"So, they've escaped," said a dry, wispy voice.
"As far as moving from one area we control into another, I suppose," replied a deep, sultry voice. Nothing could be made out in the darkness aside from their shadowy figures, a table between them, a bottle of spirits, and two glasses.
"Still, this did not go quite as planned. The inkmage's abilities are quite useful- this was our opportunity to pry him from Areesha's clutches."
"At least until we saw what we saw."
"Exactly. How did his armor break apart? He even removed the magical make-up in the same action. Now our devices are left to the whims of the tournament committee. Whether or not they consider Mr. Strandssen to be defeated or whether they accept Dorian's declaration of withdrawal that occurred shortly before."
"This warrants a look into the viewing globe. His memories should illuminate this mystery." The sultry-voiced one produced a small green globe and set it in the center of the table.
"Before that, I want to commend you on that spell. To infiltrate the memories of both competitors is a great way to assess their abilities in the context of their histories. Last round, we had no idea Dorian was capable of this."
"Save your thanks. The library was already set up for such a purpose. A long time ago, a great and powerful wizard set up the library to record his memories in writing, so that he did not have to rely on his failing memory. With his death, however, the library became a bit haunted, so to speak. Still, we are able to manipulate it somewhat. Regardless, let us now look into his memories. The moment right before the armor broke apart."
They both looked deep into the viewing globe.
* * * *
As Cael's body fell like a chunk of snow in spring, Dorian's eyes widened as his outstretched arm twitched. He could not control it, his will being subverted somehow. Both his arms were brought back, and wrapped themselves around his own neck. Fallow's screaming drowned out his thoughts, the dragonling buzzing around his head frantically. As the Sesthali's breath became short, time winding down on his life, all of the outside sounds were dimmed to nothing. The pain of somewhat outside force choking him using his own hands was ignored. He could only hear the sound of his own heartbeat. A moment of clarity came upon him, and he thought about himself. Was he someone that could do this? No, he wasn't. This wasn't him. He thought about... what he could do. How his body should respond to his and only his will.
Squinting.
He saw the armor that wrapped around his body, his arms, his upper legs. In a way, he saw the 'decorations' on his face as well. All of this was visible to him, as if he was looking at himself from the outside. Yet, he was not looking at the armor nor the make-up. He was looking beyond it.
Seeing.
The world went dark around him. In front of him, he could see the armor, floating and providing a white glow that was the only source of light. Then, that disappeared as well, giving him the total absence of light. To his surprise, he saw something familiar, and yet these particular lights were unique. Red, green, blue, yellow, every color in the visible spectrum of the eye appeared before him. They were like threads, bobbing back and forth to an imaginery breeze, like they had life on their own. He was inside the loom again, and in each thread were tiny moving pictures that told a story.
Reaching.
He knew what to do. This was fate-crafting. In this world, he was free to move, free to reach out and wrap his hand around a red thread, his fingers not quite touching the thread itself yet, just hovering around it. He saw himself in this thread, the kind of person he wanted to be, and the armor was nowhere to be seen.
Touching.
He closed his hand around the thread, and the red light drowned everywhere else. All he could see was red. The sight was short however, as the sight of the twirling maelstrom and Cael reappeared. Only a moment had passed. He was back in the library, and the cursed armor was cracking. Red light seeped from the cracks, and they multiplied until the armor simply fell to pieces to the ground. The make-up also washed away, streaming down his face down to the carpet until he looked like himself again. As the armor hit the ground, it turned to dust piece by piece, which was blown away by the heavy winds that surrounded him.
The fate of the armor... was to be worn by no one ever again.
* * * *
"Quite a feat, isn't it?" noted the dry-voiced one. "If I'm understanding this right, he changed the fate of the armor. That sort of thing supersedes any enchantment we put on it, doesn't it?"
The wispy-voiced one took a sip from his glass and said, "In His name, we shall act."
Out of Character:
Please take into account the immense time constraints it took to have a completed thread within this time frame when judging. Too many battles I see are judged based on the standards of Citadel battles where they have all the time in the world.