Closed Stirring Sands (Serapis)

[Desiderata]

The sky stretched endlessly overhead, a blue vastness so absolute that it swallowed all else.

It was not entirely blue, of course- there was the sun, for one thing. Clouds, too. Even in Arcanis, there were wispy clouds which would never bring rain. They roamed the vault of the firmament like sprites, serving no purpose but to cast occasional shadows on the great golden desert below.

And what a great desert it was, this far northeast of Bast. Without the paltry works of man or jinn to blemish it, the golden sands presented a perfect canvas, a painting, a work of true divinity. The desert inspired different awe in different ways in all those who gazed upon it, but it seldom failed to inspire in some fashion. This was the untrammeled land, the land which had broken the Aeld'norai and seen them humbled, and built back up again into something different. Something new.



But it hadn't always been that way, here. Long ago, in a different age, the ones who would become Jin'Norai had raised a great kingdom here. They had called it "Semitupe", though few people now could explain why, and it was said that they had found immortality "of two kinds, but it was never enough." It certainly had not been enough to shield their kingdom from the Invisible Collapse, which had sunk it below the sands.

And that was exactly why Serapis Hauhet had come here.

It wasn't that nobody had ever come to raid Semitupe's corpse for artifacts, mind- by this point, enterprising archeologists and tomb-thieves alike (when there was any real difference at all) had made inroads into most of the known Mirage Kingdoms. Three miles west was an established camp for entering a fragment of the old city's amduat, where junior archeologists and treasure hunters gathered to squabble over the remaining pots and fragments of carving from what remained of Semitupe's residential district.

What excited Serapis' interest had been something else, the discovery of documents which indicated a complex for the mage-priests of Semitupe several miles away from the city proper, where their rites to propriate Aeolus and the spirits of the sun could be conducted in privacy. If that were true, there could be a cache of preserved artifacts, hitherto untouched by any of his peers, preserved for eons by the magic of the vengeful Rakshasa. Better yet, there might be a cache of artifacts of the archmagi of the kingdom, the kind of thing which collectors to the south would pay eye-watering sums of money for... or which could permanently raise an ambitious young professor into the upper echelons of Bastion's scholars.

"No worries about the sky today, professor."

Serapis' chief porter, Faluo, had somehow snuck up behind the mage again, his footsteps muffled by the desert. How he managed to avoid the notice of the professor's Fathom...? He could only imagine it was some unexpected blessing of the man's absolute lack of curiosity which protected him against mental detection.

"We's weeks off from any of the big sandstorms hitting, eh? Once we get the tents up, we'll be set until food and water makes us leave."

As a professor of Bastion, Serapis had certain perks- for example, he didn't have to pay for porters and guides on this expedition out of his own pocket. Unfortunately, to take advantage of that perk, he had to rely upon the teams assigned him from the Academy's labor pool. It wasn't that the Academy didn't employ the best--they did--but good archeologists learned who the best were quickly, and Serapis' seniors had priority holds on all of them. Faluo was perfectly capable of transporting things and people across the sands, but he wasn't exactly renowned for his initiative.

 

[Serapis]

༺ ☾ Winter ?? year 125 of the third age ☼ ༻
<>

Tempering one's expectations was a somewhat difficult task for one Serapis Hauhet when it came to each new venture. As soon as he'd come across the documents that had pointed him in the direction of his current expedition, his mind had been alight with the potential of what he could find there– he'd pursued the necessary steps to embark as fast as he could whilst still being well prepared and cautious per his standards. All the while, one would never guess from his stoic demeanor the sheer level of excitement that buzzed within him.

Now out in the midst of stirring sands, Serapis was dressed in layers of light, breathable cream-toned cloth meant to protect his skin from the unrelenting heat of the sun. He found his gaze transfixed upon the horizon, thoughts a complex web of both what his next steps ought to be and his natural curiosity running amok with potential theories about that which he might find. Since progressing in Fathom, he'd found himself able to hold several more strings of internal dialog as well as additional abstract, sensory thought patterns, simultaneously. And while this was certainly invaluable for any cerebral task, being so wrapped up within the tapestry of his mind could also make him somewhat oblivious to his surroundings. That, along with several other variables, resulted in Faluo's words pulling him from his thoughts with a jolt.

