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

 

[Desiderata]

A major boon for the scholars of the Academy was the nature of language itself. Modern-day Ælvish was very little changed from what the exiles who founded the Mirage Kingdoms had spoken, and there had been only a scant few centuries for drift to occur before this tower had been erected. Although Serapis was imperfectly familiar with the tongue, it was enough to get by, and proved useful in virtually every dig into the Mirage Kingdoms. Even a few of the porters had taught themselves the basics of the forest tongue, simply to increase their ability to identify valuables to steal.

The first set of shelves contained mostly technical drawings- diagrams, sketches of mechanisms of unknown provenance, and so forth. A few minutes of quiet study confirmed to Serapis' satisfaction that these were mostly related to lenses. There were scrolls showing angles, scrolls containing test notes for various grinding, illustrations of lens arrays and so forth. This tallied with the contents of the workshop, but unfortunately Serapis could not immediately say how valuable such things were, or whether these were any kind of advancement in optic technology. That would be work for other, lesser Mystics and for Bast's astronomy department.

The second set was more interesting, but perhaps even more obscure. These were notes on explicitly mystical processes, half-finished circuits of glyphics and similar depictions of Metaphor. Unfortunately...

Well, one of the early lessons drilled into students at Bastion was how to organize their writings properly, both for the sake of efficient study and so that they would be useful and legible to colleagues. One Bastion-trained mage's texts were fully legible to any other University mage, with little information lost to memory, rambling, or assumption, unless the note-taker was intentionally obscurantist. But the mages of the Mirage Kingdoms had little concern for that. These were men who had tasted, pursued, and often achieved immortality by one means or another, and their sole concern in writing things down was generally for their own use. As a result, their notes tended to be incomplete, rambling, and reliant upon things they assumed they would never forget.

This was the case with the second set of notes, which were dedicated largely to musings and experiments about the manipulation of Luxium. Doubtless the metaphor was a special fascination of the author, who seemed determined to find ways to generate and exploit it in pursuits far beyond any rational endeavor. Doubtless some of his work would be of interest to the University, and some might even be transferable across disciplines, but it was very tricky to know how much of this would be a celebrated discovery and how much would prove to be failed experiment.

(Still, the tower's very existence pointed to some level of success)

The third set of writings...?

Well, it wouldn't be inaccurate to call them diaries, but that gave a false impression. In the modern day, a mage could keep a daily, even hourly journal, with enough ink and paper to chronicle a hundred lifetimes. The Mirage Kingdoms operated under fundamentally different resource constraints. The mages often had very limited quantities of parchment, which is why clay tablets featured so often in the Vokhan ruins and early Mirage Kingdom digs. Semitupe had gotten large and rich enough that its upper crust could easily afford parchment, but they still couldn't waste it on every-day matters. So instead, these chronicled only important events which the mage felt he might need to review later.

So they didn't shed much light on the mage's life, or even a name, but they did reveal an identity; Astronomer Royal, Semitupe's star-watcher and advisor to the royal family. Serapis worked quickly through the early scrolls, discovering that the man had been a child when the Jin'Norai had faced expulsion, that they had tried to settle several times in the desert and been driven off by storms and monsters, and had ultimately banded together with several other families to found Semitupe. The constant war, near-starvation and deprivation of the expulsion had scarred this mage, and he had determined never to let another Jin'Norai child suffer in the same way; this turned him to his obsession with Luxium. It became quickly clear that the Astronomer Royal cared about stars and sun mostly for the purpose of trying to distill raw hope for the benefit of his kingdom.

This, it seemed, was much the purpose of the lenses. One particular scroll read:

...by creating specially-shaped windows and lenses in outdoor awnings, we can distill the beneficial light of the sun and bathe Semitupe in an eternal wash of hope and optimism. There will be no crime when neighbor takes hand with neighbor and every eye is turned on a better world. The King is now counseled by jackals and weak men, who offer nothing but empty hopes of conquest and zero-sum struggles, but that will be meaningless when every eye is freed to...

A later scroll explored some of the social problems which so vexed the author:

My mother, sky rest her spirit as sand her bones, left the forests precisely because one should not lift themselves above another, not when all may join hand in hand to ennoble the whole. It has been scarce centuries since then, but already the Jin'Norai have moved away from the great philosophy which drove us. I can feel the ghosts of the wood aelves in these latest debates, pressing our collective noses into the dirt as we discuss enslaving the beast-folk. Is this really what we gave up immortality for?

