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Description

    Metaphors are something that are both nonsensical yet, at the same time, can be the best way to describe something. Take using smell and taste as an example. There are old metaphors in regard to both, such as the sweet smell of success and the stench of failure. Metaphors can put into words such concepts that are tricky to describe by making use of unusual imagery, such as the human senses.

    Magic, Providence had come to understand, is one such example of a concept best described through metaphors. Arcane energies exist all around us, just as naturally as the air we breathe. To a normal being, it is unseen, undetectable, and unusable. However, to those with the gift, they are able to feel it, and with proper training and understanding, are able to take hold of it and make it adhere to their will.

    Another thing about arcane energies is that not all of them are the same. Think of them as inhabitants of different pools, similar in one way yet different in another. Each pool of magic consists of a certain essence and taste. Here’s where metaphors come into play once more.
    To those who are gifted with the ability to use magic, they can sense that different places radiate a unique aura or essence. Much of how a magical pool feels is tied into what location it exists in, as well as the history of said place.

    Graveyards for example are prime spots for necromancy spells due in part to the magical pool that exists in that place. The magical pools in graveyards are shaped and formed by the memories of those that have passed, the grief of those that have mourned their dead, and even the very remains that lie within the cold earth.

    Throughout his travels, Providence had the opportunity to encounter and study a plethora of arcane energies. Japan, even with its technological leaps and innovations, emanated arcane energies that merged echoes of the past with the marching machinery of the modern age. Antarctica had arcane energies that were steeped in chilling cold and biting dark not unlike blizzards and snowstorms of the area, refusing to be reigned in. The Amazon rainforest, while slowly being impeded upon by human civilization, still retained its ancient presence fueled by memories of the countless flora and fauna that existed within its green kingdom as well as the collective presence of the different tribes of man that once called it their home. The warm winds of Arizona murmurs promises of fire and rebirth as they coalesce and disperse upon the land. The identity of magic was not something set in stone, but like water, it would flow and take the form of the mold that serves as its vessel.

    Many years ago, when Providence had stepped within Greystoke Manse, the arcane energies that inhabited the place were calm and what some might even call homely. But that time was long past. Now the magical pool was tainted and reeked of monstrous acts. The cries of innocent lives cut short, of spirits violated even in death, and the almost rustic stench of spilled blood now held sway within the mansion.

    The spell he cast that let him track the leyline of magic led him to the mansion’s main dining hall, an excessively extravagant space the size of two tennis courts. Here, where he had sensed the nexus of the spells holding the entire mansion hostage, the stench of tainted arcane energies was even stronger. It also allowed Providence to become aware of another aspect of the magical pool of this place. It was faint, intentionally being suppressed to hide from sight or sense. Furthermore, it was a hostile essence, and it reeked of acrid smoke and pungent rot.

Providence paused as one more scent was revealed to him.

Sulfur…

Providence tapped into the arcane reserves of the magical pool within the mansion before he began casting a spell. Focused on that which lay beyond human sight, he brought the palm of his hands together.

“Out of the shadows, out of the veil, into the light do I bind thee”

Three times he spoke the incantation, and on the third utterance there was a loud noise akin to nails on a chalkboard, cloth ripping, and the howling of winter winds. Wisps of smoke amalgamated ahead of Providence, as though they were being sucked into a vacuum. Providence foresaw what would come next and brought up an arcane shield just as the amalgamated shadows exploded outwards, momentarily obscuring his vision.

As the shadows passed and Providence could see once more, he beheld a fresh horror. Where the collected shadows once were, stood a creature, seemingly ripped from depraved nightmares.

Its humanoid frame stood close to five meters tall with a form that one could only describe as a perverted patchwork of sinew, muscle, and bone. The wings that extended from its back were much the same and could not hopefully be of purpose for flight, for they too looked as though wings that were mangled before partially being dissolved in acid.

What caught Providence’s attention however was its skeletal visage. For a brief moment, as the vestiges of his unveiling spell faded fully, he glimpsed the face of a man that he recognized from Octavia’s case files. As that face faded, replaced by the skeletal visage, the puzzles started to fall into place.

“Richard Greystroke,” Providence spoke, drawing the attention of the creature that had once been a man and was presumed dead weeks ago when the murders were first discovered.

“You have partaken in wanton acts of inhuman cruelty, and even now you play with knowledge and arts fit only for the demented and the fel. You have single-handedly cast aside the warnings I have once stressed upon your predecessors. Blood rituals, necromancy, and beyond that, conspiring in arts known only to the Fallen.”

There was a brief silence before the creature that was once Richard Greystroke let out a hoarse and inhumane laugh.