Serapis blinked, reorienting himself for a moment before setting his gaze onto the porter. "I do hope so– and if necessary, I ought to be able to open a portal for somebody to go fetch additional supplies," he'd answer smoothly, glossing over his surprise. "Help the others set up camp."

The documents which had led the mage here were stored safely within the confines of his Pocket Dimension. This would allow him the ability to refer to them directly if necessary– say, if somebody else needed to see them for whatever reason– though he likely would not need to; Fathom had gifted him a near perfect memory at this point. Per the information contained therein, he would begin the process of scanning his surroundings in search of anything that would indicate the presence of the complex he sought. Divination would be of limited use if anything touched by Metaphor was deep enough underground, but at least poking around for traces of thereof couldn't hurt.

For now, he was avoiding use of anything beyond Mysticism, though if he were unable to find much at all otherwise, he'd have to consider searching with a psychoplasm field.

 

[Desiderata]

"Boss! Boss!"

Serapis' thoughts were broken by a new voice. This was Rami, one of Faluo's men, a human of unusually slight build for the porter team. That was because Rami wasn't really on the team to fetch and carry like most of Faluo's people, he was a member of the Tanim Clan, ex-mercenary with ties to dozens of people in useful positions across the desert and a smooth tongue. Aside from getting the team ready access to sites and through the security of various Kingdoms, Rami also had a quick mind, and so Faluo trusted him to instruct the other porters on what was valuable and how to excavate without breaking.

"Eh? What's this noise, Rami?"

The chief porter's tone was brusque--probably annoyed that his moment to suck up to Serapis had been interrupted--but Rami paid it no mind, well aware that he was too valuable for Faluo to mistreat. Beyond that, however, the lithe porter's eyes were sparkling with excitement, the kind of look which really only ever meant...
"Tami found sommat, boss. I think the professor should come have a look, it's... phaw, I can't even describe it. I think it's a building, only halfway inside stone, boss!"


"What, like built into the amduat..." Faluo's confusion was palpable. The finding of a building, sure, that was exciting enough news to come get him and Serapis. But many buildings in Arcanis led into the vast caverns below the surface; even in the times of the Mirage Kingdoms, that had been pretty common. After all, if you had a large space not subject to the scorching heat of the sun or the whimsy of the wind, you'd be a fool not to build an access.
"No, boss, it's more like... it's fossilized, almost. Come, come, I can't do it justice with words."
Faluo gave Serapis a sidelong look, communicating his wariness and confusion, but turned to follow Rami anyway. After all, that was what they were there for- and if there was something unexpected, unprecedented even? Well, that would be all the better for the college's purposes.

•─────────★•♛•★────────•​

Once the professor and porters arrived at the site, the reason for Rami's excitement and confusion became apparent. The porters had begun with a very traditional setup, driving stakes into the ground and stringing ropes between them to delineate the dig site; several such markers had been put up in various areas, and there were signs that they had begun the tedious and labor-intensive process of shoveling loose sand into piles (downwind, so that they did not simply blow back overnight). A few pavilions had been set up, with dromedaries and horses lashed up and mostly unpacked.

All of that work had been interrupted, however, as the various laborers and porters crowded around one of the digsites. Faluo swore and shoved his way through them, admonishing them with threats and curses until they backed away; but even in the face of their boss' rage, they continued to hang back, clearly wanting to see what was going on. When Faluo and Rami had cleared a path to the dig, they saw...

​

A golden spire, clearly man-made, was rising out of the digsite, surrounded by rocks. No; upon closer inspection, it was embedded into the rocks. The porters had dug out the sand and loose earth around it, then hit a layer of rock over whatever building lay beneath.