Breakthroughs were slow, and troubling:

I have made progress on my lenses, but not on my project. The windows lighten moods and open eyes as I had hoped, but they are so, so fleeting. I presented my prototype today at court, and for a moment there was a complete triumph- I could see true vision in the eyes of the king and consorts, of even the damnable counselors. For a shining moment, the whole court was wreathed in gold, and it was like I was in the presence of divinity itself! I saw, then, saw with my own eyes what my mother hoped for when she foreswore the woods!

...but then the sun passed behind a cloud, and it was like a spell undone. The nobles clapped, but their faces were all sneers. If I could just wrap this whole world in a ball of lenses...!

Updates were much the same- technical progress continued, but the mage's own despair grew. Until...

It has been shown to me, the way. Divine inspiration.

I have been a frequent visitor to Teka, recently. I remember going there almost every night when we first arrived in the desert, in my mother's arms, but I have not found myself on the dreaming road much in some decades. Then, a fortnight past, I arrived there again. I lived other lives, and loved other loves, in refreshment of the spirit. Still, I could not escape my mad sorrow, my endless frustration.

Then, one day-which-is-night, a girl came to me and asked the source of my sadness. When I told her, she laughed, and her laugh was like a sparkling bell. She told me that light may come from the sun and stars, but hope and vision are found only within the heart. She opened my heart and showed it to me, and I saw, and I understood. Yes, yes, yes.

I have been putting the lenses on the wrong side.

Then there were more diagrams, but these were not of lenses. They were medical charts. These were diagrams of people.

 

[Serapis]

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

<notes>

What Ælvish Serapis understood was largely that which had been spoken within the Mirage Kingdoms of old, as much of what was available to Arcanis’ scholars were texts from that era. The modern tongue of the Æld’Norai was not so different now as to be unrecognizable, but many of the nuances from linguistic drift over the years since the exile of the descendant ælven bloodlines had never left the boughs of Ælheim, mostly due to their isolationist culture and general refusal to ever travel. It was a relief to him that he was able to read the scrolls and the owner hadn’t deigned to pen them in some esoteric code or another language altogether for secrecy, at least.

Poring over it all, what he learned was of great interest to him, even that which he knew wouldn’t necessarily spark much for those back at Bastion. The lenses were fascinating, though such craft work was outside of Serapis’ purview of skills; he’d have to ensure they got back to the academy and into the hands of the appropriate scholars. He looked forward to reading about or discussing whatever conclusions his peers might come to. And then there was what of the Astronomer’s life he was able to glean; he found himself touched by the man's idealism; scarred by exile yet his heart remained so full of hope.

That is...until he began to examine the final scrolls. The medical charts, diagrams, and so forth were as alarming as they were fascinating; he couldn’t quite be sure about the ethics involved in experiments such as these. Further, the tone with which the Astronomer had penned the events which led into such experimentation had grown increasingly desperate. Serapis knew all too well the lengths desperate men would go to accomplish their goals; he’d seen it many times among peers during both his time as student and later as professor at Bastion– the pursuit of arcane greatness never came without cost, did it? ...even with so benevolent a goal.

All the same, he would read everything present on the subject, as it would be impossible to deny his own interest in it; over the past few years, he’d started taking anatomy and medical classes for the fun of it and found the curiosities of the body almost as fascinating as those of the soul. He was quite interested to learn if any such surgical implantations ever bore any fruit, or if they failed, what impact such failures had on the body. Much as he questioned the ethics of the Astronomer, these experiments had already been done long, long ago; if there was any benefit to be gleaned from them, it might as well be put to use.

Only after exhausting the information he could find in the library would Serapis leave to give his attention to the workshop; he was glad he’d gone to the library first, at least, as the context gifted to him by the scrolls was much needed. The professor's inquisitive nature drew him back towards the strange box, as he couldn’t help but wonder if the device was something meant to open or if it was meant to activate upon the insertion of lenses, or what. He’d try and see if anything at all would happen were he able to puzzle out what lens might fit where. Beyond that, however, he’d prefer to leave the rest of the laboratory pristine and untouched; those with more technical expertise than him ought to examine that which remained.

And lastly, unless he were able to find anything that would further pique his interest in the lab, he would endeavor to descend further into the depths of the tower, paying one last glance to the effigy of Ældrassil.

: Spell Reserves

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

 

[Desiderata]

As Serapis had suspected, the workshop was very much lens-focused. Close inspection revealed grinders, accoutrements for polishing, devices meant to hold and manipulate and cut at such a minute degree that the Jin'Norai's eye could not see unaided. Between this workshop and the scrolls, the old magus' mania was quite obvious. A curious way to lose oneself- was it simply the madness which was known to take a certain sort of researcher, or had the constant experiments with profusions of Luxium somehow proven addictive? It was impossible to tell.

