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He peered over his shoulder. Were those... were those wings? They fluttered pathetically when he looked at them, like they were afraid of his gaze. Silveus pulled a face. How ugly. "How...are they permanent? Is this forever?" The black marks obscured his tattoos. He'd paid good money for them. His heart stopped--and one was Logan's design. One of the black marks tore right down the middle. Silveus reached up to touch it. [i They have to be able to fix this.]
He frowned when Faustus touched one. It felt weird. Like it was somewhere that shouldn't be touched. Not painful, but not good either. The little wings flinched against his body in response. He couldn't consciously control them, but they seemed to move on their own.
Reversion. He relaxed a hair. It could be fixed. Silveus sagged down onto the bed. One hand pulled the shirt back over his shoulders to hide the stupid-looking wings. Tonight, he was too tired to think about Logan or worry about his future. His eyes shut.
The cat cuddled up next to him. He raised a heavy hand to pet the small creature. [i So soft.] It felt like a cotton ball, but warm.
He was asleep by the time Faustus offered to come at a word. It had been too much. All he wanted was to sleep.
In his dreams, Logan was there. The man extended a hand to him, and Silveus took it. "Just up ahead, Silvie," Logan promised. His hand was cold. As cold as ice.
"Where are we going?" Silveus asked. He followed Logan through a field of tall grass. Stalks of wheat tickled his legs.
They toppled in the grass. Logan drew Silveus down on top of him, still cold. Fingers pushed at his shirt. Lips nipped at his body. "Silvie," Logan said, looking him in the eye, and smiled. He slid his hands down Silveus's back, just the way he always had.
Silveus arced into his body. He wanted it. Wanted it too bad. Logan was there, already reaching further down. "Love you, Silvie."
The thump of fist against wood startled him awake. Silveus's eyes snapped open. A dream like that... he glanced down. [i Oh dear.]
The door creaked open. Silveus drew the covers up and rolled over to face the door, sitting up a bit so he wouldn't press the little wings into the bed. "Thanks," he said. He sat up slowly, careful to pull the covers with him and preserve Krista's eyes from his dream's mishap.
[center Patiently, Faustus allowed him to divest himself of the garment without assistance, his tone even when he spoke again. "That's to be expected of a brush with such darkness." He lacked the restitution to take on such creatures yet. Sighing, Faustus regarded the wings. "It's not bad," He admitted. "It's definitely a clue - unlike what we already knew, you are in fact a warlock." He explained, reaching out to brush a finger pad over one.
They were... for lack of a better word? Cute. Nothing compared to his own, but he was... ancient. Truth be told, he wasn't sure what Silveus would make of him in his darkest form, but who knew. Perhaps nothing would faze him with enough time spent with their family.
"For now, just rest." all of this was a lot for one to take in. "And don't sleep on your back. You'll find it most uncomfortable. Forcing reversion is uncomfortable, and I'd prefer to not in your weakened state." He explained, rising from the edge of the bed. "I'll have tea brought for you. We'll discuss your adventure here tonight when its light."
After all, despite how little time might have seemed to pass in the presence of so many magickal relics, in the world beyond time had sprinted on. Magick could get so messy.
Just as Faustus was preparing to take his leave, the kitty had made a reappearance, leaping onto the bed beside Silveus and affectionately nuzzling his ears up agains the man. Interesting. Perhaps their little friend was meant to come along all the while.
"I'm sure he will look after you well in my absence." In the meantime, he would be busy working on a better means of strengthening his shield from such beings. Seemed his to do list was steadily growing, but it had to be so.
Oddly, despite how deeply it had irritated to take on the task of looking after Silveus and assuring he didn't somehow manage to get himself killed in his brother's absence, he didn't absolutely hate it. He wasn't heartless, just... reserved. One had to be to live a life as long as they did sometimes. At least, that's what his own had demanded of him.
Too much loss, misplaced hope, and regrets that weighed heavily upon his heart and mind all of these centuries later.
"Call if you should need me, I won't be far." Especially now that he was certain they would have trouble on their hands.
