In this world, Magic is Everything. All people, all races, are granted with the power to perform mystical and magical feats via grimories, mystical tomes granted to each and every child on their 15th birthday. Those blessed by the mana can have their names written down in legend.
Shattered Grimoires is the work of the mind(s) of Ardere & Shattered Grimoire's staff. All characters and content are copyright their creators, and may not be replicated without their creators' permission. Black Clover is owned by Yuki Tabata and published by Viz Shonen Jump. All images belong to their original owners. The theme you are currently viewing was made by Eliza of ElizaCodes exclusively for Shattered Grimoires.
The thickets of nature grew hefty in the dark abode of The Wildlands with tracks untampered by the footfall of humans and some nigh invisible, not from their tiny size, but the foreboding opposite. Leftover great craters from creatures time had found better to forget said to have turned into the greatest of natures monuments. Epic Forests and Mighty Mountains were all that was said to be the leftovers of such great creatures, or at least so the nuns in the orphanage were seemingly concerned.
Shuffle
Rustle
Shift
The path before him was worn down like a great gash to the flesh it spun and dug deeper, the tread of caravans making certain the wound never healed. Quick to take himself back into the brush, a small figure narrowed its eyes, small and tinged with yellow as if a fallen star had gotten stuck into a bushel before scurrying another movement. Not far along the track, another round of caravans moved downwards, three clear guards and a nun patrolling along the dirtied road with a makeshift golem dragging them along, it's lumbering and echoing steps sounding more like a great boar cracking its snout against a tree with menacing leaps than some two-legged construct.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
It was no surprise then, that the starfall eyes dissipated and the soft susurration of the bush was seen as nothing more than maybe a scared rabbit retreating deeper into one of the magi threw a few cuffs of magic into the air illuminating long streaks only to be caught on branches and leaves while the other two carried a candelabra, both half hanging off the side of the caravan eyes scurrying along the edges of the trail only to find no purchase. No footprints. No markings. No nothing. It was as if a ghost haunted the woods, disappearing and leaning only the tracks of haunting and shadows in the corner of their eyes.
A little deeper than, one might find them. There were no gravestones. There were no corpses. There were no candles, ectoplasm or spooks to be found.
He was by himself in the dark, a young man and more comparable to a thimble in shape and stature than to a man. He seemingly was still fresh, climbing up the length of a tree with untrained guile a hand momentarily slipping as harsh bark dug and grated into his calloused hands before pulling himself up and sitting atop a branch. The Wildlands.
It stretched out far and wide, pockets of forests littered around like scarce freckles marring a face, and the deep scars of self-abuse were dragged and drawn by well-beating caravans rounded out with a couple moles of fire and camps set all about the site. For a face so injured and imperfect, there was a beauty to it he couldn't deny. Taking in a hefty serving of frost-tipped air and exhaling he looked to the stars. Tracing his fingers back and forth in a defined pattern before re-adjusting his position. In his way were a half-dotting caravan scouring the land like an eagle to a rabbit's kitten and foxes dens filled with prowling eyes and dried lips
Connor felt like the arbitrary nature of nature itself was impactful to the common populace. It was wild, uninhibited and quite frankly dangerous. If impartiality were a trait, the wildlands would have exhibited it. First and forthrightly he felt as though there was a treasure trove to be found out here. He didn’t feel compelled to look too far into it, the daunting landscape intimidated him enough. He gathered what he could to ensure the success of his future jobs, inebriant floral concoctions made the difference when he needed to be subtle. The variety of herbal remedies to his problems were numerous, the kingdom of clover was a smorgasbord for the lucky rogue if he paid attention. Avoiding a guard who was overcome by inebriation was easier than serving an extended stint in prison due to callous carelessness. The rogue carelessly romped through the underbrush, not particularly caring if he disturbed the endemic life of the ecology. Nature had a way of bouncing back, after all, he was only walking through the woodlands and minding his steps every so often to not disturb a snake or other dangerous wildlife. Common sense was something that he particularly was blessed with, however, pragmatism and logic were not always apparent. Being a commoner was, at best, a learning experience and one that he fully embraced wholeheartedly. He had sampled the noble life and found it to be too expensive. Day to day expenses was exorbitant, while the simpler; more mundane life, seemed to be more fruitful. Given that he was a rogue, life was an open oyster; the situational opportunity was abundant, and he reaped the rewards of a life lived crudely, stealing things when he could where he could. If there was another person in the world out here, he did not know it, and as such, acted accordingly. Whistling as he walked, Connor took in his surroundings and was open to the concept of human life being present this far from civilisation, but did not have faith in the concept.