Although the workshop was mostly home to fairly mundane lenswork, a handful of devices totally eluded Serapis' understanding. The box, for example, appeared to be a device intended to inscribe lenses with nigh-invisible glyphwork, to manipulate the metaphor passing through them in a way which would not unduly warp the light. Serapis could see how to insert a lens, but the actual manipulation of the box was entirely beyond his expertise. It would take days, if not weeks, to suss out how it worked. Still, doubtless there were plenty of people at the University who would be willing to dedicate that time.

Another device, however, bore darker spoor.

Near the back of the desk was a large metal tube, which opened with a simple hinge. Inside were surgical tools- clean, well-maintained, but certainly not a usual part of the astronomer's profession. The tube contained scalpels, pliers, every form of bandage (and some containers of what had surely once been ointment or antibiotic, now withered to grey residue), but also many clips, clasps, and stranger things. Screws, and screwdrivers. A bonesaw. The thought of what this might all be for was so dark that it threatened, momentarily, to overwhelm the Luxium filling these chambers.

Once Serapis had finished looking over the workshop, his inventory of the rest of the tower was relatively unexciting. There were small residential rooms, well-preserved and probably worth looting for artifacts, but unlikely to do more than sell to some collectors at the outskirts of Bast. Rooms for the mage and servants were in evidence, a guest room, and the room for a child, surprisingly well-appointed. Then again, archeologists didn't know much about how the children had been treated in this particular Mirage Kingdom- perhaps they had been prized, as it was said the Aeld'Norai prized their offspring.

(The child's room did contain a variety of picture books, leather-bound and hand-painted, which showed scenes from a forest, a depiction of Aeolus, and one oddly-detailed picture showing a mountain rising out of the desert, surrounded by four lighthouses.)

The lower rooms contained more of the day-to-day, buried for centuries beneath the sand. A kitchen, barren and cold, a pantry filled with the desiccated skeletons of the food and spices it had once hosted, and a greatroom for receiving guests. Oddly enough, none of these rooms contained any corpses. Perhaps the mage and his retainers had been caught outside when the Invisible Collapse hit?

Much more exciting than any of these things, though, is that the tower continued downward from the ground floor, perhaps connecting to some yet-undiscovered part of the underground. Unfortunately, it was blocked off; not only by a ward, but by a great metal gate, locked by some kind of mechanism. Down here, this close to the underrealm, Serapis could feel the proximity to whatever the source of the Luxium infusing this buried building was. That, of course, would be the greatest prize. As far as Serapis knew, none of the mages of Bastion could have made such a thing; if he could deliver this battery, or generator, or whatever it was, his promotion was all but assured.

 

[Serapis]

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

<notes>

The workshop was an elysian dreamland for any lenscrafter; though he really couldn’t do much with any of it himself, he knew a colleague or two that would be chuffed to bits to clap eyes on the place and was excited for them. Careful to not damage anything, whatever he did touch was handled with all the care such timeless items deserved. And though his curiosity had him poking around the strange metal box, he would soon realize that he lacked the foundational knowledge required to really figure it out himself. Sure, he likely could if he had all the time in the world, but he also had no supplies for an extended stay beneath the sands and he was not yet done with his exploration (it would also simply be inefficient)…and thus, he was content to leave it be for somebody with the proper qualifications to figure it out.

During his sweep, he further found a metal tube with the medical tools needed for the experiments indicated in the final array of notes left by the Astronomer Royal– they confirmed that he had, indeed, begun them in earnest within his own tower, or at the very least, he intended to. The thought made the professor shiver, and yet he remained curious about the efficacy thereof. Perhaps he could find the answers to this by asking others about the man’s notes in time.

Exploring the lower floors was the sort of fascinating– if melancholic– experience that many archaeological sites ultimately were, only this one was particularly well preserved. The architecture and items of the tower laid out the framework for the lives that once lit up the place; it was both beautiful and sad to see remnants of days long past. He was, admittedly, unsure as to why there were no remains of the inhabitants at all, but there was nothing present to actually answer that question and it could be easily excused by myriad circumstances. He took the time to walk through each room, gleaning all that he could from what remained.

The thing that primarily stuck out to him was the drawing of the mountain– was that a depiction of the Tanin mountain range? And the lighthouses– what were they? Sure, it was a children’s book, but the rest of the images depicted could ultimately be attributed to other historical figures and events, so it followed that the lighthouses ought to be as well. But to what end, and why had he not ever heard of similar structures prior? Something compelled him to take the book for himself, tucking it away into his pack to be examined and compared to other historical records once he returned to Bastion. He would, of course, properly log anything he took for personal research, but for this one specifically, he’d characterize the find as uninteresting until he could examine it further.

