Cabriel
08-08-2008, 10:54 AM
Blue smoke curls slowly toward the ceiling, the scent of smoldering tobacco mixing with machine oil taints the air. Si’Ma always exhales slowly, and Cabriel wonders if it burns her throat. The light is dim, cast as it is from guttering tallow candles and a few weak mana batteries that have been wedged into wide cracks in the walls.
“No. Each schematic is unique. What a left-leaning hatch mark stands for in one could spell disaster in another! Do you want to curse, or simply draw pretty purple pictures?”
Cabriel’s forehead is drenched. Sweat catches the eerie light along his jawline, carving his angular face out of the dimness. He tries again. Slowly, in the hazy air before him, he awkwardly traces the simple pattern of three concentric circles, bisected by six intersecting lines that meet somewhat left of center. He draws in a breath; here’s where he always misses the mark. Swallowing, he crooks his finger and quickly sketches out an abbreviated word in Erudun, kry’yck, that curves along the inside of the outer circle.
“No!” Si’Ma slaps the mouthpiece of her hookah to the inlaid table at her side. The glyph wavers through the smoke for a moment longer, then dissipates silently.
Cabriel groans. The gnome, with her dyed black and purple hair tied tightly against her scalp, leaps from her bank of pillows and yanks the elf down to look her in the eye.
“Watch again.”
Cabriel’s muscles tense, nerves fire like needles inside his skin. Si’Ma raises her right hand and rapidly places one circle, then two, nesting a third inside them. With precise slashes of her finger, she cuts the circles with six arrow-straight lines. Then, a smile tugging at her painted mouth, she draws the first letter of the abbreviated demonic word. Then another. She pauses to watch her pupil’s eyes tightly slide shut, then finishes the spell.
Cabriel’s tongue slams against the roof of his mouth, and his chest tightens. Each cable of muscle along his arms, wrists, the back of his hands, pulls violently back. He catches his reflection in a polished steel section of one of the warlock engineer’s creations, and almost smiles in irony at how his body resembles that of a puppet with all its strings tangled. The word for what he feels cannot be pain; it’s too acute. Instead he uses Si’Ma’s word: agony.
The gnome has returned to her cushions, inhaling a deep lungful of her flavored smoke.
“Again.”
He’s almost too tense to shuffle forward to the brass cage. He remembers his brothers with a vile taste on his mouth. Blood? Sweat? He decides its both and tries not to look the squirrel in the eye as it chitters back and forth. Cabriel wonders if the vermin knows it’s fate, but decides to conserve his own life over that of some tree rat.
He begins, again, to draft the circles in the air. Along a shelf on the wall, a small metallic replica of the squirrel gazes back with its dead gemstone eyes. Next to it, a brass chicken focuses on Si’Ma. They are being watched by the gnome’s weird creations.
Six lines divide the circles into twelve equal portions, each glowing brightly with fel energy. Cabriel allows his vision to cloud and divide, separating himself from the squirrel. Quickly, he inscribes the Erudun onto the glyph and pretends not to care as the rodent screeches in protest of it’s body’s sudden rebellion. The cage rattles quietly a few times, and then silence.
“So…it’s not pretty pictures you want, after all.”
The gnome’s voice is wet and thick, humid. Cabriel looks her in the face from beneath his brow. Superimposing Sebastian’s face onto hers is difficult, but possible. It had become obvious in the last weeks that fate would whittle away at Cabriel’s life until only his brother and he stood, and both would have to answer for their crimes. Sebastian had limitless resources, substantial power. Cabriel had fel-tainted blood and a dirty book filled with the instructions for his new life.
“No. I don’t want pretty pictures.”[/FONT]
“No. Each schematic is unique. What a left-leaning hatch mark stands for in one could spell disaster in another! Do you want to curse, or simply draw pretty purple pictures?”
Cabriel’s forehead is drenched. Sweat catches the eerie light along his jawline, carving his angular face out of the dimness. He tries again. Slowly, in the hazy air before him, he awkwardly traces the simple pattern of three concentric circles, bisected by six intersecting lines that meet somewhat left of center. He draws in a breath; here’s where he always misses the mark. Swallowing, he crooks his finger and quickly sketches out an abbreviated word in Erudun, kry’yck, that curves along the inside of the outer circle.
“No!” Si’Ma slaps the mouthpiece of her hookah to the inlaid table at her side. The glyph wavers through the smoke for a moment longer, then dissipates silently.
Cabriel groans. The gnome, with her dyed black and purple hair tied tightly against her scalp, leaps from her bank of pillows and yanks the elf down to look her in the eye.
“Watch again.”
Cabriel’s muscles tense, nerves fire like needles inside his skin. Si’Ma raises her right hand and rapidly places one circle, then two, nesting a third inside them. With precise slashes of her finger, she cuts the circles with six arrow-straight lines. Then, a smile tugging at her painted mouth, she draws the first letter of the abbreviated demonic word. Then another. She pauses to watch her pupil’s eyes tightly slide shut, then finishes the spell.
Cabriel’s tongue slams against the roof of his mouth, and his chest tightens. Each cable of muscle along his arms, wrists, the back of his hands, pulls violently back. He catches his reflection in a polished steel section of one of the warlock engineer’s creations, and almost smiles in irony at how his body resembles that of a puppet with all its strings tangled. The word for what he feels cannot be pain; it’s too acute. Instead he uses Si’Ma’s word: agony.
The gnome has returned to her cushions, inhaling a deep lungful of her flavored smoke.
“Again.”
He’s almost too tense to shuffle forward to the brass cage. He remembers his brothers with a vile taste on his mouth. Blood? Sweat? He decides its both and tries not to look the squirrel in the eye as it chitters back and forth. Cabriel wonders if the vermin knows it’s fate, but decides to conserve his own life over that of some tree rat.
He begins, again, to draft the circles in the air. Along a shelf on the wall, a small metallic replica of the squirrel gazes back with its dead gemstone eyes. Next to it, a brass chicken focuses on Si’Ma. They are being watched by the gnome’s weird creations.
Six lines divide the circles into twelve equal portions, each glowing brightly with fel energy. Cabriel allows his vision to cloud and divide, separating himself from the squirrel. Quickly, he inscribes the Erudun onto the glyph and pretends not to care as the rodent screeches in protest of it’s body’s sudden rebellion. The cage rattles quietly a few times, and then silence.
“So…it’s not pretty pictures you want, after all.”
The gnome’s voice is wet and thick, humid. Cabriel looks her in the face from beneath his brow. Superimposing Sebastian’s face onto hers is difficult, but possible. It had become obvious in the last weeks that fate would whittle away at Cabriel’s life until only his brother and he stood, and both would have to answer for their crimes. Sebastian had limitless resources, substantial power. Cabriel had fel-tainted blood and a dirty book filled with the instructions for his new life.
“No. I don’t want pretty pictures.”[/FONT]