There was much unseen, hidden within the tenebrous dark inside the Wildlands. Mania, melded with shadows was wandering during the ebony night. The only light was from the speckled stars and luminous moon that filtered through the canopy obliquely. With little coin to his name the young rogue was planning on setting up camp for the night, somewhere deep within woods that teemed with nighttime activity. Mania still had a ways to go till he would make it to a town and though the cover of night would offer the mage some protection, it too would serve to veil predators and men who wished to commit heinous deeds during the witching hour. Truthfully Mania didn't expect to run into any other people this late and deep into the woods, but he could never abolish the thought fully. It lingered in the back of Mania's mind, scratching the surface of bubbling over the cusp of his reasoning and consume him fully.
Things did go bump in the night.
Scary things.
Wandering through the land on his own was something Mania had become accustomed to. Especially early in his journey when the young rogue first left his icy cold homeland to the west. At first Mania had felt despair and loneliness, but in his solitude as he journeyed the mage learned many important things about himself. Ugly truths he struggled to accept. In time though he worked through these flaws and even felt a sense of victory over them. For every step he took forward however; he would take another two back. Mania's vulnerable psyche would remind him of things he wished to forget. The voices in his mind haunted him, like how a ghost clinging to passion and idealism would be chained to the mortal world - unable to pass onto the next life. If Mania was running, this was a part of himself he could not escape. No matter how far he traveled. The mind could be a sinister thing, perfectly designed and equipped to terrorize Mania.
The sound of a drawn caravan carved the eerie ambiance of the woods. Like a knife through the proverbial noiseless atmosphere. Mania was very attentive to the distraction as he continued moving through the night, deeper into the thick, sable woods and lush underbrush. The soft cooing of whistling could be heard amongst the humming wildlife, Mania noting the human distinction within it's quality. Whoever it was, they sounded nearby Mania would surmise as his footfalls would become silent, the rogues gait coming to an abrupt halt. Mania appeared oblivious, the beating of his heart becoming all to apparent as he looked about the shadowed woods. Half expecting a stranger to emerge from the darkness, whilst attempting to pinpoint it's origin. The rogue was certain of one thing, he was not alone in these woods.
The only real question left unanswered was if whoever was skulking about a threat or not.
One que the voices that lurked in the dark depths of Mania mind manifested themselves. Indecipherable they whispered of a hidden enemy, one who wished to blow the candle of his life. At first Mania attempted to clear his hectic mind and abolish the voices, but his subconscious was far more powerful. Far too sly and deceptive to be quieted. For a brief moment, Mania sank into his delusions as the voices became louder and more defined.
"We're coming for you boy. For all the evil things you've committed. This is your retribution..."
"You're righteous, deserved retribution..."
STATS
POW: 000 DUR: 025 SEN: 014 STA: 014 CON: 013
SPEED: 5m/s HEALTH: senior MANA SKIN: senior MANA POOL: 050 / 050 MANA REGEN: 05 IC / 10 OOC
SPELLS
--
NOTES
WORD COUNT: 584 TOTAL WC: 584 TAG(S):Connor | Aeneas
High in the canopies of oaks and boxwood, Aeneas had reached the summit, taking a seat at its apex his starlight eyes scanned the great lengths of the forest. There were the rustles of insects, the buzzing of settling birds and the crackling of bark in the not so distant. He could still hear them below, even as the wind picked up, howling no different to a wolf at the moon as he sat there waiting for... Well, he wasn't sure. He seemed to match an overly large bird up there in the distance, a coloured mess of pink and white with strange iconography. He may have been seen as a foreign-looking bird, but few humans would find roosts in such tall heights. Especially one with a strange mating call.
Jabbering and jittering.
Riddles with rhythms.
Mutterings aside mulling.