“My predecessors were senile old fools who let themselves be blinded by your words, scared to push through and grasp power that could elevate mortals to something much more. Even those uppity ingrates who thought themselves on the same path as me could not fully understand the gifts that were offered. The only thing they were good for in the end were sacrificial lambs that served as catalysts for my ascension.”

Greystroke lifted a bony finger and pointed it at Providence, “You know me, but I know of you too. He told me all about you, the being that is not a god but something much more than mortal. And he told me to whom your allegiance belongs. You berate me for colluding with the Fallen, yet you yourself are a vassal to an entity whose mere existence could shatter realities. At the end of the day, you are no better than I.”

“You think we are the same? You could not be any further from the truth.” Providence replied. “I am a vassal to powers beyond humanity’s wildest dreams, that is true. But whatever power and authority I have that results from my role as such, I call upon and use not to serve my own ends, but to uphold the fragile balance that governs this reality. I am the watcher at the threshold, one that you now threaten to desecrate.”

The moment came to an end as doors were thrown inwards as Agonistes and Octavia barreled into the dining hall, the latter having drawn her sword somewhere en route. Though seemingly a little ruffled with their clashes with the hostile ghosts of the mansion, they weren’t truly fazed. The fire that once guided both of them flickered out and Octavia met Providence’s gaze before, with a nod, she turned her sights to Greystroke.

“The esteemed detective herself. He spoke of you as well, the one who sets herself as the guardian of this city, much like her predecessors before her. A shame we did not have proper introductions when you investigated my death scene” Greystroke seemed to be grinning as he looked down at Octavia.

Octavia met Greystroke’s gaze with one that dripped with equal annoyance and boredom. “Yeah, well, I can’t say that I feel the same. Honestly, you should have just stayed dead. Would have saved me all the time and trouble to put your sorry excuse of a face back into the ground.”

Humor faded from Greystroke’s voice as he spoke once more, “Arrogant words from a mewling child. No matter, he will keep his promise and elevate me to much greater heights once I deliver him your head and the sword that you wield.” He straightened to his full height and extended his arms forwards, and the ghosts that were trapped in the mansion and held in thrall to his commands started to gather to his side, all of them intent to kill.

“Oh please, a crab with a knife has much better chances at killing me than you ever will. You want this sword that bad?”

Octavia assumed a fighting stance at the same that Providence started channeling arcane energy, and Agonistes leveled his gun at Greystroke’s visage.

“Come and take it”

Description

    Metaphors are something that are both nonsensical yet, at the same time, can be the best way to describe something. Take using smell and taste as an example. There are old metaphors in regard to both, such as the sweet smell of success and the stench of failure. Metaphors can put into words such concepts that are tricky to describe by making use of unusual imagery, such as the human senses.

    Magic, Providence had come to understand, is one such example of a concept best described through metaphors. Arcane energies exist all around us, just as naturally as the air we breathe. To a normal being, it is unseen, undetectable, and unusable. However, to those with the gift, they are able to feel it, and with proper training and understanding, are able to take hold of it and make it adhere to their will.

    Another thing about arcane energies is that not all of them are the same. Think of them as inhabitants of different pools, similar in one way yet different in another. Each pool of magic consists of a certain essence and taste. Here’s where metaphors come into play once more.
    To those who are gifted with the ability to use magic, they can sense that different places radiate a unique aura or essence. Much of how a magical pool feels is tied into what location it exists in, as well as the history of said place.

    Graveyards for example are prime spots for necromancy spells due in part to the magical pool that exists in that place. The magical pools in graveyards are shaped and formed by the memories of those that have passed, the grief of those that have mourned their dead, and even the very remains that lie within the cold earth.

    Throughout his travels, Providence had the opportunity to encounter and study a plethora of arcane energies. Japan, even with its technological leaps and innovations, emanated arcane energies that merged echoes of the past with the marching machinery of the modern age. Antarctica had arcane energies that were steeped in chilling cold and biting dark not unlike blizzards and snowstorms of the area, refusing to be reigned in. The Amazon rainforest, while slowly being impeded upon by human civilization, still retained its ancient presence fueled by memories of the countless flora and fauna that existed within its green kingdom as well as the collective presence of the different tribes of man that once called it their home. The warm winds of Arizona murmurs promises of fire and rebirth as they coalesce and disperse upon the land. The identity of magic was not something set in stone, but like water, it would flow and take the form of the mold that serves as its vessel.

    Many years ago, when Providence had stepped within Greystoke Manse, the arcane energies that inhabited the place were calm and what some might even call homely. But that time was long past. Now the magical pool was tainted and reeked of monstrous acts. The cries of innocent lives cut short, of spirits violated even in death, and the almost rustic stench of spilled blood now held sway within the mansion.