A little warlock... it all made sense. Logan must have known long ago this was the case, but why he chose not to fully divulge was a very good question.
Regardless, it wasn't his place to doubt his brother's intentions now. Surely it had been in the best interest of his husband. Who was he to speak on that?
Soon, he was within the reliquary once more. All seemed to have gone relatively back to normal with the exception of the tome he steadily approached. Keeping anger out of the equation was difficult as even the slightest annoyance would taint them, but he drew up borders for the altar. They were invisible, and not unlike with the salt circle, not to be trifled with.
They would keep what wasn't to be wandering contained for the time being, but it also meant the dark grimoire would be off limits for the time being. A small price to pay for safety in his opinion. The following days would already be so difficult. To have that book tempt yet another innocent soul was simply out of the question. He didn't even have the heart to tell Silveus that bringing Logan back from the dead was possible - if only because it was [i forbidden]. He would return as a hellish creature, in his darkest form but without the parts of his soul that would make him the Logan Silveus had loved.
Pure darkness in his brother's likeness and nothing more. No need for that mess when they already had lineage and all of that to sort out.
A soft rap was laid to the door, followed by the softest "Silveus? It's me, Krista. I've brought you some tea to help soothe your body."]
Before he knew what was happening, Silveus found himself lifted into the air. He tensed, surprised, but he only had so much strength. They hadn't even left the reliquiem before he relaxed in Faustus' arms.
Something about them was familiar. The strength. The... warmth. [i He's not Logan.] He wasn't. He wasn't Logan, and yet it felt similar. Not the same. Just... similar.
His eyes had nearly drifted shut when Faustus set him down. Silveus managed to engage his legs seconds before he toppled like the unstrung puppet he felt like. There was no energy left in his body to keep standing. He twisted his body and plopped down to sit beside Faustus on the bed.
An apologetic Faustus. [i Someone call the news, the sky is falling,] Silveus thought sarcastically. Too tired to say anything out loud, he just nodded.
How did he feel? "Tired, I... I'm tired." He let Faustus turn his head this way and that, then gestured at his shirt. Clumsily, he started to undo the buttons. "It scratched my back, I think. It's... it's blurry." His back didn't hurt, but he could feel the lingering hint of cold where the creature's claws had been.
He pulled his shirt down and turned his back to Faustus. "Is it bad?" he asked.
Two long black claw marks were scraped into his back, dark as frostbite. Where they ran over his shoulderblades, little black wings had sprouted, smaller than the palm of his hand--proof of his daemonic bloodline. Proof that he was, in fact, a Warlock--though one already on his way to corrupting, if the apparition had its way.
[center Tension melted from Faustus’ form, his brow smoothing out just a bit. He could feel the harshness in his features. “You’re not an idiot.” He was desperate. Heartbroken. But he wasn’t an idiot. Reaching forward, Faustus gathered Silveus carefully, arms sliding beneath the crooks of his knees and gently around his back.
He moved effortlessly to his feet, as if the man weighed no more than an ounce of flour, turning to venture back to the less frigid parts of the reliquary. At least they would be away from that damned tome. Its reach had extended. It was strong enough to render apparitions now - even with the seal? Inwardly, he scowled at the prospect of what might’ve happened had he not returned in time.
“We’ll continue this tomorrow.” His tone left no room for dispute as he toted him back to his room. He’d gingerly set Silveus down, glancing to his feet. “On or off?”
He had perched himself on the edge of the bed, lighting one of the nearby herbal candles. “That apparition was the keeper of the tome you saw. Almost an embodiment of the book itself. Ugly thing.” He almost sounded...apologetic?
“How do you feel?” It was likely an odd side of Faustus to see - so concerned, despite his gruff nature. He reached to take Silveus’ chin in hand, tilting his face this way, then that. He could see nothing evident as yet as to whether he had been physically injured.
He would most definitely have to cleanse him the next day, though. Tonight, he would likely be too weak for that.