The ground was shuffling. He couldn't quite make anything out, unlike the birds he didn't have their vision. Only the barest understandings. Birds didn't swoop so low and with such noise and even if his Sensory skills were un-honed like most of his skills. Slowly rising from the tree he skirted his vision, he could make little out what with the rustles of insects... the buzzing of settling birds...
and the cracking of bark...
around a snake...
It flung out like whiplash to a slave, sharp, precise and cold. And like a slave he stumbled at the blow, the snake's fangs made a purchase with flesh, his starlight eyes flickering in and out as he winced, the world acting more like someone flicking off the sun after another as his eyes shut and opened rapidly. He was a bird caught by a snake, just without the elegance. And weighed a lot more.
His shambling step was quick to find little purchase, amongst the thinning branches he slipped, grabbing tufts of leaves as the sank was quick to grow loose, fangs bared with his fresh blood as he watched ambivalent and beady eyes watch his fall. There were at least seventy feet between him and the ground, and around ninety minutes between his life and death's door. Enough time to save his life from one, though he wasn't sure about the other.
He was quick to react, body hammered and blunted by its cruel roots, his magic flared, grimoire falling and matching his pace, leaving only behind the slivers of blood that flung from his wound and into the tree's green his words muffled by pain before springing out from the side of the tree was salvation.
Thick green with globes of weighty red.
He wasn't far from the ground, in fact, he was still by a technical stance falling the red globes simply catching his body and slowing his descent but at least his voice was far more pronounced. He had stirred quite the commotion through the forest, on one hand, he was a visible splay of colour moulting and shedding the tree's leaves, and on the other his body had become a pincushion to cacophony, each welt forming a peculiar noise that all ended with the word 'ouch'. It was only as the final globe let its sticky tact go that he finally touched the ground, like a wounded angel descending to the ground he had a strange grace to the pain, no roll, but a hefty thud to his steps. He had made quite the commotion, and he was already busy dragging his fingers along his open and leaking wound.
The first thing that grabbed Connor’s attention was the startled birds. It was night time and birds were not quite so active, had this not been quite so peculiar Connor may not have noticed. He passively glanced in the direction of the commotion, nothing out of the ordinary; as clarified by his intent, his perception failing him in the dim light of the moon. Shouldering his rucksack, Connor plodded along towards the commotion, being more careful than usual. He had worn a mask, one of no particular description, and had fathomed with great consternation that any kind of thing that broke up the monotony of his evening would be appreciated. Not being certain was a trademark in his line of work, Connor wasn’t a total despondent vagabond; although he wasn’t your average citizen of Clover, and he cherished the opportunities that presented themselves, wherever he was he was not without his sense of civility. Crashing through the woods as he stumbled, Connor regained his balance, he was travelling without light, to not attract attention he cycled through a breathing exercise. Cold and calculating, Connor glimpsed a silhouette of a man in the distance, perhaps an adversary, maybe not. As things were, Clover was a dangerous place to live; Connor being a cautionary fellow himself, pragmatically approached the situation. His Grimoire was in his left hand, gripped by the spine, and faintly glimmering in the luminescent light of the orbiting moon. The endemic life was, so far, leaving him be. A droning hiss and some crashing ensued. Humming to calm his nerves Connor proceeded to taciturnly watch the man who seemed injured.
Such a quick descent from a tree’s canopy was hardly ever by chance, gravity was fickle like that. Whistling a short bird call; for sake of brevity and formality, a simple dewitt to emphasise and take advantage of the wilderness’s expanse, Connor tried to pick up on whether the man was a rogue or not. An average citizen would be able to discern that it was a day bird call, Connor crouched in the underbrush and waited for a reply. If there was one, he may have steeled his nerves; it was neither an omen of good fortune or a sound that would have calmed him, it was merely as it were. A call and response. In his line of work, few things could be coined as simply as a “You’re not alone”, and fewer things yet still would be as welcoming.
There was something out there in the sable shrouded night. A loud, boisterous noise could be heard, followed by the sounds of snapping branches and the frantic rustling of leaves being disturbed. Mania was on edge, the hairs upon the nape of his neck standing to attention as the rogue clasped his grimoire by its spine - holding it tightly. Mania had many encounters as he traveled the lands, but it was the first that he suspected people were lingering in the dark woods. Should he be worried? The rogue mused as he decided to investigate the sound. He would move silently through the lush underbrush, sensing for mana in the immediate area. Sure enough he suspicions had been confirmed as he pinpointed the location to the origin of the sound Mania heard earlier. He would be cautious as he traversed the treacherous path and emerge from the thickets of clustered trees and bushes.