The more time Serapis spent in the tower, the more he understood the unraveling mind of the mage that’d lived here. Though he’d only been here for a short stint, it was easy to imagine how intoxicating being so suffused with this Luxium aura could become over time. It already made him quite a bit bolder than he normally would be. The warmth of it, even, almost made him wish he’d be blessed by the Pact of Radiance, though one cannot beg the Godheads for such things, whimsical as they were.

Moving on from the living quarters, he endeavored to delve ever deeper, hope rising within him as he neared another blockade; this time not only were similar wards to the upper floor present, but a great gate. Should he need to, the professor would attempt to add himself to the wards’ ‘accepted personnel’ as it were by using similar methodology to those that’d lain above. If not successful, he’d work at it for however long it took to crack this one. If successful, he’d then move on to pondering the gate itself.

Now, Serapis was no locksmith, but he was an Exodii, and one could get away with a fair few shenanigans utilizing the Peripheries thereof. First, however, the prospect of weaving spells reminded him that he would be better served when exploring if he were to activate Liminality; for efficiency in this case, he’d enact three orders of Sovereignty– thought, speech, gesture.

“Aeolus, guide my perception,” the words a quiet, reverent prayer as he lifted his hands to tap his temples.

Perception now overlaid with Aether, this sense was less activated for the visual zoom and more for the preternatural navigation it was capable of providing. He was less worried about getting lost and more interested in being able to intuitively detect any sort of hidden passages or the like.

Should he have allowed himself to bypass the wards and provided his Divination did not pick up any further Metaphorical security measures, he’d dissolve the anchor to his form on his existing Periphery and fold it into the locking mechanism. He would attempt to manipulate it this way from within, holding his ear to the door in order to listen for any shifts therein. Unfortunately, he had little clue what he was doing, so in this case he was completely reliant on guesswork.

Should this not work, he would remain reluctant to attempt more brutish methods that might actually destroy the mechanism or gate. His next attempt would be to wend his Periphery around the entirety of the gate itself, only sure he’d succeeded when all edges of it had managed to meet up with one another and enclose on the other side, something he also had to do blindly. The point of doing this was to then Shrink down the gate until it became small enough to bypass.

To ease this process, he'd follow similar steps as his previous spell cast. "Obstruct my path no more," the incantation meant as a command to the Aether he wielded, words spoken alongside the gesture of bringing his hands together as if compressing the door therein.

Unless this failed to work as well, he would then move beyond its threshold and towards the source of the emanating Luxium.

: Spell Reserves

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)
1x Expert Exodus/3x Sovereignty - Liminality
1x Expert Exodus/3x Sovereignty - Thaumaturgy, Shrink

Spell Reserves: 2.11
-0.33
-0.22
-0.28
-0.28
Remaining: 1

 

[Desiderata]

Serapis' first attempt to coax the gate open met with abject failure, all the more frustrating because he could not be sure why. Whatever locking mechanism was within this door was totally opaque to this approach- though something shifted within the door, it completely failed to actually shift the lock. Several minutes of work trying to manipulate the door from within did not even give him any real idea of what the lock was like. Hell, for all he knew it was somehow lens-based like everything else here.

Still, he'd come prepared for this outcome, and his second working met with more success. As sweat slicked the Jin'Norai's brow, his power slowly compressed the form of the gate, preserving whatever delicate mechanism had sought to bar him. Obnoxiously, even with the gate having shrunk down to a size where it could block his bypass no more, he still couldn't see how the blazes it had worked. Well, that would be the work for some happy graduate student.

The doorway, as he'd expected, barred yet another stairwell, more steps spiraling down into the duat. These were a commonplace fixture both in the buildings of the Mirage Kingdoms and more modern constructions; anywhere the earth was thin enough to support a pathway to the amduat, it made sense to build it. After all, you could have communal buildings, storage, even secondary houses down there, safe from the ravages of the desert and time, and while the poor might have to rush to whatever natural caverns or community portals had been dug to huddle below, the powerful always ensured their own safety and comfort in such situations.

...until, of course, all those proud mages' dooms had come at once.

The mage descended into what should have been darkness, but it was all the opposite. The walls grew brighter and brighter as he closed in on the source of the Luxium powering this tower and its wards. Possibilities danced before him. A battery for metaphor? A rift between the earth and the sky? Some kind of... mirror contraption?