The golden spire itself was not that surprising. This was a typical feature of important buildings in Semitupe, and there were a half-dozen well preserved examples of it at the other site three miles away. It also wouldn't have been that surprising to find a building under rock- that's what it meant to build in the amduat, after all. But Semitupe had used these spires as part of their rites propriating the sky and sun, and to concentrate metaphor thereby. They had not built them underground.

Faluo still looked lost, but Rami turned to Serapis with great interest and excitement.

"What could have happened here, venerated scholar?"

In another culture's context, that might have been read as mockery, but Arcanis had a formal register for low-ranking clansmen addressing those far superior, as well as for times when one wished to express deep respect. Rami was apparently even keener than Faluo had realized, and recognized the potential value of this find.

"And if the whole building lies below rock, how are we to enter?"

 

[Serapis]

༺ ☾ Winter ?? year 125 of the third age ☼ ༻
<>

With his ruminations and initial Mystic scans of the desert expanse interrupted by Rami's intrusion, Serapis would shift his primary attention to his porters bearing a largely placid expression. He'd acknowledge the newcomer with a small nod, eyes lit with a subtle curiosity. For the moment, he would simply observe the interaction between Rami and Faluo, then he would follow them as indicated. In this, he was perfectly content to let the latter push everyone else aside and move along the path thus created. There was nothing worthwhile to say, he thought, until he was able to see whatever it was that had sparked such a reaction in the former.

And while the professor was not the most excitable fellow, his eyes would widen and a hint of a smile would tug upon his lips when he set his sights on the golden spire emerging from below the sands. Serapis knew about these, but not in a context like this– to his understanding, such markers were designations solely for Semitupe's above-ground structures.

"The simplest assumption we could draw is that the building was buried, either by deliberate action or wind and time. That being said, there is no way to truely know 'til we unveil that which lies below." The professor spoke as he moved, taking a few forward steps to get a closer look at the spire itself– he was curious to see if its surface bore any markings different from others of its ilk.

Then there was the matter of selecting a solution for the latter query posed:
The order to dig manually could be given or Arcana could be used.

The former would be a time consuming affair that might exhaust his venture both physically and resource wise, while Serapis was only hesitant to use his Arcana for this purpose because he held some worry that what lay below might necessitate the use thereof. Any manner of ancient security– mundane or magical– might exist untouched within. He would hate to be caught without the necessary Imber or Aether, but ultimately, as long as he preserved his Aether, he and any who ventured below alongside him ought to have an escape route.

Turning back towards his eager crew, "as for how to get in, please step back and wait."

Serapis would only wait as long as necessary for those behind him to listen before returning his gaze to the spire and activating a field of psionic Imber, expanding 10' around him in all directions. At first, it might appear as if nothing was happening– only a Mystic's perception would lend them sight to see the subtle, translucent sphere of writhing Imber that now ensconced the professor. But as seconds ticked by, the sand beneath his feet would begin to part as he willed the swirling Imber to slowly 'dig' by pushing any sand, dirt, or lose stone within the sphere out of the way.

Further action would depend on what was uncovered through this process. If, as he sank, his feet were met with the hard surface of something like a roof, he'd keep walking 'round the vicinity of the spire to try and find the edge thereof and then proceed further down. Ideally, he was intending to sink deep enough to find a proper entrance; destroying any part of the building to get in would be a last resort. If he sank deep enough such that sand might start to fall in on him, his psychokinetic field would serve to protect him from being buried. And if he were to dig into a pit of any sort, he'd be able to slow the rate of his fall by its aid in order to land safely.

: Spells

1x Expert Fathom - Psionic Field
Imber Spell Reserves: 1.11
-0.33
Remaining: 0.78

 

[Desiderata]

Sand whirled as it began to compress and spurt outwards at the edge of the field of Imber, blowing upward into the air around Serapis' zone of control. Although the psychokinesis pressed only outwards, the shifting pressures of the grains somehow resulted in a spin, looking almost like the ghostly memory of a tiny sandstorm, as if the Breath of the World had incarnated in miniature around the archeologist.