He couldn't see anything. Couldn't feel anything but cold. He shivered, struggled to breathed. Everything hurt. It'd be nice if it would all just end.
Warmth. Silveus shifted pathetically toward it, a moth towards a flame. He barely understood the words, though he instinctively registered the displeasure. [i Why is the warmth so angry?]
Slowly, everything came back. Silveus blinked against the darkness until he was finally able to make out Faustus's angry expression. "Wha...what?" Why was Faustus here? Why was he angry? "Logan, I saw, I... I was trying to find Logan," he muttered. He furrowed his brows. Why had he thought Logan was alive? He knew Logan was dead. There was no magic to bring him back. He knew that, so why--how had he been fooled so easily?
"I'm an idiot," he muttered, disgusted with himself. Actually, why was he on the floor? Silveus started to shove himself up, but his arm faltered. He flopped back down to the floor. [i Why am I so tired?] He felt like he'd run a marathon. He reached out to Faustus for help, then stopped himself. He was as likely to find help there as in the Arctic.
Silveus drew his legs up toward his body. Using both legs and arms, he managed to pull himself to a sit. "What happened?" He knew about as much as Faustus did. Less, maybe. All he remembered was that he'd been following Logan's voice, and then... He shivered. It'd gotten so cold. So very cold.
[center Everything seemed to go down at once - the cat clawing and squatting at the strange apparition, Silveus’ seal faltering, Faustus bursting into the reliquary. He had entrusted the owl and such to Bastion the moment he was through the doors, and his arrival sent a tremor through what seemed the entire frame of the house.
Frantic eyes scanned for Silveus, as the rest of him hurried toward the source of energy emanating from deep within the reliquary’s depths. It was almost too strange for his eyes to make sense of. He acted first( hand rising to dispel the apparition, an abrupt and absolute repulsion to at least attempt to separate it from Silveus.
Their feline friend hissed and prowled protectively, taking stance bear Silveus’ head. He challenged even Faustus, not keen on trusting any suspectfigure at present.
“What the bloody hell happened here?” He left him to complete a simple task and here he was, nearly being fed upon by some creature from the nether realm!
His eyes darted suddenly to the tome, anger bubbling and burning in his chest. Of course. He should have known.
“Just what were you doing back here?” Came his deep baritone. If there could ever be more displeased a note, it didn’t yet exist to compete with that in his deep timbre.
It was one thing to stick your nose into things it shouldn’t have been, but for him to have immediately gotten himself attached? Was his luck naturally this terrible, or was it something he had done in a past life?
Regardless, the fates really seemed to have it out for him.
The tome had quieted, perfectly well behaved atop its altar. No tricks, no whispers, not a peep. Faustus narrowed eyes upon it and scooped up the unnamed feline.
“And you, what’s your excuse?”
Him? The kitty’s ears flattened. He was doing his best! How was he to know?
He turned the corner, and there was Logan. Silveus's breath caught in his throat. "Logan," he breathed. He stumbled forward. He was real. How could it be? [i Magic.] Anything was possible.
It was so cold. So icy cold. Silveus's ears were going numb. His fingertips were ice. His eyes flicked to the horrifyingly beautiful grimoire beside Logan, then back to the man. Nothing mattered if Logan was there.
Something furry pressed up against his shins. Silveus tried to step around the cat, but it pushed him back. He stepped over it. The cat arched its back and blocked him. "Shh, please," Silveus pleaded with the cat. Why was it getting in his way now? Logan was right there.
It blocked him again. Frustrated, Silveus bent and picked up the cat. "Be good," he told it, petting it to quiet it. Logan was right there. Stupid cat.
Logan beckoned, a wild smile on his face. Silveus stepped forward.
Sharp claws dug into his arm. The cat squirmed and escaped. "Ow!" Silveus complained, clapping a hand to the bloody scratch. "Stupid cat, you--"
He glanced up and the words died in his mouth. Before him wasn't Logan, but some horrifying transparent creature. it beckoned to him. A black void of a mouth sucked at the air.