At last, he turned the last bend in the stairs, and an unexpected possibility presented itself.



Down in the cavern below the tower were hundreds of lenses, arrayed in intricate, insane, absurd matrices, the like of which Serapis could not have hoped to piece together even if he had spent a decade studying it. And there, near the center of it all, resting partially inside one of the lenses- was a Jin'Norai child. It wasn't at all obvious what they were doing there. They didn't glow, no waves of Metaphor radiated off of them. Serapis couldn't even tell if the child was dead, or sleeping, or some secret third thing.

But somehow, as the image bounced from lens to lens it was reflected, and refracted, building upon itself, until at last as it reached the apex of this chamber... there was Luxium.

 

[Serapis]

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

<notes>

Serapis would leave the door tiny– it now fit in the palm of his hand– and anchor the Periphery onto it before placing it in his pack. Having decided not to mess with it further, he would have to hand it off to the right hands personally– once the Periphery dispels, it will return to its original state. That, and removing it entirely would make passage easier for any members of his crew that would soon path down this way.

Anticipation built as he descended the stairs and the sight at the tower's depths did not disappoint. The astonishing array of lenses was a creation more elaborate than anything he'd witnessed prior; so dazzled by it was he that his gaze immediately shot upwards towards the concentrated Luxium at the apex of the array. Unfortunately, he couldn't stare at it for too long, bright as it was.

Gradually, he'd shift his focus downwards, tracing the refracted light as it descended from lens to lens. The child at the room's center was surprising, twisting his wonderment with shades of confusion and concern. How had a mortal lived locked down here for so long? How had the child subsisted? How had they not aged? Those questions and more floated to mind as soon as he'd clapped eyes upon them, though he didn’t have to wonder all too long. When looked upon with the eyes of a Mystic, the Metaphors possessed by the child’s body painted a clear enough picture– Saol, indicating that they were, indeed, alive; Luxium, as implied by the fact that it was possible to reflect and refract it enough to create this array; Ardor, likely the source of the child’s stasis. It was easy enough to assume Abation’s spellwork given the fact that Ardor was a rare Metaphor to manifest naturally in children– they were, generally, lacking in the life experiences that’d compel a soul to embody its principles…and he doubted the child possessed the relevant Arcana themselves.

What the Astronomer Royal had accomplished was as brilliant as it was sad, for it required a soul in stasis to maintain– this was, arguably, a fate crueler than death, as the child had been robbed not only of the ability to live their life, but also of the opportunity to rise to Aarda and reincarnate anew. And though the professor considered Syphoning away the Ardor that held the child in place, he hesitated– what if the dissolution of the Luxium aura caused the entire tower to crumble under the weight of the sands above, burying their exit in rubble and destroying the Astronomer’s research? Then there were the logistics of transporting the child whether awake or not. And would it not be better to show his colleagues and betters from Bastion the device fully functional before removing the child from their position? Should he do so now, they’d likely insist on placing the child back in the center later on simply to see it work. There was the fleeting, selfish desire to kill the child and consume their brain, absorbing the first-hand knowledge of a time long since passed for himself…but he really ought to refrain, shouldn’t he? Not only was that in itself an act of cruelty, but also it carried the same concerns regarding collapse and would disable him from demonstrating the efficacy of the lens array to anyone if the child were dead.

Much as it pained him to do so, he would turn to leave. Yes– surely it was better to leave as much untouched as possible and that waking the child ought to be done once Terrari had arrived to whisk away the sand surrounding the tower itself along with individuals more qualified for the examination and transport of the lenses and child which resided within. That choice being made, he would climb the stairs to the top of the crumbling tower and then make another Periphery within which he would travel upwards to the surface.

Regardless of what exactly his porters were doing upon his emergence, Serapis would call to them: “A discovery of grand scale lies below– my apologies for disappearing for so long, I simply got carried away.”

The facets of his Periphery would glimmer in the sunlight, as if reflecting his excitement. “It’s the personal tower of an Astronomer Royal of Semitupe; the man’s interest in Luxium bordered on insanity but they bore fruit perfectly preserved beneath the sands. If no one here has Terra, then we’ll need to send word back to Bastion that this place needs to be unearthed with great haste.”

: Spell Reserves

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)
1x Expert Exodus/3x Sovereignty - Liminality
1x Expert Exodus/3x Sovereignty - Thaumaturgy, Shrink
1x Expert Exodus - Periphery, same as the first in order to transport himself out of the tower (original one is still on the shrunken door)

Spell Reserves: 2.11
-0.33
-0.22
-0.28
-0.28
-0.33
Remaining: 0.67