The porters took a step back, even though many of them had seen the like before. Laborers, even ones who worked with the academy, tended towards a superstitious awe of magic; all the better, as far as the professors were concerned. A cowed and wide-eyed populace was much less likely to try to bring their petty squabbles and political issues to bother the great and powerful. Their boss, Faluo, didn't move in the least. Doubtless he'd seen this sort of spell cast a hundred times before- and his prodigy, Rami, did his best to emulate his boss in this. He looked a bit uneasy, but nobody got far in their careers without doing some things which made them uncertain.

Meanwhile, the mage himself continued his descent into the sands, confident at least that he would encounter no real difficulties until he actually found his way into the ruin. There were often wards and traps in the ghostly remnants of the Mirage Kingdoms, but practically any magic left outside and buried in the desert for this long would have been broken and drained by the shifting sands over thousands of years, and the sorts of predator like the greatwurms of the deeper desert would never venture this close to mountains. The worst monster he was likely to face here were angry stoats.

Within a minute, Serapis' efforts bore some fruit as the whirling sphere of imber dug deeper. Perhaps ten feet below the feet of the expedition, his sphere made contact with a solid surface- not rock, but tile. Blue tile, in fact, once a brilliant turquoise, now dimmed and dulled by scratches and sand.

This sort of roof had been found before in Semitupe, in the surface ruins, though always broken apart- if they excavated the whole thing, it might make for a mild curiosity... but nothing which would advance a career. It also meant that he was probably at least twenty feet up from any door, which was-

"Aeolus' BALLS."

Faluo's startled cry rang out above Serapis, though he couldn't immediately see why. A moment later, the rest of the porters began to shout too; cries of pure, raw excitement. For a few moments, even with his superior Mystic's senses and expert training, the professor couldn't discern any reason for such an uproar. This was due to the angle at which he stood.

When Serapis looked back at the form of the roof taking shape within the Imber-dug pit, however, the reason for the excitement became plain. A brass-clad object was sticking out of the side of the roof, ten feet long, as wide as Serapis himself, bent and broken by ages of wind and earth, but still recognizably... a telescope. This wasn't a temple, it was an observatory. And there was only one kind of person who would have the kind of resources and power you'd need to build that.

"Magus!" someone shouted, enthusiastically, "Magus' tower!"

A cheer went up as the porters considered what this meant. When the Jin'Norai of the Mirage Kingdoms built telescopes, it was to study and track the influences of the other planes of being, and that meant they were trying to manipulate their energies for their purposes. That meant books, and charts, and clever little instruments... and it also meant artifacts. Real magic, not just the scraps you could scrounge out of the buried basement of some minor lord's manse. Cutting-edge stuff, maybe, the kind which a porter could make a lot of money if they could smuggle off the site and find buyers for.

It also meant that Serapis would only have so long with this site to himself before word got out. Within a month, there would be a dozen teams digging sites around here.

 

[Serapis]

༺ ☾ Winter ?? year 125 of the third age ☼ ༻
<>

As Serapis sank deeper into the sands, his mind was aflutter with the potential of what he might find. Despite this, he did try and keep his expectations tempered– this building might, after all, be of little note aside from the fact that it had 'til now escaped discovery during previous sweeps of Semitupe's boundaries. Nevertheless, he eyed the faded turquoise tile as they came into view with curiosity as his feet made contact with the structure's roof. This sort of roof decoration was not quite remarkable on its own, but its presence didn't rule out the possibility of–

Faluo's voice startled Serapis, who in turn swiveled around swiftly to face the porter; initially, his heart sank, as he'd feared something had occurred up on the surface, like an anomalous weather event or ghoulish trick by a cruel Rakshasa. Seeing nothing, the professor's gaze flit from the other man to that which his flabbergasted features were fixed upon, only for his own stoic facade to fall at the sight thereof– a telescope.

