin patina of sweat that'd covered him before rapidly increasing in turn with the uptick of his heart rate and ragged breathing.
The young man's leg kicked involuntarily, toes curling as the back of his calf began to burn away in a similar fashion. The smell, too, was foul– and that surely did nothing to help him in this scenario, as the pain alone made him nauseous and those two things combined had him absolutely struggling to stop himself from vomiting. He couldn't sit still, now, either; he was visibly shaking as more of these burning wounds formed and festered, beginning their own insidious expansions outward.
Velho found himself somewhat distracted by the sight of these strange, burning wounds. Though he realized his patient might be better served were he to actively close them as they appeared, there was something about watching them bloom brighter, burn bigger, that he found beautiful in a fashion most macabre. Further, he found it immensely fascinating to watch them grow and reveal the muscle and bone that twitched and shuddered beneath, each expanding wound accompanied by the lovely crimson composing the young man's blood.
All of that combined with the effervescent, spidering webs of Saol that composed all living things was truly an enchanting sight, at least, in the elder Ælf's mind. The Ferrier, however, was alarmed to see the thick veins and arteries that ran through the boy's chest start to flicker, burning too bright for his tastes, for what he knew to be safe. After a second or two, Æhti couldn't contain his pain anymore– his heart had set fire, and the brilliant agony of that sensation had forced him to evacuate his stomach, resulting in a mix of food, blood and viscera being expelled onto the floor below.
Truly, in these excruciating, slow moments, the young man wished he could pass out– but he knew he couldn't. During a Galdr initiation, one was forced to endure the entire trial conscious; something about it kept the body awake and alert, the only exception being death. He could feel his heart struggling to beat as it actively continued to burn away. During this process, he was left sputtering and struggling to fill his lungs with any air at all. And a double edged sword, that was– the flow of oxygen seemed to fuel the fire, and yet if he stopped breathing, he'd die. Was this it, then? Was he done?
Æhti couldn't help but feel like he was utterly hopeless, unable to hold onto a single rational thought whatsoever– or any thought, really, for more than a few seconds. His body was burning, his mind melting, and then, all of sudden, there was relief. Velho had reached out again, realizing from the additional distress and conflagration of the boy's veins that he was, indeed, actively dying. From his touch, much of the damage that had thus far been done began to reverse, though the Ferrier's features briefly twisted to vexation. He was actively fighting against the burn of the initiation, and he didn't like this; with his mastery of Devorare, he never struggled to cast. On his end, it felt as if the boy's wounds were refusing to close, flesh continuing to burn even as it was regenerated. Luckily for Æhti, at least, Velho had ample reserves of Absentia to fuel his Vicissitude long enough to achieve stability.
And for a moment after such had been achieved, neither of them could tell if it was over. What gave it away, then, was Æhti finally losing consciousness whilst he still drew breath. Velho, slave to sanguine hunger as he was, couldn't help but to draw some of his patient's blood through the air– it flowed forth in a dark, crimson tendril, meeting his lips after only a few seconds. Alone in the room with Æhti unconscious, he was fairly shameless about this act; because while the Devorare still knew not why, his patient's blood was still the most delectable he'd ever tasted. Surely, it would be remiss of him to pass up any opportunity wherein he could partake in it freely.
Then, he moved to use what of his Saol reserves he could without inviting Mageburn, Invigorating his patient, healing him the rest of the way. Though the boy still looked a bit of a mess, his flesh had been restored, his body healed enough that one might never guess he'd even gone through such an arduous trial only minutes before. Velho was more than satisfied with this result– he'd been successful, and no long term harm had come to his patient.
In the ensuing moments, the frail, old elf stood, walking over to wheel a gurney next to the forming bench on which a now unconscious Æhti lay. Lacking the strength to move the young man himself, he'd then take his leave, quitting the room to go fetch a few sveinn to both clean up the initiation's aftermath and transfer the now fourfold Galsterei back to his chambers. Æhti would be given ample time to rest, but after that Velho would see that he'd be taught to control his new abilities– Fulgur was, after all, the most unstable of the elemental Galdr.