Silveus staggered back, eyes wide. "No," he breathed. [i What is that? Where's Logan?]
They locked eyes. There was a horrifying second where it stared, silently, black hole eyes boring into him. Silveus stared back, frozen solid.
Then the creature lunged.
Silveus turned and ran, but the apparition was far too quick. Talons of ice dug into his back. At the touch, all his strength faded from his body. Silveus gasped. Legs too weak to hold him, he fell to his knees. The creature followed him down. It had no weight, but it pinned him with a touch. Just a single touch sucked all the strength from his body. His chest ached with cold, muscles winding up to a tight ball of cold. "Logan," he gasped, one last time. He reached out.
The apparition drew out the man's energy. After so long stuck in the library, it was sweet. It dug in deeper, but something stopped it. Confused, it plucked at the spell. The seal on Silveus shuddered. It pulled again, harder.
One of the threads that bound the seal snapped.
Silveus's eyes flew open. White was eclipsed by black. He sucked in a deep breath.
A pull drew on the apparition. It sunk its talons deeper, seeking out the sweet energy it had unlocked. A furrow appeared between its brows; it froze. The apparition yanked on its talons. They were stuck, latched into the man. It pulled again. No give. It was trapped.
Slowly, inexorably, the apparition's arms were drawn deeper.
[center The voice had faded by then, echoing - distorted as though through a thick wall of water. Or the sort of truncated acoustics you got from pressing a glass to a door. And all the while, as Silveus ventured further into the depths of the reliquary, the apparition ever beckoned him, encouraging him to come just a bit further.
"[i I miss you...]" It whispered. "[i Don't you want to see me?]"
Beyond the apparition, there existed a special altar - the sort you reserved for some seriously powerful shit - but unlike the altar of the grimoire, this grimmie was far different. The leather was black, and it was decorated not just with jewels but bone as well. At its centre, a beautifully in tact scull graced the centre, blooded jewels cut perfectly for the eyes, the spiralling ram's horns catching the moonlight that bled from the panes above. It was the first light for what must've surely felt like ages to anyone who ventured that far.
"[i Come.]" beckoned the apparition, stroking at the magnificent tome. Every second was bound with thread spun from the hairs of Hades himself, and it would have been apparent now that this was where the draft originated. This was the source of the frigid cold. It rolled from the altar in waves, from the carefully rune-carved black leather and gold-trimmed pages.
However, unlike the other grimoire, this one was chained down, in addition to a lock that was clearly part of the book itself. [i Sealed.]
[i Finally.] That had been quite a ride. Faustus brushed the ash from his trousers and picked up the cage containing their owl friend. In his satchel, he had already managed to gather the other items. How many hours had passed? Was Silveus alright?
Just the question itself drove him to pull out his phone. He called the main line.
"Marvelous house of Witchkroft."
"Very cute, Bastion. Is Silveus around?"
"Him? Still up in the reliquary, I believe. Haven't heard much from him. Maybe you should have gone a bit easier on him with that list."
"I don't have time for this. Do you know if he's gotten everything?"
"I don't, but I can check - just a mo'!"
Faustus rolled his eyes so hard he could feel the ache in his sockets.
A soft mewl suddenly sounded, the stray Faustus had brought along on the trip moving hurriedly through the darkness. He had practically materialised from nowhere, mewling insistently as he caught up with the blond - putting himself distinctly betwixt he and the altar.
His eyes flashed, bushed tail flicking to and fro with warning.
He hurried around the corner. More shelves. Always more shelves. They twisted and turned as if trying to confound him. "Logan!" he called again.
It was colder back here. He ran his hands over his arms and hugged himself. [i They really crank the AC in here.] Was one of the relics temperature-sensitive?
Again. Logan sounded hurt. Silveus flinched and pushed on, deeper. "Where are you? Tell me."
He knew there was no way this could be Logan. But then, a few days ago, he'd known there could be no such thing as magic. [i There's magic. If there's magic, then maybe there's a spell to bring back the dead.] He was preparing a spell to commune with the dead. Why not bring someone back? It was just one more step. One teeny, tiny step.