From that point forward, excitement lit his stony visage and the force of the Imberic field exerted upon the sand around him would increase in turn. It was still far from strong enough to cause any real harm to the sturdy stone of the structure upon which he walked, but it would increase the speed at which he was capable of 'digging' by a notable margin. The sorcerer would scamper 'cross the roof 'til he found the edge of it and then began to descend further, all the while looking for any possible avenue through which he could catch a glimpse of any part of the interior, sealed or not. If he were able to pass by a window or the like, he would opt to Blink inside. And if not, he'd continue down 'til he reached the ground and then sweep 'round the structure in search of a proper entrance.

Once inside the observatory, the swirl of Serapis' psionic field would slow. It would no longer actively impact the world around him at all, yet still it lingered should he wish to use it for another purpose. The professor intended to sweep the place himself first, as was a pattern typical to excavations he led. If he were able to Blink in, he'd be further chuffed that none would be able to follow him right away, either; a slow cascade of sand ought to be filling whatever path he'd taken in that case.

Selfish? Surely, but those who worked below him were never shorted when it came to just rewards for their contributions; if they did a good job and a given site was a particularly rich find, the professor would often allow the porters to smuggle off a few objects of monetary– not archaeological nor academic– value to split amongst themselves as additional 'gifts' on top of their standard pay. Serapis was not a man who cared all that much for raw monetary excess, as he believed that greater luxuries would come to him as he rose in status within Bast. Further, he found that folks were easier to both motivate and manipulate at no cost to his Arcane Reserves when he could dangle a carrot before them in this fashion.

: Spells

Spell Reserves edited to reflect the system change which combined all Reserves into a single pool

1x Expert Fathom - Psionic Field
1x Novice Exodus - Blink (can increase tier if greater distance is required)

Spell Reserves: 2.11
-0.33
-0.01
Remaining: 1.77

 

[Desiderata]

It was, of course, something of a pipe dream to expect to find any window which hadn't been caved in by the weight of the sands over the centuries, and that is precisely what Serapis located- an entryway which had once been secured by sturdy glass and banded iron, but was now merely buried and smashed remains. The uppermost floor, at the least, was halfway flooded with sand, creating a cavernous pocket around the bent shape of the skyglass telescope which had once dominated the room.

Still, as Serapis' sphere moved the sand away around him, he could make out some tell-tale details. Here, a bas-relief carving depicting constellations- there, a mostly-buried chair, carved out of stone but ingeniously shaped to look like it was one of the naturally-grown wooden seats of distant Aelheim. That was one of the affectations common throughout the Mirage Kingdoms, when the banishment of the Jin'Norai had been only a recent memory. Such furniture was no longer in vogue in Arcanis, but it would still make a fine piece for some collector who wanted yet another item of discussion in his parlor.

Other knick-knacks became apparent as the professor's spell slowly sifted through the sands. There was a metal tool of some kind, presumably used in calibration. There were a set of lenses--perhaps useful to the Academy, perhaps not--lying amid the wreckage of the case they had been contained in before the leather binding it rotted away. To Serapis' right, part of a statue was revealed, showing a complex winged figure. The statue was hard to look at directly, for it had been wrought to give the impression of something with more angles and curves than could feasibly exist within a space, alongside many sets of wings, several of which had snapped off under the weight of time and earth. Some sort of icon, perhaps? Skygazers often harbored some worship of the celestial realms...

But all of this was forgotten in an instant as Serapis' sphere uncovered the stairwell leading downwards, deeper into the tower- and buzzed, sparking as it quarreled with the field of metaphor already limning the doorway. The floor below, it seemed, had been hermetically sealed, all points of entry covered with layers of magic intended to keep even gasses and alien forms of metaphor out. Moreover, those wardings had somehow held, all this time, pushing back the sand. That meant that the floor below should not be flooded with sand. Perhaps its contents would even be intact?

Better yet, it meant a mage's demesne, and no mistake. But, most exciting of all, it meant that mage's work was still drawing power from somewhere.

Exciting... and daunting. The mages of the Mirage Kingdoms had been, by and large, powers unto themselves. One powerful enough to own this tower and keep it safe and working centuries after their death...? Who could say what kind of traps or guardians they had left?

