Snippet #2519659

"The 20 Elite you requested are at the gates and ready to depart to the surface, sir." The Grandmaster followed with hurried steps behind the giant strides of Weyellin in the corridors of the Everlast Keep, clinging to his books dearly.
"Good. We will need to question the mage before bringing him to Everlast justice. Make sure they bring him here alive, or rather, in a state in which he can speak."
"Sir, you are aware we cannot deal our full justice to him. The walls of the Great Drakon are far beyond our reach. We will never be allowed into its gates."
"We do not need to get into the gates." Weyellin stopped and crossed his arms once again. "He cannot stay in that city as a murderer. He will be departing. Soon. We will need to leave before the stone has turned."
"'We', sir? Are you planning to go with the guard?"
"I had not planned it, but yes. If this mage truly is without the aid of others, we will need true force to withstand him." Weyellin reinforced his grip on his helm that was held against his side.
"Sir, I advise against this. If you should fail in your attempt to bring the mage to justi-"
"I will not fail." Weyellin cut him short. "And neither will the 20 Elite. They are Elite for a reason, Grandmaster."
"I-I apologise, sir. It is only... If this mage is as powerful as we suspect him to be, even a great warrior such as yourself may not be able to withstand his flame."
"As the commoners say: 'Get your tongue out of my arse', Grandmaster. I care nothing for flattery. I am only as good as my skill allows me to be. If you suspect this mage is able to topple me and 20 Elite, then I say take 50."
"Sir, 50 is a substantial amount-"
"Then we take 20." Weyellin said, turning to the Grandmaster, his face cold as stone.
"Y-yes, sir." The Grandmaster had no other choice but to accept whilst he was in the gloom of Weyellin's shadow.
"Will that be all?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then I shall head for the surface. Hold the keep while I am away. Do not make any military movements until I have returned. Understood?"
"Understood, sir."
Weyellin continued walking down the corridor and swiftly made a right turn to a spiral staircase. Two scholars threw themselves against the wall as he passed, not out of fear, but out of respect that perhaps they made give him space by doing so. Weyellin reached the top, and continued along a bridge to the Southernmost building of the keep - The Parish, carved into the natural rock, like the rest of Everlast. Once inside the Parish, Weyellin walked to the alter and kneeled before a great statue of the Dragon of Everlast. He respectfully removed his helm, held out his hand, and, as quietly as he could, cleared his throat.

"O Everlast,
talon - raw stone,
strength - unbreaking.
Entrust thine power to me,
and I shall strike down the foes
that challenge thy justice.

O Everlast,
will - marvelous,
foresight - vital.
Entrust thine wisdom to me,
and I shall follow the path
that leads to acuteness.

O Everlast,
bravery - frightful,
fortitude - awesome.
Entrust thine courage to me,
and I shall walk the dark road
not easily taken."

Weyellin's hand began to become imbued with a glowing light. He pressed it against his forehead, closed his eyes, and saw a vision of a great desert. He had been there before on a surface mission. It was the Raraku. A far land considered inhospitable to most. It was there he saw the pyromancer he had been seeking, clad in dark, drooping attire with a large red rose in his overcoat pocket. Weyellin had certainly never seen such a thing before. Perhaps it is his mark? He thought. All Tower mages wear a mark of their art. It is law. But the Red Rose? I am not familiar. A word began to flash before him in a strange writing style. He could only make out a 'C' before he was interrupted by a hand landing harshly on his spaulder.
"Lord Overseer and High General of Everlast. Sorry to cut you short, it is only the Elite Guard wait for you. Have you any leads?"
Weyellin stood slowly and shook himself so that his vision was clear. The man that awoke him from his trance was the High Priest of the Keep Parish, and older man with a kind face, yet he was void of all emotion.
"The Raraku. That is where I shall find this mage."
"I see. A large area. Your horse is ready, Overseer."
"Thank you, High Priest. Before I depart; Do you know of the Red Rose sign for a mage? It is a branch of pyromancy, I know that much."
The High Priest mumbled and squinted at the air in thought, then leaned in closer to Weyellin.
"Chaos, if I am not mistaken. Very rare art, that one, not many wear that rose. Not with pride anyway."
"Could you tell me more about it?"
"It is dangerous, even to the caster. It practices not only the art of casting flame, but also the art of the power underground. Of magma, lava, the sorts. Chaos Pyromancers are known for their accursed dark flame, which sticks to the skin and burns until there is almost no trace. They are also the only branch in Pyromancy to learn the higher art. If I am not mistaken, their initiation ceremony is quite messy, indeed. It involves the complete burning of the Pyromancer, so that he is one with the art. If you survive, you are released. Quite simple, really."
"Thank you. I will... Be careful around him."
"Safe travels, Overseer. May the Dragon guide you."
Weyellin turned and walked back the way he came, acknowledging all who bowed to him. He found his way to the throne room, and removed his ceremonial cape. He wouldn't be needing it where he was going.