Peering from the heavily shadowed bushes Mania saw a fairly tall man. He was lying on the ground over top splintered woods and a pile of autumn-tipped leaves. The stranger's magenta-colored hair stood out in the stark blackness around. It was still quite dark, but Mania could tell he had a sinewy frame - long and lanky. Mania's breath would be caught as he contemplated the available options. From what the rogue could surmise it appeared the man fell from a tree, but what worried Mania was the second magical signature. Nearby, it was close, and more than likely it belonged to the individual Mania had heard humming not too long ago. The rogue's hazel pools shined like the eyes of an owl, searching for choice prey in the darkness. He would look around, but with how dark it was Mania couldn't see the other person.
"It's a trap you fool! They are planning to capture and torture you. You'll never be heard from again."
The cackling voice would break into a delirious laugh as it echoed, reverberating through Mani's mind. The rogue could feel his countenance shattering, becoming unhinged - his hand that was holding the grimoire shaking from the creeping fear that crawled up the spine of his back. Mania knew very well it could have been an elaborate trap, a cheap ruse meant to deceive him. Because of where he was Mania couldn't entirely shelf the notion as he pondered what to do next. How to act? He could simply ignore the mysterious strangers in the woods - that would be the intelligent call, but what if they were tracking him? Following Mania around. "Could they be from Spade Kingdom? Perhaps bounty hunters or someone looking for me?" Silently musing to himself Mania would rest his free hand upon his chin.
Mania knew it was madness that compelled him so to such fallacies.
"That's right. They seek revenge.. they seek thy blood in blind vengeance
The hauntingly cryptic voice in his head was the catalyst to feed such delusions.
Though he was scared the rogue knew if he didn't at least investigate his mental acuity would further deteriorate and he would get no sleep on this night. Mania needed to at least assuage his growing panic and trepidation by figuring out if they were a threat or not; however, it was obvious normal men did not wander the Wildlands. No, this was a haven for the cutthroats and bad men of this world. A cesspool where the wicked and dastardly prowled freely and congregated in mass. It was risky, but Mania would go crazy if he didn't find out who and why others were nearby. Slowly Mania would approach, revealing himself with his grimoire in hand, he look at the man on the ground. Mania's face was stoic, though if one looked closely hints of pensiveness could be discerned.
"You spooked me there! Sounds like a bad fall, you alright friend?"
Mania was still apprehensive as he spoke a slight edge to the somewhat friendly tone the rogue used.
STATS
POW: 000 DUR: 025 SEN: 014 STA: 014 CON: 013
SPEED: 5m/s HEALTH: senior MANA SKIN: senior MANA POOL: 050 / 050 MANA REGEN: 05 IC / 10 OOC
He was slow, as if his body was walking through a tub of molasse, slow and indecisive movements as he struggled to decide what to try and remove first. The few strands of thick red that stuck to his clothes not too dissimilar to the aforementioned molasse, or the thickets and leaves that had found nestles in his attire. Moving back and fourth between the two was a slow and laborious task one he wasn't sure if was related to the snake bite or not, though the wound didn't seem to be stinging he wasn't likely to be making any anti-venom to treat it. All the jabbering man could do was slow his breathing as he listened to the racket of the forest, some bird letting loose a long and drawn out pitched. His head slowly turned to the side, an eyelid twitched his lip moved like a shiver and his head never managing to sit on straight. There was soft motion, like a child a little too excited from sugary treats or better yet a long sick patient left mailed to a shaking disease.
"Wandering who lying wait?" His head bobbed up and down. Phwwwwwhht
He let loose a long drawn out sound, stretching with sharp notes that didn't seem to manage to keep track of it's own volume, shifting to higher and lower keys with strange precision. In the meantime he viewed the curtain of leaves and greenery before something finally emerged, whether it was his mind playing tricks or not he was at least quick to ascertain it wasn't one of the nun or her hound-dog goons. His head cocked to the side with a loose limping movement, he was still dusted with leaf litter and a few accentuating strands.
