Oliver
10-15-13, 10:12 AM
Mystical Teachings (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QGJhFhJFEcU)
http://magiccombomeal.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/mystical_teachings.jpg?w=640
Closed to Zook Murnig.
Summer, June 1st, 9:49am
Pavel Molino's House
“They say he’s quite the magician,” Pavel remarked.
Oliver raised an eyebrow, but continued to pour the sorcerer his tea. You did not do some things around senile men capable of fireballs. Forgetting to serve tea precisely at four in the afternoon was one of them.
“Best of his kind,” the man grumbled on.
“I am quite sure he is,” Oliver interjected. He set the teapot down, lifted the saucer, and placed it forcibly in his mentor’s hands. “I bet he drinks his tea, though, and so should you.”
Not three weeks ago, Pavel was a mighty, indomitable, and powerful man. Amongst the magically inclined folk of Radasanth, he was a paragon and saint. His control of divination spells and destruction arts was all but unparalleled, at least by the humans of the island. Oliver Midwinter was most grateful to be his apprentice.
“We need you to rest,” he said with a sigh. He stepped away slowly and rested his hands on his hips.
The parlour was a small room at the front of the house, whose bay window overlooked a sloping hill that trailed all the way down to the docks. Tall, crooked abodes lined the thoroughfare, and cobbles long since faded of their former glory made the ascent hazardous at best. It was sparsely furnished, but every inch of the wall swarmed in a mish mash of bookshelves, laden with ancient tomes, and a solitary mirror above an idle fireplace.
“Yes, rest,” Pavel, with a drawl, promptly agreed. He raised the cup to his lips and slurped the tea noisily. It was still too hot to get to grips with, but the man was ever doing something with his hands. His eyes sagged. His back drooped. His aura felt weak.
“I…,” Oliver began, but bit back his apologies behind a stoic façade. He turned away, hesitated, and then strode towards the door. He rested his hand on the lion head knob, and made to turn it. Something stopped him from leaving. He recognised the sensation all too well.
“I’m sorry…,” he sputtered.
The guilt of his actions was beginning to undo all the hard work he had gone through over the last six months. He had learnt so much under Pavel’s guidance. He had learned to control his temper. He had learned to exercise his demons. He had learned, finally, to live without witchcraft.
“What was that?” Pavel bolted upright, saved from nodding off by his hearing finally coming back. He turned awkwardly, sloshed his tea obliviously over his lap, and set his grey eyes onto the ajar door.
Oliver Midwinter was long gone, tears rolling down his cheeks, and feet carrying him through the warren like innards of his mentor’s home. Soon, the wizard Cohen Ephraim would come knocking. He would climb that hill with a determined step, and, or so Oliver hoped, exercise Pavel Molino of the ancient, fickle spirit that possessed the wizard’s soul.
http://magiccombomeal.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/mystical_teachings.jpg?w=640
Closed to Zook Murnig.
Summer, June 1st, 9:49am
Pavel Molino's House
“They say he’s quite the magician,” Pavel remarked.
Oliver raised an eyebrow, but continued to pour the sorcerer his tea. You did not do some things around senile men capable of fireballs. Forgetting to serve tea precisely at four in the afternoon was one of them.
“Best of his kind,” the man grumbled on.
“I am quite sure he is,” Oliver interjected. He set the teapot down, lifted the saucer, and placed it forcibly in his mentor’s hands. “I bet he drinks his tea, though, and so should you.”
Not three weeks ago, Pavel was a mighty, indomitable, and powerful man. Amongst the magically inclined folk of Radasanth, he was a paragon and saint. His control of divination spells and destruction arts was all but unparalleled, at least by the humans of the island. Oliver Midwinter was most grateful to be his apprentice.
“We need you to rest,” he said with a sigh. He stepped away slowly and rested his hands on his hips.
The parlour was a small room at the front of the house, whose bay window overlooked a sloping hill that trailed all the way down to the docks. Tall, crooked abodes lined the thoroughfare, and cobbles long since faded of their former glory made the ascent hazardous at best. It was sparsely furnished, but every inch of the wall swarmed in a mish mash of bookshelves, laden with ancient tomes, and a solitary mirror above an idle fireplace.
“Yes, rest,” Pavel, with a drawl, promptly agreed. He raised the cup to his lips and slurped the tea noisily. It was still too hot to get to grips with, but the man was ever doing something with his hands. His eyes sagged. His back drooped. His aura felt weak.
“I…,” Oliver began, but bit back his apologies behind a stoic façade. He turned away, hesitated, and then strode towards the door. He rested his hand on the lion head knob, and made to turn it. Something stopped him from leaving. He recognised the sensation all too well.
“I’m sorry…,” he sputtered.
The guilt of his actions was beginning to undo all the hard work he had gone through over the last six months. He had learnt so much under Pavel’s guidance. He had learned to control his temper. He had learned to exercise his demons. He had learned, finally, to live without witchcraft.
“What was that?” Pavel bolted upright, saved from nodding off by his hearing finally coming back. He turned awkwardly, sloshed his tea obliviously over his lap, and set his grey eyes onto the ajar door.
Oliver Midwinter was long gone, tears rolling down his cheeks, and feet carrying him through the warren like innards of his mentor’s home. Soon, the wizard Cohen Ephraim would come knocking. He would climb that hill with a determined step, and, or so Oliver hoped, exercise Pavel Molino of the ancient, fickle spirit that possessed the wizard’s soul.