This presented Serapis with a dangerous quandary. This was the kind of exploration which could make his career... or kill him. And though he could return to the Academy and easily get support for a team of mages to aid him now, that would inevitably mean word would get out, and it would risk someone else getting in first. So what to risk? Life, or some success which might be even greater?

 

[Serapis]

༺ ☾ Winter ?? year 125 of the third age ☼ ༻
<>

Serapis was unable to find an intact window, much as he wished that the ancient construction would've been able to defy time and physics. Nevertheless, the broken frame gave way to a partially destroyed observation chamber, one that he was happy to at least still be capable of exploring by his Fathom's virtue.

With cautious strides the sorcerer made his rounds to search the room, finding first art and furniture that were of some interest. Upon seeing the chair, the urge to open a portal and squirrel it away amongst his personal finds was nigh impossible to resist. It wasn't an item of high monetary value, as the style of such an antiquity had fallen out of favor long ago, but that didn't mean it couldn't have value to him. He would open a portal within the confines of his psionic field and then proceed to push the chair into the security of his Pocket Dimension before closing it again. Maybe an unwise use of Arcane Reserves, but the whimsy of a collector was sometimes…irrational. And while the statue was appealing, it was a bit too large for him to take.

Serapis would also lay claim to the lenses and metal tool, though these he would store in the rucksack he wore. It was large, sturdy, and empty for the most part, only containing basic tools for Mysticism and Ensorcelling, such as parchment, ink, a small steel knife he'd often use as an Athame, basic survival tools, first aid supplies and so on. However, the bag's construction and design were fine enough that despite its storage capabilities it wasn't all that cumbersome, designed to distribute weight well.

As he advanced, his breath would catch and gem-like eyes would widen when he noticed the interference with his psionic field as he approached the stairwell. He knew well the possibility of finding something like this, but he also knew that the chances of active magic remaining in the ruin had been low– it was, in a sense, like a dream come true. That dream, however, did not come without caveats.

Normally, Serapis was a methodical man who favored caution, safety and a thorough approach. But that was…under normal circumstances. Normal circumstances where he would be treading paths of middling risk, where his modern peers might have already tread…normal circumstances meaning those which wouldn't lead to truly groundbreaking results.

He hesitated as he approached the door. It truly would be against his nature to proceed, and he bristled at the thought. But then…would he ever get an opportunity like this again? If he left to get assistance from Bastion, surely one of those meddling cat-shaped rats would catch wind of it and swoop in to take advantage of the time wasted by his adherence to safety and protocol. So whilst it truly hurt his soul to take the extreme risk of proceeding alone, he steeled himself– after all, many of his peers chided his overcaution by stating that one does not achieve greatness without risk. Perhaps they were right, and perhaps he ought to finally heed that advice.

Or, perhaps, this decision would spell his end.

Nevertheless, he'd try to maintain his psionic field as he proceeded– provided whatever magic writ into the door did not outright dispel it. As for dealing with that magic, his Mysticism ought to confer the knowledge to him of the Metaphor powering it, though he'd have to deduce the rest himself. The next problem would be determining how to get past the wards. Under his breath, he would curse the fact that he'd neglected to bring along any Alkahest, but he'd very recently run out and this expedition couldn't wait.

Still, he had options, and if his Acclimation from Mysticism did not reveal any souls in the nearby vicinity, the first of which would be an attempt to Syphon away the Metaphor of whatever it was that sealed the door, be it Alkahest or elsewise. Should that not work, he might have to workshop rudimentary changes in Argumentation by inscribing upon the door Glyphics in order to exclude his intrusions from the repertoire of provided protections, but physically interacting with it would be the final option if all else failed.

: Spells

Syphon will be listed next post dependent on
1. If it is actually utilized
2. In case of 1 being true, what impact the Syphoned Metaphor has

1x Expert Fathom - Psionic Field
2x Journeyman Exodus - Portal (for chair)


Spell Reserves: 2.11
-0.33
-0.22
Remaining: 1.56

 

[Desiderata]

The warding on the door was stubborn- Serapis didn't recognize the exact mechanism of it, but it strove mightily to keep out him and his psionic field. Nor was any easy answer to be found in syphon, for whatever powered this magic remained vital and distant. The attempt, however, let him suss out the precise nature of the force opposing him.