"Bite by slithers, being bad from plummet plunge slump."
It was too dark to see the wounds, but he could feel the trickle and fall of blood seeping into his clothing, the fabric clinging with the tightness of a newborn to a mother. His words while muttled and mottled with poor structure at least stung with kindness.
He would have to traverse the most difficult terrain to get to where he was going. Usually, this wasn't the worst thing. But after hours of the same foliage, the same moderation of twilight to see through, it tarried on his nerves. It was the vast expanse of solitary loneliness that got to him. Would that it was as simple as extending a hand and being friendly, that would be too simple. An honest man might have accrued friends under different circumstances, he may have even made acquaintances within his line of work. For an ordinary; citizen of Clover, making friends may not have been the most difficult thing in the world. But for the irregular assortment of ne’er do wells’ it was simply not so. The only real solace that kept Connor sleeping regularly was that he did most of his sleeping during the day after exhaustion claimed him. After a task had been completed with such zeal few things would slow his errant mind. Only once his resolve was the only thing keeping him awake, only then would he eventually rest. The anticipation he felt, was it not his own? It had to be someone’s, it wasn’t an out of the blue struggle that presented itself regularly for a younger Connor, it was at least something.
Breaching the precipice of fundamentally challenging his status of being alone; Connor clung to the reassurance for a moment longer, before stepping out into a clearing that had been, until now, unexplored. There were two other men, floundering around for some justification of their presence here; in the remote reaches of the forsaken region, Connor relented and curiously ventured a query. “Why are you both wandering around the forsaken region at this time of night?” His tone heavy in implications; Connor fathoming a good lump of dread stockpiling itself within him, slightly uncertain as to whether he wanted a completely honest answer. His steady gaze shifted from one of them to the other, degrees of notions dissimilar to his arbitrary purpose in being here himself passed through his thoughts. Objectifying the subtle regret he felt, Connor crossed his arms waiting for a response from either of them.
The distinguishing sound of a bird call echoed in the settling silence - its tone was odd holding a particularly human note to it.
Those in Mania's line of business would recognize the call signal and the hairs upon the nape of his neck stood to attention. The sensation of cold gripped his spine with its icy touch, blossoming goosebumps atop the rogue's skin. Mania was only half paying attention to the mysterious man who fell from the tree. He responded in muttering nonsense causing Mania to take a cautionary step back. Was it an act Mania pondered? Confused by the man's muddled gibberish, Mania was privy to such deception used in schemes to lower the intended marks guard. Typically an accomplice skulking nearby, lying in wait for ambush.
"It's a ruse... the jokes on you hahaha"
Right on cue amidst the maniacal laughter in Mania's mind, the other mana signature Mania felt had made an appearance. Emerging from the lush underbrush was a masked man. Mania almost froze his grip stiffening upon the spine of his grimoire, bated breaths leaving his parted lips in anticipation for the unknown. He would speak, his inquiry innocent enough, but not nearly sufficient to assuage Mania's creeping fear and deeply-rooted pessimism in people. A man to his left and one straight ahead, Mania was in quite the pickle, the unrelenting voices continued haunting the rogue, sneering in wicked, taunting contempt. Mania mused what to say as the man would fold his arms, taking a more relaxed position.
"Do I play it cool? Are the voices right? Shit, I don't know. I can't tell reality from delusion right now..."
Frustration wrinkled the rogue's brow as he contemplated a plan of action, remaining idle would only draw suspicion he thought.
"Going places ya know probably like yerself, too poor to travel any other way. This bloke seems to have hit his head pretty hard, I heard some commotion so I decided to check it out. Can't understand a word he's saying though. Ya know this fellow?"
Mania would speak in a stoic tone, gesturing to the hurt man as he attempted to mask his restlessness with chatter to drown out the sounds of his mind. He either had to be crazy or an eccentric to be wandering the Forsaken Region wearing a mask. No matter how you cut it, he possessed little in the department of trustworthiness. People who wore a mask tended to wear one for a reason Mania would think. They were secretive and craved privacy from the world. Can't trust a man who hides his face, says a lot for whatever else they were trying to keep unrevealed. It was hard to make out much in the darkness asides from faint, scarce detail and their silhouette. That made the situation all the more dire. The rogue would await a response, his tense body ready for the worse should it come to fruition.