His breath clouded in the air. Silveus shivered uncontrollably, unable to stop himself. It was frigid. He felt like he'd stepped into a freezer. "Logan, please." It took effort to move. Every breath ached in his lungs. He could hear him, so close, but so far. Just around the turn, but then there was another turn, another turn, always another.
Silveus sagged against the wall. He was exhausted. He wanted to sleep. Take a break and rest. He sucked in a ragged breath and let it out in a thick cloud. He couldn't feel his fingertips or his toes. Everything was so cold.
Logan called out again. "I'm coming," Silveus muttered. He forced himself upright. Logan was just around this corner. Another few feet, and he could see him again. It felt like he was pushing against a wall of ice. Still, he soldiered on. [i A little further.] Logan's voice was so close. So clear. He hadn't heard it in so long. It felt like home. He forced himself to lift his foot, pushed forward, stepped again. Silveus gasped a breath. It hurt. It hurt so bad. But just ahead. Just another step, and he'd... he'd see Logan...
Faustus naturally suspected no wrong was afoot. He was knee deep in ash trying to fetch a damned Phoenix’s feather. The things you did for family... Silveus was definitely getting the premium treatment here. Anyone else with this much trouble on their back would’ve been written off to their coven. Except, they had no clue to whom he really belonged, did they?
“Hence this fuckery.” He needed a good lay. This shit was really working him over on the stress spectrum. He made a mental note to take care of that later when he could go out on the prowl unobstructed by obligation.
* * *
The voice that called to him beckoned once more—pained, desperate to be acknowledged. The very tail end of an apparition so shockingly weighted in its appearance rounding the far corner into the next corridor of magickal items.
The air here was heavier, thick with magick and a chill that could set deep in the bones—as if any warmth had ended at some invisible border. Here, it would have been far more difficult just to breathe, let alone move. After all, such was the case when everything here sought to feed from you. Consuming your mana—sapping your life force in small licks as they managed.
One of the terrible downsides to being left unattended? There was no one to warn you away. True, Faustus had said nothing was inherently evil, but intent abounded in this particularly dark corner of the reliquary, and many a fool that had tread there had paid the consequence in previous years.
The apparition spoke more firmly, as if hurt somehow that it had not yet been reached.]
He wandered through the shelves, glancing from his list to the shelves and back. [i Dragon talon... unicorn fur... eel blood, check.] This couldn't all be real, could it? Dragons... if they were real, surely someone would have noticed. Magic was a thing, clearly, obviously--he couldn't deny that anymore. But these magical creatures... there was simply no way. The amount of space it would take to house a dragon, not to mention feed it or maintain a breeding population... no, it simply wasn't possible. [i This is probably just some prank for the newbie,] he thought, shaking his head. Still, he collected the items and set them in a neat pile by the book.
Further and further he wandered, back into the shelves. He felt almost drawn into the back. It was darker, further from the door. [i Could use a light,] he thought, frowning at the ceiling. The shelves, too, were chaotic. They towered above him, crammed with items to the point of bursting. He was afraid to touch them, for fear one brush would send the whole thing toppling over. Back here, the labels got more mysterious, when there were any at all. Most were in foreign languages, or completely unreadable. He squinted. [i Is that one in Egyptian heiroglyphs?] Insanity. This was all insanity.
A faint voice caught his ear. Silveus wandered deeper, curious. "Is someone else here?" he called.
The voice didn't respond.
Silveus furrowed his brows and turned the corner. He glanced over his shoulder. As far as the eye could see, a maze of shelves stretched away from him. [i How far did I go?]
The voice called out, louder, and this time he recognized it. [i No.] "Logan?" he called. It was impossible. But he'd recognize that voice anywhere. He ran after the voice, deeper into the shelves.
[center “Some. Depends on sort of spirit you are summoning. Nothing is really inherently evil—it all falls to intent.” As Silveus crossed into the bounds of the sigil, it came to life, glowing with the warmth a fire would before dying back down to leave the air cool once more.
