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 The end of an age

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Magyk
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Age : 27
Location : The glorious spires of Silvermoon. Or York, UK.

PostSubject: The end of an age   Sun Jan 23, 2011 2:32 pm

Midnight in Silvermoon, a cool breeze swept through the towers of the city from the sea, and crept down into the streets below. A lone pair of glowing emerald eyes watched as, far below, beyond the mighty walls of the ancient city, the Farstriders continued their seemingly endless battle with the remnants of the Scourge that plagued the Scar. The watcher's eyes darted further downwards, as the inns closed for the night, the regular drunks being turned out into the quiet streets to make their way home, or into a cell for the night. He continued his sweep of the streets, seeing nothing out of place, and before long, he stepped forward, and fell towards the hard marble of the street below.

The figure of the man was lost in the flapping of his long, jet black robes, as the apparition became as vague as smoke, floating with dark purpose across the roofs of Silvermoon, through the long shadows cast by the towers that even now shone as though in the midday sun. The vaporous cloud of black mist sped through dark alleys and leapt across wide boulevards, and flew out through the Shepherd's Gate and into the trees of Eversong.

A towering, majestic edifice of delicate gilded arches and imposing marble towers floating serenely above perfectly manicured grounds, Sunwing Spire is the seat of the incumbent Lord or Lady Sunwing. Decorated in a style charitably described as “aggressively Sin'dorei”, the palatial estate simply drips with phoenixes, blood icons, stained glass displaying the glory of the Sin'dorei, and all manner of accoutrement designed to impress upon the visitor that they are, in fact, in the presence of Thalassian power. While some may say the original designers were trying too hard in an effort to prove their legitimacy, most see it as a home worthy of the powerful and ancient Sunwing dynasty. It is here among the glowering statues and constant reminders of servitude to Quel'thalas that the roiling smoke arrives and, swirling upwards, forms the slight, pale faced figure of Lord Magyk Sunwing, who, after a brief moment, drew a shining silver dagger from his belt and pricked his thumb with the sharp point. As his crimson inheritance welled forth, Magyk pressed his hand against the door, which, after a moment, accepted his blood as pure and as payment for entry into the deepest sanctum of the Sunwing dynasty. Magyk stepped through the portal, his hand glowing a soft purple as the skin healed over, and began the long ascent to his tower library.

He glanced through the windows as he ascended the tower, looking at the gardens below and off in the distance, beyond the curtain wall that signified the edge of the Sunwing estate, the wild forests of Eversong, punctured only by the shimmering spires where other manor’s lay hidden amongst the golden trees. Magyk quietly opened the door to the library and stepped through, into a room that, thanks to the arcane, defied the physical proportions of the tower. Countless shelves of books radiated outwards for several hundred metres, full of books on every subject imaginable. Aisles that twisted unexpectedly, dead-ending in yet more shelves filled with ancient scrolls, tomes wrapped in cracked leather, and sheaves of parchment bound together loosely with ribbons so frail they disintegrated with the faintest touch. Magyk had spent years absorbing everything he could about this room, and still had yet to master all its secrets. Passages had been blocked by stacks of yet more books and fragile ladders leant against shelves to allow people to climb over to reach repositories on the other side that could not be reached any other way. Magyk loved everything about it, it was the one placed he allowed chaos to exist, knowing it would be futile to try and audit the place. Magyk found the only empty space in the room to be a large circular span of floor directly beneath the central glass dome of the library, a space which he had covered with faint, electric blue traceries of magic over the course of several weeks. Now, he stood in a small circle surrounded by protective wards, and began chanting, soft and low, in Thalassian.

A chill wind swept around the room, the books whispering to one another as the breeze swept through their pages. Magyk raised his hands, the stone beneath him shifting as though made of sand and turning as black as night. The Magister’s chanting increased in tempo and volume, and after several minutes a white spire erupted from the dark floor to Magyk’s left, arcing over to point straight into the heart of the now boiling surface of the floor. Six identical spires following, at equidistant points around the circle, Magyk’s chanting now frantic as his hands twisted through the air, tracing glyphs in front of him until all at once, silence.

Under the heptagonal points of the seven spires, a circle of light hovered serenely above the dark floor. Magyk watched, entranced, and saw domes of gold, cities in sunlight, cloudless skies and so much more. He started forward, spellbound, his soft silk shoes brushing the edge of his circle as he reached inexplicably towards the images. His feet shuffled forward, and broke the boundaries of the ward. Gravity lapsed, and Magyk floated upwards, regaining his senses as he drifted towards the portal. He tried to turn, to swim through the air as his feet were drawn ever closer to the now flame-wreathed gateway. He clawed at the nearest tower, purchase impossible as his hands swept through the white light. He looked down the length of his body in horror, as the soles of his feet were drawn through. He screamed as the portal, almost sensing victory, pulled the Lord Sunwing through and into its depths, snapping shut with a thunderous crash that echoed around the hall.

Sunwing Spire reacted. Its doors slammed shut, sealing themselves as the last Sunwing passed beyond its ancient spells sights. Its gardens splintered as they sunk into the ground, the immaculate fountains falling silent. All opulence was lost, as banners fells from their golden fastenings, phoenixes fell from their places, and statues fell from their plinths as the ground beneath roiled and rolled in turmoil that its master was, to its knowledge, dead. Its marble towers cracked, its high windows shattering as the magic holding them in place faltered and died without sustenance from one of the Sunwing bloodline. Silence fell across the site, as a lone banner of sapphire silk landed atop the mountain of rubble, bearing a solitary silver ‘S’.
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Robi Kaezlan.
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PostSubject: Re: The end of an age   Sun Jan 23, 2011 4:04 pm

(( *stunned awed silence*))
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