Luxium.

It didn't entirely buck expectations for the exotic celestial energy to be present here; this had been an astronomer's tower, after all, and Semitupe had been known for its relationship with the sky. Still, the power of hope and light was not the first magic one expected to encounter in a hermetic sealing mechanism... and it raised other, perhaps more exciting questions. How had this power source remained vibrant all these years, buried beneath the sands?

Well, that was only more reason to press onward. Though brute force had failed, Serapis was canny enough at the mystic arts to know how to manipulate the threshold charm once he'd identified it. Over the course of perhaps twenty minutes of careful manipulations, the archeological prodigy carefully inserted and re-aligned temporary glyphics into the almost-invisible structure of the magic, harmonizing it bit by bit until he felt it soften against his field, and eventually cease to press at all. Careful testing confirmed that he had managed to include himself on whatever list of powers and people the charm was meant to admit, excluding all else.

With that done, Serapis was able to slowly force his way through the buried door, finally entering into the chambers beyond. There was no sand in here, and not even the smells of the desert, for the magic protecting the tower's innards completely barred passage. What lay beyond were... well, a hallway, first off. The tower, it seemed, was arranged such that a staircase spiraled down around interior wall, stopping intermittently at landings. The first of these led to a short passage.

The interior of the building ought to have been dark, but it wasn't. It was as bright here as it had been above, despite the fact that no lamps were in evidence; an obvious side-effect of the perfusion of celestial Metaphor. A useful side-effect for a building with no windows, but it raised yet another puzzling query.

Why was it so cool in here?

The interior of the tower was cool, bordering on cold, the temperature of a water-filled cavern in summer. It wasn't uncomfortable, especially not with Serapis' desert clothes, light outerwear meant both to ward off the desert sun and provide a modicum of protection against the agonizingly cold desert nights. But it was... inconsistent with overuse of Luxium, for certain. Something was up, in a mystical sense.

Anyway. If this tower were at all similar to the other sorts of magic laboratories recorded in the histories of the archeology of Semitupe, it was likely that the higher floors, like this one, were where the mage's worked, with workshops and laboratories. The floors beneath could be any number of things- dwellings, communal areas perhaps. On the other hand, Serapis was not aware of any such tower found with a seal still active. Perhaps this one held some special purpose?

A quick examination down the hallway proved him right. This floor of the tower was split into two rooms- one which appeared to be some kind of mage's workshop, and the other a small library, bearing hundreds of scrolls. Without entering either, he could see the following:

Workshop - the small mage's workshop was a thin semicircle, dominated almost entirely by what appeared to be jewelcrafting devices. A bewildering array of lenses, all made of different materials, were in evidence, propped up inside a wooden device and secured with thin iron fasteners. Other workbenches in the workshop included a polishing station, a table with a wide array of pliers and knives, and a complex-looking metal device which resembled a box, and had various places to insert something (perhaps the lenses?) There was a feeling of power in this room, though it was not of any type Serapis had ever studied.

Library - the library was petite, smaller even than many of the private studies his colleagues at the college maintained in aid of their own work, but its condition was truly exciting. The hundreds of scrolls kept here were in such excellent repair that he doubted they would even crumble if he opened them up barehanded. The Luxium ward, it seemed, had been quite effective at sparing the interior of this tower from the ravages of time.

The scrolls in this room were carefully split between three racks, with a large table and three cushioned chairs arrayed around it. On the table was a clay mug, half-full of water, which had escaped evaporation for what might well have been centuries. Obviously it was impossible to make out the contents of the scrolls from without the room, but the possibilities were dizzying. Magic? Correspondence with historical figures? Politics?

At the end of the hallway, between the rooms to the two chambers, however, something else caught Serapis' eye. It was a huge wooden carving, hanging on the wall, displaying a great tree... or rather, a dragon, in the shape of a tree. An idol to a god the Jin'Norai had long struggled to forget.

