Beyond the Fields of Glass

[Storm Veritas]

Outside a plain but pleasant hotel in the center of Radasanth, the normal buzz of trotting horses and chattering peasants hummed as the denizens ignorantly went about their charades of a normal summer day. Inside, the scents of pipe tobacco wafted from towards the window, with a smattering of empty glass bottles abandoned by the door. The bottlenecks whispered the unmistakable aroma of whiskey; it was unclear how long the ignobleman within had been posted here.

OK, let’s see what in the hell we have here.

He looked at the paper a few times, unsure of what to do with the damned thing. The value of the knowledge contained here seemed real enough, and there wasn barely a shred of doubt in his mind regarding what he’d do to respond. How many options could there be? Fold it? Frame it? Store it? Shred it? After more consideration than this idiosyncratic detail deserved, he let the paper hang between the fingers of his left hand, sparking the corner of the paper with a snap of his right hand, watching the arc catch and the flame propagate.

Certainly don’t need the next curious dickhead to come chasing me, wherever the hell it is that Shin’s going to lead.

The sad fact of the matter was that he wasn’t happy being normal. Living a normal life, albeit an obnoxiously wealthy and easy one, had grown boring. There were only so many whores each town held, and if he steered clear of Radasanth too long, their quality fell precipitously. The bottle held happiness, but it was temporary, and often bookended by boring conversations with stupid people telling their woebegone tales of what could have been. These town louts didn’t recognize him, and would let their rum-stained stories fill him with an emptiness. They had no idea who they were talking to, which felt impossible until he viewed himself in the cloudy hotel mirror.

Gods, fuck, what happened to you?

His eyes were sunken and dark, face more drawn and hair whiter than it had ever been. The booze had stripped even more muscle from his once athletic frame, leaving him drawn and gaunt looking. The smooth, dapper skin upon his overly tanned and almost leathery cheeks and jaw were marked by frown lines and stubble; he’d notice that he had to pull the skin now to get a smooth shave. A smile felt forced in the mirror; he was looking at an aging man that barely resembled the debonair politico he had once been. His teeth were straight, at least, and remained whit-ish, although a year or two of hedonism had laid some pain upon them.

Get your shit together, Storm.

The notion of this sad pile of nothing eradicating or controlling an item of such potential power seemed outrageous. How could Shinsou have trusted even the most valuable possible item in the hands of a courier? The man who left the letter and signet did ask for identification, settling only for a magical trick that remained exclusive to the electromancer. Shinsou had educated the young boy, whose eyes lit with a mix of fear and excitement as Storm levitated the ring and zipped it about the room with a simple point.

He smiled at the recent memory, having shooed the boy off with a few crowns. Now he let the ring roll back and forth over his fingertips, intrigued by how large the damned thing was. Arius hadn’t seemed so imposing; how did this ring slide so easily down the wizard’s left ring finger? Perhaps it was more a testament to his own emaciation. The smile faded quickly.

He pulled the cufflinks of his dress shirt taut as he let the ring fall once more over his finger, holding his hand before him. It was balanced, golden colored with a tasteful red stone in the orifice that was smooth and large, likely a polished sandstone. If it was a ruby, then.. well, then the garish thing became a problem if it were to be flashed about. Pawned, it felt worth a few hundred crowns, but to him it was a totem, a personal trophy from destroying a great evil in the world.

Arius could control time. Shin's girl gets feelings. Feels about even.

As he rolled his hand into a large, bony fist, he noticed the veins on the back of his hand standing out more than ever. The reaper was closing on him faster every day. Regardless, he would acquiesce to his friend’s request. He let a small pulse of energy run through his hand, a maneuver which confirmed the metal ring was, in fact, made of metal.

Tremendous work, detective.

The second pulse was stronger, this one about the force he could use to push a man back a step by the belt-buckle. A few crowns on his desk slid back and the metal ring around the mirror was pressed squarely against the hotel room wall, allowing Storm to more clearly notice the yellowed, smoke stained walls of the rental property. At the end of his pulse, he felt the magnetic force cease, with a tiny feeling he could only describe as an echo pushing his hand back to his chest ever so faintly.

Huh.

And so next sprang forth a more substantial effort. He closed his eyes and focused his energy into his hand, feeling the blood drain from his face. There was no correlation between physical strength and his magical acumen, with the notable exception that his strained physical condition made it far more difficult to sturdily stand and maintain balance as he pressed energy forth. It was a sad thing, but he felt his stomach retch as more energy poured into his hand, and he ceased his effort to move to his bedpan, where he summarily vomited a blend of whiskey, water, and a few parcels of hard-tack biscuits. It felt far worse coming up.

Pathetic. You are pathetic.

In the wake of this sad display, he felt a strange vibration emanating from the ring. Was this abomination laughing at him?