02-25-2016, 06:00 PM
Zuclopenthixol
The ruckus of war was burning faster than the hottest flames of hell - which is ironic to say, because it seemed to be a lot of fighting fire with fire lately. Fire wasn’t Eight’s thing - no, it was too dirty, too much left to be manipulated and quelled. It was malleable - belonging to no one. You started the fire, and why there were a dozen more horses in Beqanna that could bend it, silence it, and even use it against you. Eight - well, he preferred something a little more solid. A little bit more… controlled.
The war started abruptly - and Eight immediately did his duty as ‘guardian’. (Almost silly, isn’t it? Letting a man like him guard a place like the Valley. He was too reckless, too languid to truly be counted on, right?). He, however, was no Prague. And in truth, the benefit of only having a pair of kingdoms on their side, was that he didn’t quite have to stretch his magic nearly as far as Prague. Flashes of Prague’s wild work reached Eight’s mind - I mean, it was always nice to be able to keep tabs on the goings on of the war. And boy, was she working herself hard.
Eight, on the other hand, well he was a little bit more lax about it all.
Eight was certain that the Chamber could hold its own for now. He had a small errand to run.
He cloaked himself in invisibility, and created an impermeable wall around himself- no magician or horse would be able to crack the wall around him to see his thoughts or actions. No, this was perhaps a great secret weapon waiting.
He appeared in the Afterlife, slipping from the sands into the portal of the netherworld. He stood for a moment - quietly and pensively. There were so many options to choose from- the powerful dead of Beqanna were numerous. But who to choose? Someone not so suspecting, some gentle and kind- but someone who had ruled, who wasn’t just a nameless face.
He spoke just one word. “Zuclopenthixol.”
And from the ground, tendrils of magic began to weave and twine, twisting ties of life into a lost soul. Yes, this was something more of Eight’s style - something that he had complete control of.
The ruckus of war was burning faster than the hottest flames of hell - which is ironic to say, because it seemed to be a lot of fighting fire with fire lately. Fire wasn’t Eight’s thing - no, it was too dirty, too much left to be manipulated and quelled. It was malleable - belonging to no one. You started the fire, and why there were a dozen more horses in Beqanna that could bend it, silence it, and even use it against you. Eight - well, he preferred something a little more solid. A little bit more… controlled.
The war started abruptly - and Eight immediately did his duty as ‘guardian’. (Almost silly, isn’t it? Letting a man like him guard a place like the Valley. He was too reckless, too languid to truly be counted on, right?). He, however, was no Prague. And in truth, the benefit of only having a pair of kingdoms on their side, was that he didn’t quite have to stretch his magic nearly as far as Prague. Flashes of Prague’s wild work reached Eight’s mind - I mean, it was always nice to be able to keep tabs on the goings on of the war. And boy, was she working herself hard.
Eight, on the other hand, well he was a little bit more lax about it all.
Eight was certain that the Chamber could hold its own for now. He had a small errand to run.
He cloaked himself in invisibility, and created an impermeable wall around himself- no magician or horse would be able to crack the wall around him to see his thoughts or actions. No, this was perhaps a great secret weapon waiting.
He appeared in the Afterlife, slipping from the sands into the portal of the netherworld. He stood for a moment - quietly and pensively. There were so many options to choose from- the powerful dead of Beqanna were numerous. But who to choose? Someone not so suspecting, some gentle and kind- but someone who had ruled, who wasn’t just a nameless face.
He spoke just one word. “Zuclopenthixol.”
And from the ground, tendrils of magic began to weave and twine, twisting ties of life into a lost soul. Yes, this was something more of Eight’s style - something that he had complete control of.