Setting
"Easy there tiger." he said in his rough, gravelly voice. He took a long drag on the magical cigarette and shoved a dry hand in his right coat pocket. He spoke in a measured pace as he exhaled.
"I'm not a beastie and you're in no position to be in my face. So let's all just count to ten and have a chit chat, okay?"
"World hopping huh? Nah...nah I don't try to incite people like that. I did send you a message asking if we could talk though, didn't you get it? Sendings usually never fail." Grey asked, his stormy eyes a tad weary. He had the feeling this was, somehow, going to be a hardcase.
"I want to talk about magic. Or rather, whatever it is that you do. As for how you got here? Well. I don't know, but perhaps I can help you find out." Grey said.
"Sounds like an Equivalent exchange to me." he joked realizing quickly he was the only person there that understood what he meant. "It is called Alchemy it is like magic for scientists, In a way." He reached in and pulled out the source of tobacco from his pocket, he gave his fingers another flick lighting it without much effort at all and placed it in his mouth. "What is it that you wish to know? Maybe a demonstration would be more proper?" He removed his jacket revealing his Alchemical Tattoos. "You are not the only one who thirsts for knowledge elder. There are those who seek this power for evil, and those people i will destroy before i divulge to them my secrets." He smiled as he removed his pack and set it upon the ground.
"Alchemy. In my vocabulary, this means the creation of magical potions and elixers by drawing out special essences from certain ingredients. Yet, based on what I've seen of you, it has more to do with changing the world around you? By what means do you achieve this?"
"...interesting. You mentioned something about equivalent exchange. I take it that an item of equal value must be offered to this circle to produce new effects. How is the 'value' of a given item ascertained?"
"I see. I am familiar with the former but not the latter. Could you please explain that? And also...I take it that a certain...alchemist's preferred transformations are a matter of personal preference and expertise? Meaning that there is nothing inherently magical about a given practitioner that aligns them to a given set of transformations."
"WHAT?!" Beowulf shouted as he jolted awake, eyes wide while his head shifted quickly to his surroundings. He let out a groan, reaching out for his blade, spellcasting, and using it to help him up while it was still sheathed. Wherever he was, it was musty and disgusting. This wasn't Wayland, so...where was he? Beowulf groaned and rubbed his eyes, trying to adjust to the dark...sometimes he wished he were a Dwarf or some sort of outer race that could see in the deep blackness around him.
"Hello?" He called out, rubbing his side which ached with pain like it had been hit by some blunt object. Nothing was clear, only a flash. One moment he was in Wayland, the next he...just woke up. Was he kidnapped? Or worse, dead? "Hellooo....! It's Beowulf. Is anyone there?!" Keeping his blade sheathed as he began shambling about, it wasn't long until he felt his foot hit something hard and causing him to tumble down with his face only inches away from the face of a poor soul's skeletal remains. "W-wuaaaagh!" Shocked, he jolted back and was now sitting upon his rear, hand shaking with his fist grasping the handle to 'spellcasting' tight. "Hello?! Help...!"
"I hear ye I hear ye calm down." looks around "Where are ye?" snaps his fingers and from his cloak a spirit wolf manifests. "Go find who was yelling boy" the wolf nods and plods off.
He checks his gear *crossbow, quarrels, 'Where is this last I remember i was about to go to bed after giving the monthly inspection of the Grey Wolves rooms.' Where is my backpack, there it is*
With a click he readied Sundir his crossbow that had been with him from the beginning and held it as he walked with his cane ready for anything.
Giving himself a few minutes; Yvandír would push himself up away from the stone wall he was slumped against and begin to brush himself down, the thick dust causing him to sneeze loudly, thus causing an echo in the roofless room. "Ahhh...bloody hells" the half elf murmured to himself, bringing up the simple cloth mask that he kept tied around his neck. looking to the floor again he'd kneel down and pick up his longbow; the runes etched into the 'darkwood', glowing a faint trailing azure blue, with a silent smirk he'd draw back the longbow and watch as he did so, an arrow would form in place ready to be fired "perfect".
his sensitive perceptive senses would pick up the distant yelling of two individuals, he pulled together his equipment, that seemed to have been brought with him to this strange abandoned place, turn towards the darkened doorway out of the room and quickly cast another spell. with a smirk after casting the spell, the darkness would be less of a threat to him now, and so Yvandír set out from one of the dilapidated upper floor rooms to seek out the other voices he could hear in the floors below.
"Damn...urk..."
As he was getting his grasp back on reality, he saw a wolf walking into the room. It was a wolf...a wolf...there was a group named after wolves back in Wayland, he never associated with them but he knew of them. He decided to follow the wolf to whoever it would lead him to.
The wolf turned its head at Beowulf then turned around and started walking to ovrul. It's tail wagged as it walked wisps of smoke flowing off of it with heavy step.
Ovrul walked with his cane toward his wolf and as he came over a rise of rubble he looked at Beowulf "hello warrior Beowulf how did you come to here?" As he said this he shouldered his crossbow."last I remember is a flash of light almost a teleportation spell or trap.
he picked up his speed and soon came to a hole in the floor and roof below and above, a pile of rubble, or a small hill of it below, and at the bottom of the pile he saw Beowulf and just below and out of sight he could hear the voice of the dwarven inquisitor Ovrul.
"well. how're we holding up?"
he picked up his speed and soon came to a hole in the floor and roof below and above, a pile of rubble, or a small hill of it below, and at the bottom of the pile he saw Beowulf and just below and out of sight he could hear the voice of the dwarven inquisitor Ovrul.
"well. how're we holding up?"
"I'm holding up fine, dunno about Ovrul here." He replied to the huntsman, then looking about. "Are we the only ones though? What of the rulers of Wayland...?"