STATS
POW: 000 DUR: 025 SEN: 014 STA: 014 CON: 013
SPEED: 5m/s HEALTH: senior MANA SKIN: senior MANA POOL: 050 / 050 MANA REGEN: 05 IC / 10 OOC
SPELLS
--
NOTES
WORD COUNT: 491 TOTAL WC: 1,737 TAG(S):Connor | Aeneas
Some of the stars seemingly hung lower in the world. The ones still dangling above and a new constellation trying to find it's place just in front of him. His head slowly rolling back and fourth twisting and turning like a toppling dreidel on it's last few spins of momentum. His eyes half open and in a daze as he watched a second approach, breaking the monotony of greens in the dark approached a lithe figurine of a man someone that unlike Aeneas, actually seemed to be in good shape and made of more than flesh taunt against bones. His head still a spin struggled to follow their track of conversation.
He clutched his forehead, his stance was dizzy as he tried to getup, the autumn leaves at the very least cushioning his fall as he struggled to shift his eye contact, moving between his bleeding wound and the duo that seemed to chat away as if today was just another day in the dark woods in the forsaken lands. He was still hit in that mixture of his own world, wether through sheer volume of venom, or the fall he couldn't tell. he wasn't even sure if what he had been struck with was a dry bite, his mind too foggy and in a haze to make it out.
Chrrrk
Thut
Chrrrrrrkkkk
It was subtle, in the distance he heard the condor caravan making another sweep around the forests perimeter, the sound of stressed wagon wheels against gritty ground digging deep through the tender forest, the golem's heavy footfalls unable to penetrate. It boomed yes. But it was like a fist to a talon. One could make cracks, the other dug through them. It was only by the third motion he managed to scurry himself onto the side of a tree, the still dripping blood staining a few of the autumn coloured leaves, and matching with the rest.
"Child lover god... Name becoming close like the Venus..."
There was a stumble, his head struggling to hold a steady posture as the heavy thumping pounded like a elephant charging over and over a dying animal.
"Aeneas... Lost running panting... here..."
He was quick to fall back down trying to take a step before crumpling under the pressure. All he could do was struggle to rip a sliver of fabric off his shirt and use it to tie up the wound to halt the bleeding. If there was venom, he was likely not going to make it through the night. All the better reason to hope it was a dry bite. During it he tried to communicate, but words seemed lost in his injured state feeling like he was pushing a boat against a rapid river, his mind a flourish with a million words each jabbing and prodding in an attempt to escape.
Connor regarded the two men with varying levels of attritional lucidity. The starlight mingled with the canopies of the trees which looked over them, making it difficult to proportionally assess the situation. One of them seemed to act casually, despite their surroundings; too casually, Connor thought about the mundane almost monotonous way he presented himself. He seemed on edge, however, the second one seemed outright delirious, stumbling back towards a tree. Connor nodded along, affirming that he concurred with the sentiment of going places, although the dim light probably didn’t help acknowledge the sentiment. A hissing from above them commanded Connor’s attention, he had gone from assessing the two men to frightful action. The snake fell in front of Connor, who being quite ardent about these sort of things leapt backwards. Identifying the snake as your garden variety python; which weren’t venomous, Connor relaxed, but still wanting to not be bitten he gave it enough space to flee. Problematic, but manageable. His breathing wasn't loud but it was perceptible, he noticed little else about the other two men who may have been just as surprised as he was regarding the serpent. The delirious words of an injured man sunk into him, Connor wasn’t quite sure how to respond, mixed feelings of tumult and apprehension. Connor spoke directly to the man who poetically reflected, querying him as to his drift or meaning, “What?” God frowned upon disparaging or afflicting the mad, or so Connor had believed, he felt it best to treat the man delicately, unaware of whether he was completely sane or not it was best to err on the side of caution.
The delirious man would interject, his external projections lost on Mania as the rogue's keen hazel eyes glanced toward him. He had fallen backward, still shaken from his great fall. Somewhere in his words, Mania honed in on the name Aeneas. Perhaps it was the man's names Mania mused briefly as he heard rustling up above in the shadows that moved about. The oblique starlight filtered through the canopy to down below. The masked fellow would quickly jump back as a snaked would land before his feat, coiled and hissing loudly. Mania found it odd he didn't answer his question, was he evading? Mania's gaze would be fixed upon the snake as he slowly slithered about its business, leaving the men to reflect and ponder on their original query.