    The spell he cast that let him track the leyline of magic led him to the mansion’s main dining hall, an excessively extravagant space the size of two tennis courts. Here, where he had sensed the nexus of the spells holding the entire mansion hostage, the stench of tainted arcane energies was even stronger. It also allowed Providence to become aware of another aspect of the magical pool of this place. It was faint, intentionally being suppressed to hide from sight or sense. Furthermore, it was a hostile essence, and it reeked of acrid smoke and pungent rot.

Providence paused as one more scent was revealed to him.

Sulfur…

Providence tapped into the arcane reserves of the magical pool within the mansion before he began casting a spell. Focused on that which lay beyond human sight, he brought the palm of his hands together.

“Out of the shadows, out of the veil, into the light do I bind thee”

Three times he spoke the incantation, and on the third utterance there was a loud noise akin to nails on a chalkboard, cloth ripping, and the howling of winter winds. Wisps of smoke amalgamated ahead of Providence, as though they were being sucked into a vacuum. Providence foresaw what would come next and brought up an arcane shield just as the amalgamated shadows exploded outwards, momentarily obscuring his vision.

As the shadows passed and Providence could see once more, he beheld a fresh horror. Where the collected shadows once were, stood a creature, seemingly ripped from depraved nightmares.

Its humanoid frame stood close to five meters tall with a form that one could only describe as a perverted patchwork of sinew, muscle, and bone. The wings that extended from its back were much the same and could not hopefully be of purpose for flight, for they too looked as though wings that were mangled before partially being dissolved in acid.

What caught Providence’s attention however was its skeletal visage. For a brief moment, as the vestiges of his unveiling spell faded fully, he glimpsed the face of a man that he recognized from Octavia’s case files. As that face faded, replaced by the skeletal visage, the puzzles started to fall into place.

“Richard Greystroke,” Providence spoke, drawing the attention of the creature that had once been a man and was presumed dead weeks ago when the murders were first discovered.

“You have partaken in wanton acts of inhuman cruelty, and even now you play with knowledge and arts fit only for the demented and the fel. You have single-handedly cast aside the warnings I have once stressed upon your predecessors. Blood rituals, necromancy, and beyond that, conspiring in arts known only to the Fallen.”

There was a brief silence before the creature that was once Richard Greystroke let out a hoarse and inhumane laugh.

“My predecessors were senile old fools who let themselves be blinded by your words, scared to push through and grasp power that could elevate mortals to something much more. Even those uppity ingrates who thought themselves on the same path as me could not fully understand the gifts that were offered. The only thing they were good for in the end were sacrificial lambs that served as catalysts for my ascension.”

Greystroke lifted a bony finger and pointed it at Providence, “You know me, but I know of you too. He told me all about you, the being that is not a god but something much more than mortal. And he told me to whom your allegiance belongs. You berate me for colluding with the Fallen, yet you yourself are a vassal to an entity whose mere existence could shatter realities. At the end of the day, you are no better than I.”

“You think we are the same? You could not be any further from the truth.” Providence replied. “I am a vassal to powers beyond humanity’s wildest dreams, that is true. But whatever power and authority I have that results from my role as such, I call upon and use not to serve my own ends, but to uphold the fragile balance that governs this reality. I am the watcher at the threshold, one that you now threaten to desecrate.”

The moment came to an end as doors were thrown inwards as Agonistes and Octavia barreled into the dining hall, the latter having drawn her sword somewhere en route. Though seemingly a little ruffled with their clashes with the hostile ghosts of the mansion, they weren’t truly fazed. The fire that once guided both of them flickered out and Octavia met Providence’s gaze before, with a nod, she turned her sights to Greystroke.

“The esteemed detective herself. He spoke of you as well, the one who sets herself as the guardian of this city, much like her predecessors before her. A shame we did not have proper introductions when you investigated my death scene” Greystroke seemed to be grinning as he looked down at Octavia.

Octavia met Greystroke’s gaze with one that dripped with equal annoyance and boredom. “Yeah, well, I can’t say that I feel the same. Honestly, you should have just stayed dead. Would have saved me all the time and trouble to put your sorry excuse of a face back into the ground.”

Humor faded from Greystroke’s voice as he spoke once more, “Arrogant words from a mewling child. No matter, he will keep his promise and elevate me to much greater heights once I deliver him your head and the sword that you wield.” He straightened to his full height and extended his arms forwards, and the ghosts that were trapped in the mansion and held in thrall to his commands started to gather to his side, all of them intent to kill.

“Oh please, a crab with a knife has much better chances at killing me than you ever will. You want this sword that bad?”

Octavia assumed a fighting stance at the same that Providence started channeling arcane energy, and Agonistes leveled his gun at Greystroke’s visage.

“Come and take it”