At least this man had saved him the trouble of drawing the sigil for him, and once they were finished, the sigil cleaned itself up, fading from the floorboards the moment Silveus was no longer within its borders. “Best of luck. I’ll likely be a few hours. On my end, besides the faerie boots, I have to find time-sensitive items. Some spells that demanded things like feathers or freshly picked items truthfully required some of the energy from the being It came from, still lingering in the item itself. Guess he was going to acquire an owl, then.
“I think we should still have some dragon’s talon somewhere in here, if not, let me know.” He wrote down his number on a small slip and held it out. “In fact, if there’s anything you can’t find, let me know. Likely means I’ll have to consult another mage for it.” Which could get dicey, depending upon who you were dealing with.
Worse, he already had to be getting shit like graveyard dirt of appropriate age, and from at least one of Silveus’ family members. Finding a grave wouldn’t be too difficult. For much more difficult spells like resurrection or banishment you needed bones. For this, the dirt would do.
Faustus shrugged on an invisible jacket, which materialised into leather and accents of velvet. “See you later. Try not to drop anything or blow yourself up. And I’d recommend taking care to find everything we might need in here before you go out. You won’t be able to re-enter until I return or someone deigns to let you back in.”
And just like that, he was gone, striding through the door, the clicking of his boots echoing into the corridor with every footfall until suddenly disappearing altogether. Magick could be very convenient sometimes.
But then there were times such as these when more time-consuming processes were required along with proper care to avoid unleashing unholy hell on themselves or anybody else.
They had angels feathers sealed in a jar, hairs of Hermes, thunderbolts... don’t ask where they’d gotten those—the eyes of a basilisk, leviathan blood. One had to wonder what the ever-loving hell they got up to on a daily. The reliquary was an endless trove of magickal artefact, the darker elements tucked farther back or out of reach so as not to tempt the weak-willed. There were even the wands or tools of old mages—like the pocket watch they would need to set their constraints.
At least this would give Silveus a chance to familiarise himself with a portion of it. Especially since some suggested uses were very handily written below the items.]
Oh, it was fancy. Silveus leaned in, admiring the gorgeous book. It didn't look any newer than two centuries old, and likely older than that. Silveus watched as Faustus held his hand over the book, and the book moved according to his will, opening to a page. [i Now that's magic,] he thought to himself. None of this salt stuff, just honest magic.
He tried to read the page over Faustus' shoulder, but it was in a language he'd never seen before. Still, the pages were lovely, capitals done in big block letters with pretty engravings all around them. Pictures adorned the pages here and there, depictions, he had to assume, of whatever spells were on the page. This one had a transparent man hovering over a corpse with its throat slit. [i A ghost? ] Silveus wondered, and a second later, Faustus'confirmed it.
"Aren't ghosts evil?" Bell asked. Why summon one? It seemed counterproductive.
He took the list. There was no eye of frog or leg of newt on it, but there were plenty of words he simply didn't recognize. At the end, there were more reasonable things, things he could buy at the corner market: kosher salt, rosemary, sage, chalk. No bones, though, luckily. [i At least I don't have to go gravedigging,] he supposed, given they were summoning a ghost and all.
He looked up at Faustus' offer. "Aww, you care," he joked, stepping into the circle. The sigil was pretty easy, a kind of swirl in a hexagon. He did his best to memorize it, then pulled out a scrap of paper and scribbled it down. Always nice to have some paper on hand for a random sketch. "I can use it?" Wasn't his magic sealed? Maybe this spell was so simple even someone like him could make it work. He shrugged and waited a few seconds, then stepped out of the circle.
"Alright, I'll go find... Whatever this stuff is," he said, holding up the list. Hopefully some of the stuff was labeled.
[center Of course he did, because it was Faustus, but saying anymore than that for the time being wouldn’t have served either of them well. He was all for a little soul-crushing, but this was still technically his brother’s widow. He had to be gentle. Sort of. Well, as gentle as it got with him, anyway.
