262 The Magician 20 (1/2)
The young mage hadn't been passive during this time. He figured there were more 'up to no good' antics happening behind the scenes. Using the supercharged key's excess to 'sew' a thread of connection to his other two companions, he communicated with them. There was a thready pulse of life present in the underground area where they had first arrived as well.
He couldn't imagine what kind of hearty soul had managed to survive two weeks in a place with no food and very little accessible water but he was about to find out. Before he could enact his plan, the young mage wanted to make sure that the companions with him wanted to be a part of it. He also wanted to make sure his one time godson and daughter were alright as well.
With all the unexpected secret room backstabbing going on, the 'old' young witch had 'abducted' Cole and was nearly a thousand miles removed from the drama. The feline young man didn't have a chance. It wouldn't take long for their weird dynamic to change into something deeper and more meaningful.
Oleander had communicated to Orison through Adam. She had a plan to get the Rogers man out of the mage compound by using some dirt Amos had on his instructor. She had rightfully predicted that Orison would have a lot more freedom to carry out his own plans if there weren't people he was concerned with around. With access to her mentor's emergency escape stash, she and her crew had put some distance between them and 'ground zero' as well.
Adam was more than happy to settle his spiritual debt with Orison by playing military nanny to the crew instead of continuing on with the young mage. His ability to rope the instructor into a more long term addition for added protection made him crucial to a more solid and permanent escape. He didn't seem that keen on traveling with Orison to begin with. But underneath it all, he was an honorable man with a decent ability to make the most of what life dealt him.
Turning his attention onto the person trapped and dying inside the underground ruin, the first thing he noticed was that the person had no previous connection to himself. They had a strong soul and a honed will that the young mage could appreciate, though. And in his heart of hearts, Orison was becoming a bit tired of tangling with souls that were showing stronger and stronger signs of desiring distance from him.
On his side, he would use the spiritual debt the world had accumulated with him to grant some acceptance for his key to ferry the main part of himself elsewhere in reality. Taking down demon fingers hadn't just been useful to the key but appreciated by the will that governed reality in a vague and impersonal way. Whether it would be completely enough was still up in the air. But if the debt shifted in his direction a little, he had intended to play low-key nice from the beginning anyway.
Once he felt the initial tugs of a summoning on his true name, Orison softened his pattern and allowed his key to take him in. With a gentle push, the world's rejection pushed the conduit acting like an inter-dimensional phylactery out. Simultaneously, the crafted avatar was materializing into the summoning circle.
From his viewpoint 'on high', the young mage saw that the dying person was a deep elf man or whatever that world's perception of underground dwelling elves to be. The man seemed to have experienced some kind of accident while using a planar artifact that was stronger than his know-how could handle. Like a great deal of the demonic blooded elves kind, his soul had a stain and curse to it but it showed strong signs of lightening.
Mentally chuckling, Orison thought, ”A deep elf on a path of redemption that wasn't a spiritually chaotic train wreck at the start would be a first. Alright, it's my first avatar and he seems like he's TRYING to make good. Let's be nice and give him what he wants within reason. It'll make for a decent in-flight movie.
Speaking through the avatar, Orison said, ”Speak your heart to me and I will grant you what aid your sincerity earns you.”
The deep elf had exhausted the majority of his remaining energy in casting the summoning circle with dribbles of blood from his own ruined body. ”Want to live... lost... so alone.”
Orison tried not to laugh. The guy was so pure hearted and soulful, the young mage had to wonder how the man had been born into such a cruel and darkness steeped place as most underbellies of magical worlds tended to be.
”No need to be stingy. I'll load up the avatar with all the bits of Reese, Green and White that Al and Piran saved. I'll shadow pact it everything that the sacrifice will let fit as well. Who knows how much mileage it'll get but it should at least get the guy out of his current fix as long as he doesn't throw a turd into the sacrifice section,” he thought.
The deep elf placed a page that was liberally coated in his own gore onto the sacrifice portion of the circle. The moment that Orison registered the page as being noticeably 'realer than real' he mentally gulped nervously within the key as the circle activated. For a few minutes, Orison got to experience what it was like to be a pact shadow. His soul core flipped to be inside the avatar long enough for the desolate realm to slurp up the page, previous owner and avatar.
The young mage suddenly had years worth of deep trance learning to attend to as he traveled through a strange, psychedelically gassy void with the phantom key as his vessel. And for the first time, there was a surplus of essence running out of the desolate realm. The ruined tower needed to play catch-up with the copious amount of 'building material' it found itself in possession of.
”Dear gawd, what was that!? How could a single little page hold that much? Well, before I'm pulled into who knows how long a nap, I'll consciousness mark the two of them so I can experience a bit of living from time to time.
”No pervy intended... Not much anyway. I don't want to wake up as some dry academic mage whose forgotten how to be a people,” Orison thought right before deep trance claimed him.
***
The deep elf awoke feeling weak, nauseous and cold. As his senses oriented themselves, he heard a lyrical woman's voice singing.
”There once was a man named Owen the bard. Really a quite vexing fellow. Silver of tongue and warty of d***, the reincarnation of Mellow... It's not hard at all. Just about anybody can... Oh, you're awake! Please pretend you didn't hear that!” an ocean eyed, redheaded woman said.
With a faint blush on her cheeks, she presented the naked man a set of leathers as she slightly looked to the side. ”Not the finest work I'm capable of but better than letting the naughty bits flap in the breeze... so to speak. I know we're underground and all but...”
The dark elven man snatched up the leathers and undergarments.
He dressed in the speed of light while gazing at the woman with mild fear and heavy suspicion. ”What happened to my equipment?”
The woman looked at him in annoyance and said, ”You should be thankful our patron's not a tool. Your sacrifice was coated in your blood and whatever else. He could have taken YOU, much less your equipment. But to answer your question, it was an involuntary and completely unintentional reaction to accepting your sacrifice and attempting to fulfill whatever you asked for.
”We're in luck it seems. Some poor shapeshifter type made a decent run of the place before biting the big one on a magic trap. Most of the time you were napping, I went around collecting what I could safely.”
The deep elf quickly gathered everything that was piled up while eyeballing her equipment. She didn't have much. A bit worn but serviceable set of clothing was partially obscured by a silken and billowy open front over robe. At her side was a small bag that glowed under his magic sensitive sight.
He said, ”Show me what's in the bag.”
With a slightly hurt expression, she emptied it. The contents were relatively meager in comparison to the pile in his own newly acquired bag of holding. In all, there was around a tenth of the vulgar wealth, an old wizard's tome and a few of the less impressive items more geared towards personal survival than power. After checking over the items in his possession, he felt that he had wronged her quite thoroughly.
”If all is as it seems to be, then you are missing a weapon for personal protection... Take one,” he said gruffly while looking everywhere but at her.
Looking over the items he made available, she sifted through and picked up a gnomish contraption that shot darts from the sleeve and a faintly magical dagger.
He was surprised by her modesty but it did little to quell his suspicion. To his thinking, if she held so little greed, there must be a reason for it. A sudden thought dawned on him that made him look at her in a way that made the woman uneasy.
While organizing and acquainting himself with his new possessions, the deep elf said with a superior look, ”Are you my servant?”
Her face twisted into a mask of barely checked rage. ”Listen up, numb nuts. You ever ask me a question like that again and I'll show you just how much of a 'servant' I am. If you can keep a civil tongue in that mouth of yours, I'll help you as much as I can but you don't own me.
”How long that help lasts depends on you. If you're a nice guy, I'll stick around. You start acting like an arrogant prick, I'm gone the first chance I get.”