The shuffling from Aeneas's position would garner Mania's fickle attention. He watches Aeneas tear the fabric of his shirt and use it to bandage his wounds. Mania was still cautious as he eyed the man, taking a silent, deep breath to steel his nerves. The rogue was of the sneaking disposition that these two men were up to devilish machinations, but what as their goal? The situation made no sense and with the masked man offering little in the way of response save for a faint gesture concealed by the dark, only served to feed Mania's paranoia. Mania decided it best to confirm his thoughts, he couldn't allow the masked visitor to walk much closer. Else, he would have to deal with two enemies within lethal of him. Mania would sigh.
"People don't take kindly to those who hide their face ya know?"
The still night's ambiance would be carved by Mania's sharp words, hints of passion and fervor intertwined. Though Mania was concerned that Aeneas could be hurt, he couldn't look past the possibility of his injuries being a ruse. The voices in the rogue's mind would sing hauntingly, taunting him to act prematurely. Mania had half an inclination to, but his magic was only suited for protection. Sometimes he cursed his lack of offensive capabilities; however, Mania knew the merits of having a strong shield. He knew how best to utilize his magic - an illusion would be the opening Mania could make his escape. He would just have to not miss his moment of opportunity he thought silently to himself at the moment.
"So I'll just be frank with ya. Are you a Rogue?"
Mania would follow up his statement, emulating the call-sign that was produced earlier. The bird-like noise echoed as it would reverberate through the sable woods. Aeneas would have to wait, though from what Mania saw of the snake it did not look poisonous. It had fallen from up above so there was a good chance it could have bitten Aeneas, which would have added some clarity to his weird speech. The whole scenario was making much more sense, he had fallen from the tree, maybe because of the snake. It added up but was far too simple for Mania to expect. He would wait and act depending on the masked man's actions.
STATS
POW: 000 DUR: 025 SEN: 014 STA: 014 CON: 013
SPEED: 5m/s HEALTH: senior MANA SKIN: senior MANA POOL: 050 / 050 MANA REGEN: 05 IC / 10 OOC
SPELLS
--
NOTES
WORD COUNT: 517 TOTAL WC: 2,254 TAG(S):Connor | Aeneas
On shaky limbs Aeneas saw the world a fleeting mess. Star spangled lights flittering in his vision, a strange shape falling from the sky and a-
Slithertendrilstar?
The thought was a brief one, lost faster than a blink but not quite as fast as a wink. It fell with arguably a lot more frace than Aeneas had managed, the sticky saliva of his plants still sticking and taping onto his clothing with heavy red globs. It took him a few more moments before he took one of the fat globate and plastered it onto his skin. It stung. Really stung. Well, less like a sting and more like an incredible number of bees blistering and burrowing along the seam of his open wound. The bleeding was at least stopping. He just wasn't sure how smart of an idea this was. It was either rubbing dirt in a wound smart, or rubbing compost in a wound smart. Of both, neither had the fruits of intelligent ideas to begin with.
His eyes manifested something either than delirium for the f first time since the meeting of the strange duo caught up in whistling at each other, of which Aeneas was gaining the inkling that maybe these woods were more... adult inclined than he was at first to believe. But in those eyes that once stirred with the waters of delirium, his eyes were like a boiled ocean, the starlight flickered with menace as he glared daggers at the snake that had dragged him down into this terrible state. The two of them with their whistles seemed like scared birds not quite ready to face the python. Aeneas however.
His grimoire didn't glow.
It didn't even so much as shimmer. Magic was created in a strange way.
He grabbed the book by the spine and pitched the Grimoire directly at the snake. He wasn't sure if it was a good idea or not. He didn't seem to particularly mind as like the rock thrown by David, Goliath was made still. The book cracked into the nape of the snake with the force of a rock to a still body of water, a ripple sent through it with even the scales seeming to bend in a fantastic display of gore. The relief of knowing he was taking company if he was going to deaths door. Now that in it's own way was a strange kind of relief.