“It [i is] sealed.” [i Jackass.] “If you try entering without someone else who is privy, it’ll knock you back into your next life and take a good pound of flesh, too. Hence why I left my arm in the doorway—as entertaining as that may have been.” No need to pretend he particularly enjoyed his company. It was all for mother’s benefit anyway.
“Come this way.” He waved Silveus toward a grand grimoire, mounted on an alter. It was a huge, magnificent tome—all thick carved leather, embellished metal corners and a reinforced spine—gemstones tucked here and there to add not only to its beauty, but to guard it from those not privileged or of ill intent.
“If you claim to have mortal parentage, it could well have been an ancestor’s doing. Or perhaps something in your lineage that causes it to skip. Typically there is a reason behind that, but it’s fairly odd for it to have skipped your mother if it was her line. If it was your father’s, it’s a little more believable. Magick moving along male bloodlines can get messy. Honestly, anything patrilineal is messy.” He sighed.
The pages of the grimoire came to life, turning and turning until they came to the desired page. “Hm, that’s not a terrible idea... summoning the last to posses the magick before you to sever the bonds that hold it. If our grimmie is suggesting that, then it likely means it’d be rather dangerous or just ineffective to try to unbind it a different manner before this. So I guess we need a ghost.”
Faustus took up a small pad and quill pen. “Here, see if you can find these items. They’re pretty simple to acquire, if you’re careful about it. Consider this your very first task. It’ll feel more rewarding I’m sure, to contribute to what unbinds your magick. I will take care of the less easily acquired components, like faerie boots. Some of these things on your list,” He began, handing it over. “You’ll be able to find in here, it just may take a bit of searching.
“And before we get started on that, I’ll cast on you a protection spell.” Faustus steppes from behind the alter and took up a piece of chalk, drawing out the precise lines for a circle, then for a sigil in the centre. “Take a good look at this sigil... they’re easier for younger warlocks to memorise because older mages are the ones who have to actually forge them. This one will keep you safe,” he explained, taking a small pin and flicking a few drops of blood over the circle. “Please, step in. I’ll write it down for you to take with you for future use, since it’s not one that demands much draw to be effective.”
Wow, he actually gave a shit about what happened to him. Not the sentiments he was expecting to have.
He glanced at the other man. Logan's death... didn't count? Why not? His eyebrows furrowed. Did Faustus know something about Logan's death that he didn't?
Every other word out of this man's mouth was offering to take his powers away. He snorted to himself. Faustus's true desires were coming out, whether he wanted them to or not. At least one person wasn't going to happily welcome him to this family, huh? Not that he wanted to be happily welcomed in. He still couldn't get over how creepy it felt. How cult-like.
"The reliquary," he repeated. He looked all around as he walked. No matter how long he spent in this house, it felt like he never learned any of the layout at all. Last night, he'd gone to the bathroom at midnight, and on the way back, it'd felt like there was an extra turn in the route. Was that magic? [i Maybe that's just me getting lost,] he allowed. The house was cavernous.
"What--I thought you said it was sealed," he said. Was Faustus just throwing up random words? He distinctly remembered Faustus saying it was sealed. Or... wait, was Faustus actually dumb? Just pulling it all out of his ass as he went? He snickered at that thought. And here he'd thought Faustus was a genius. Guess he shouldn't judge a book by its cover.
"Alright, alright. What are we going to do? Do I touch something fancy?" He stepped through the door, glancing back at Faustus. Holding the door? It was a little late to be a gentleman.
He looked around the area. It was a huge room. A library, almost, except that strange objects were held on the shelves instead of books. Nestled each into their own respective slots, the objects ranged from the mundane to the uncomprehendable. Next to an ordinary walking stick was a carved golden eagle that seemed to move on its own. Beyond that was a glowing orb that swirled with colors he'd never seen before, and opposite it all was a globe, an ordinary mounted globe except that the whole thing was carved from shiny obsidian. Silveus raised his eyebrows and smiled. Well! Now [i this] was some magic.
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