 

[Serapis]

༺ ☾ Winter 75 year 125 of the third age ☼ ༻

<notes>

Serapis' detection of the Luxium-based security was a surprise, but realistically any Metaphor would've surprised him– active arcane defenses in ruins were an exceptional rarity, regardless of composition. Still, simply being in the presence of Luxium filled him with a sense of hope, washing away the anxiety that'd begun gnawing at him regarding his risky choice to push forward on his own. That was the double-edge of hope, though– it didn't exactly instill wisdom.

With his newfound confidence borne from hope, he was able to more calmly problem solve a way to weave himself as an exception into the security Glyphics. The professor was quite chuffed to have been able to succeed in this endeavor, in large part because it meant he did not have to break anything (which would've felt sacrilegious to destroy something that's persisted for so very long), but also simply that he was able to do it at all. He was cautious enough to test that he'd succeeded by pushing against the barrier with his Periphery alone in lieu of his body, proceeding only when all resistance ceased.

As he crossed the threshold into the sealed depths of the tower, Serapis was so excited he was almost shaking. Freeingly, at least, being alone meant that he didn't quite feel the need to force composure upon himself. His mind raced with the possibilities as he descended downwards at a brisk walking pace– only enough caution employed to avoid running at the risk of bumping into anything that'd either harm him or break. He wondered just how many floors there would be, and then what would exist per floor, and then…

But before this train of thought could continue to spiral (much like the stairs), he found himself at the first landing. Lit by Luxium, the sense of wonder and hope he'd been filled with upon entering remained pervasive. What kept him from moving right away into one of the two rooms or further down the new passage was the crippling weight of indecision. Both rooms appealed to him equally.

In the workshop, he wanted to examine all of the little tools and equipment to see if he could parse what purpose they served. Then there was the strange metal box; he was filled with a night-irresistible compulsion to pick it up and mess with it, much like one would try and solve a puzzle box. Something in the back of his mind warned him, of course, that doing so might be dangerous, but the hopeful nature of Luxium and his own excitement were winning over his usual cautious pragmatism.

On the other hand, the library might provide insights about things learned or discovered in the workshop. It might have historical documents that'd enlighten him about the purpose of this tower, or perhaps even who owned it. Maybe notes about the puzzle box? Spell scrolls?

And finally, the end of the hallway held a carving– he was quick to recognize the figure depicted therein. Its presence provoked mixed emotions; it did indicate that this tower was exceptionally old if the person (or people) that once lived here still clung to faith in Ældrassil, yet at the same time, the dragon's depiction saddened him. He'd always wished on some level that the ancient had intervened, preventing his people from exiling their own much like the fae had done to them…but long, long ago, or so he'd been told, Ældrassil had vowed to not treat the Æld'Norai as subjects and let them make decisions for themselves. Noble, but…

Serapis shook his head. Now was not the time for melancholy.

Given that the library could arm him with knowledge potentially about the workshop, he opted to go in there first, much as the strange metal box seemed to call for him. At least with his expanded mind, reading was quick for him, and, depending on complexity, he was able to read and retain information from multiple sources simultaneously. Carefully, he'd look over each rack of scrolls. If any looked too fragile to touch, he'd refrain. If any held Metaphor of their own, he'd refrain for the moment, intending to examine those last with due caution. Mundane scrolls that seemed durable enough to handle, however, he'd opt to read, starting on the left cart and progressing across all three.

: Spell Reserves

Due to the reworks of both Exodus & Fathom I am not going to edit the phrasing in all of my previous posts, HOWEVER, instead of Psionic Field (defunct), Serapis would've used a Periphery which is fully capable of accomplishing the same thing.

1x Expert Exodus - Periphery, center of it 'Stuck' to Serapis so it moves with him; 'Push' Thaumaturgy to keep the sand out/away from him.
2x Journeyman Exodus - Pocket Dimension Portal (for chair)

Spell Reserves: 2.11
-0.33
-0.22
Remaining: 1.56