cyclone "cy" kapur. (synergies) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-07-14 14:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, cyclone kapur, peony min |
so I show you some more, and I learn what black magic can do.
Who: Cyclone Kapur & Peony Min
What: Negative status effect training, some talk about Pyr, and Cy picks up Stun!
Where: Peony's offices at the Tower.
When: Last week sometime.
Rating: PG idk.
Status: Complete!
The last time she’d been back to the Tower, she was escorting Quen out of it. It was a strangely sobering reminder as Cyclone passed beneath her guild’s gates; it was like resuming the mantle of a student once more. Working professionally and being paid for her services made it easy to forget that she still had a ways to go, and that she paled in the shadow of her employer. Hence: extra training. Cy made her way through the twisted, circling halls of the Mages’ Tower like a rat scurrying through an old, familiar maze, working her way up towards the office accorded Peony as a council member. She occasionally had to pause in a doorway to let another scholar waddle past, weighed down by a looming armful of books that practically obscured their vision. Once or twice, Cy nodded towards a fellow mage whom she recognised – they’d been in classes together, once upon a time, before Cy fled the ivory tower in search of hands-on experience. One didn’t get much more hands-on than with Cormac Hier. – but finally, she was there. She rapped at Peony’s door and announced her presence with a staccato knock, one-two-three-four. A sheaf of papers on negative status ailments, painstakingly transcribed from an old textbook, was folded under the synergist’s arm. “Come in, please,” Peony called. She rarely used the office adjacent to her chambers when she could work in the serenity of her sitting room, but when paperwork began piling up, it couldn’t be helped. She had been working through instructor reviews when the knock had come, and she was somewhat relieved to have a pause. Letting her thoughts percolate before sharing them with Merrion – and eventually the guildmaster – would do her good. She smiled when she saw the person on the other side of the door - on time, as usual - and said, “Hello, Cyclone. Won’t you sit?” “Will do!” Cy was chipper, like she nearly always was; she strode into the room with the heavy tread of her boots, shut the door behind her, and took up residence in the chair opposite Peony. A few years younger than the councilwoman, the girl didn’t look much like the stereotypical image of a mage – she wore no robes, but rather steel-toed boots, comfortable trousers, and a leather jacket that she soon wriggled out of and draped over the back of the chair. Emillion in Leo was not the right climate for the jacket, but wearing it was a bit of a comfort blanket. “Sorry this session got rescheduled and delayed so much,” she began. “I mean, I’m sure your schedule was even madder. Dock attacks throw quite the wrench into things.” “It is no trouble,” Peony told her. Her schedule could, perhaps, indeed be characterized as ‘mad’ - between attacks on the city, her work with the peacekeepers, her continued afternoon lessons with Quenten, her newfound familial responsibilities, and standard day to day Council duties, it was always difficult to carve out any free time – but she liked Cyclone, and felt it was her responsibility to assist other members of the guild in their growth, when her assistance could provide some benefit. “I am glad that you were able to make it,” she said. “Has work been treating you well?” Cormac was... at best, temperamental. While Peony herself had never had any trouble with him, she suspected most would not say the same. It spoke well of Cyclone’s patience that she was still persevering. To Peony’s mind, patience was the mage’s greatest weapon. “Well enough. Things have been busy lately, but then again, they’re always busy. We field whatever we get, and make a rather handsome wage doing so.” Cy tried not to grin; she knew exactly what Peony was subtly alluding to. Oddly enough, the synergist seemed to thrive in the clinic – it was a controlled environment, Cormac was an unpredictable variable but at least a known one, and she could handle whatever the lunatic patients threw at them. It was the battlefield, on the other hand, that made her feel manic and nervous and unprepared. Again: hence the training. “We were going to start with Stun, yeah?” Cy withdrew her packet of papers, glancing down to shuffle through them and the informational notes they had on the spells she was practicing lately: Stun, Blind, Poison. “Yes,” Peony agreed, “I do believe that was the discussion. I see you have come prepared,” she added, looking at the papers with approval. “I believe that this spell will be the quickest and easiest to learn of those which may assist you the next time you encounter a difficult situation.” And lately, they seemed far too frequent. Status magicks were not necessarily her forté, but she understood the need for them better than many who neglected their study. There was little more effective for controlling the flow of battle. “You were in the fight at the docks,” she said then, thinking back to what Pyr had said to her the day after the battle with the sea serpent. He had been fairly impressed by Cyclone, but then, it was difficult to