“That is their inclination, I; however, am as one who hides his face.” Connor responded to the comment about people not taking kindly to hidden faces almost with a dash of debonair daring. If he had wanted his identity to be known he may have introduced himself but suspicion turns to distrust quickly, so he erred on the side of caution. “I am a rogue, but somehow I don’t think that would allay your concerns, thick as thieves and all that.” Tapping the side of his head with his knuckles Connor stepped forward into the light that mingled with the shadows of the stars and trees, revealing himself to be no less imposing than one may assume an ordinary civilian in the woods to be. First impressions were as a stark dove brings a branch, sometimes peacefully innocent and strong in contrast to dreary imaginings. Connor’s hood did what a mask could not conceal his identity. The shadows reached around him like they did a thief in the night, if there had been any less thematic he may have simply continued being a stranger. But as it were a moonlit night, it seemed; in contrast, a much better way to introduce oneself as a rogue. He had never really construed the Grimoire to be a weapon in itself, but as the wounded man threw his book at the snake, he couldn’t help but chuckle. Now there was some outside the box thinking, the peculiar nature of the projectile was not quite as Connor may have expected. Lucky these things were very nearly indestructible. The man had babbled out something very close to a fervent daydream, a lack of ordinance that he had recognised was cognitive dissonance. Perhaps this guy was simply being vague, more subtle than a rogue would be if they required subterfuge, only Connor felt himself relating to the nonsensical imaginings of one who may very well be more lucid than he. At least, there was the sane and reasonable type in the man who called back with a whistle. Echoing a mimicry of his signal, it had always been difficult to find a kindred spirit, but today was not such a day. Connor knelt haphazardly and warranted a peaceful gesture towards the man who was difficult to understand. Opting to pick up the Grimoire and return it to him, dusting it off as he did so. He wasn’t sure what to do in such a situation but wanted to safely affirm he meant no ill will by doing so. “Good aim.”
Mania was upon the precipice of spurred action, but he would be snapped from his mental fixations and fears by Aeneas throwing his grimoire. The act left Mania in disbelief, the snake was crushed into a bloody mess of scales, blood, and guts by Aeneas's spellbook. The random act had stolen the tension that electrocuted every fiber of his being. Truthfully Mania didn't know whether to feel silly for allowing his suspicions to get the better of him or to be impressed by the utter foolishness Aeneas demonstrated. A heavy sigh would leave Mania's parted lips. Connor was sticking to his ideals and expressed contempt at Mania who had disparaged his choices. Having enough, the rogue would relax his posture and draw in a long breath to clear his head and mind. There was a fine line between genius and simpleton - madness and talent.
"Had to be sure friend. Better to know than to be left in the dark, grasping at phantasms~"
Stating coolly, Mania watched Connor step forwards into the faint starlight that seeped through the thick canopy of twisting branches, vines, and foliage. Connor would offer a hand to Aeneas to finally help him from the ground whilst returning the thrown grimoire. The rogue was feeling much better about the transparency of the situation. It would appear both Mania and Connor were men cut from the same cloth; however, the same could not be said for Aeneas who was in all honesty an enigma still. He still muttered in a fractured, broken speech that was hard to understand. Glancing down at Aeneas who looked still shook, Mania smirk slightly. "Twas a good shot mate, ya really spiked it home~" Mania was less suspicious of Connor now, but the rogue questioned the other man, though he remained hopeful Aeneas could grab all his loose marbles.
"You didn't break anything did ya?"
Mania would ask as he watched, waiting to see if Aeneas would take Connor's hand. Until now, Aeneas appeared still shaken and only managed the few haphazardly put-together words he could summon due to his current limited capacity. For now, the rogue would return his own grimoire back to his hip and casually fetch a smoke he would then light and take a long-drawn-out pull. With Mania's nerves finally settling, he was starting to not hear the cryptic voices that haunted him. Assuredly that was a good sign? Mania hoped he would have some quiet time.
If only for a little longer.
STATS
POW: 000 DUR: 025 SEN: 014 STA: 014 CON: 013
SPEED: 5m/s HEALTH: senior MANA SKIN: senior MANA POOL: 050 / 050 MANA REGEN: 05 IC / 10 OOC
SPELLS
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NOTES
WORD COUNT: 416 TOTAL WC: 2,670 TAG(S):Connor | Aeneas