get the measure of a battle from a child’s perspective. “I hope you had opportunity to think about our discussion. Do you feel you handled yourself better?” It may not have been Peony’s forté, but she was one of the best options out there – Guy couldn’t be on-call 24/7 to teach Cy, and since her beneficial effects were much stronger than her negative, a black mage was the perfect improvised choice in the meantime. But Peony’s information made Cy pause, and she drew up in her chair, distracted before answering properly. “Wait, how’d you know? Do you have eyes on me? Or are you psychic now? That’d be a well impressive ability, if you were.” Peony had to laugh gently at the sudden flight of fancy. “Wouldn’t that be convenient?” she said. “Imagine how well such a skill would serve me with some of our most challenging scholars.” She shook her head, then corrected the notion. “No, in truth, I owe you thanks. You have inadvertently done me a great service - where I was unable to do so, you protected someone very precious to me.” The fact that the boys didn’t see her this way hardly mattered; her devotion to their well-being would hardly change. “My brother spoke highly of you.” Before the younger woman’s departure from the tower, Peony and Cyclone had spent a fair amount of time together, particularly in the colder months, as they both seemed quite susceptible to illness. Peony had spoken to her a little about her family over the course of the afternoons they found themselves cooped up indoors, sipping restorative teas, but even then, the mentions had been brief. She didn’t suppose that even Cyclone, with her quick mind, would have had any reason to connect the boy at the docks to her. “It is fortuitous that you came across him when you did; it was, by all accounts, the worst possible first day to have had in Emillion.” Cy’s eyes widened as the pieces of the puzzle fell together, one unexpected element suddenly linking with another. “Shit,” she said, simply. “I hadn’t even considered! As far as I knew, he was just some kid. Not that that changes it any, but – by the gods, I’m glad I came across him when I did, then. It was his first day in town? Seriously?” She was surprised enough that she’d slipped, forgetting to censor herself and replace her own gods with the singular Faram... but Cy barely even noticed. She was still thinking back to little Pyr, and comparing his face to the pale mage sitting across from her. Now that she knew, she could see the resemblance. “I cast Protect on him, and buffed up the ninja we had with us. I thought it went a bit better than before? I mean, they were still wounded like hell, but I think I helped, at least.” If Peony noticed the plural gods, she did not comment; she was firmly of the belief that such things were personal. The sentiment, at least, she could agree with. “He is well now, in case you are wondering,” she said. “Thanks partly to your assistance. I will say,” she added with a sigh, “that the composition of such a group does not seem ideal for the best use of your skills.” In a group so small, lacking an armored warrior, even a synergist was thrust onto the front lines. “Still, doing one’s best with what one has – that is, after all, the way most battles are won. And everyone you were with lived.” She smiled. That was the truest victory. “Perhaps, however, we should attend to our business for this evening?” she asked. “We can adjourn to a casting room if you prefer or - somewhat less formal – my kitchen. A cup of tea may not precisely help, but it cannot hurt our efforts, and I have had quite enough of paperwork for today.” She had enough magicite left from her work with Quenten to use in lieu of living targets, though she would expect Cyclone to cast on her, by and by – once she was certain that the spell was unlikely to malfunction. “I won’t ever turn down a cup of tea, you know that. Do you have rooibos?” Cy rose from her seat with papers in hand, leaving the coat behind, and soon followed Peony into the kitchen. “If we’re practicing Stun... what am I practicing on? Not you, is it? If so, are there any soft padded mattresses or summat that we could have you land on?” The girl’s brow furrowed. “This is why I didn’t specialise in negative spells from the get-go, to be honest. Finding willing or able practice partners is harder, and I can’t just cast it on myself – I perfected Haste thanks to self-practice.” “I am certain some can be found, yes.” The office was adjacent to her rooms, fortunately, so the walk to the kitchen was short. She pulled several canisters of tea from the shelf - plain rooibos as well as peach and vanilla, and said, “Please select the one you prefer.” She filled the kettle and set it on the stove before continuing. “You will cast at magicite, at first,” she said. “I have gotten quite adept at anchoring status spells into stones as foci for Quenten’s spellwork, although they do not hold the spell long, being inanimate.” She arranged a tea set on a tray, added a honey pot and a sugar bowl. “Once you are successful, you may cast at me – while I am already prone.” Her smile was amused. “As long as I start out on the floor, little harm will befall me.” “Oh, good point.” Cy trailed after her teacher. Peony was only four years older, but the difference seemed much vaster when you compared the councilwoman’s serene composure to... well, Cyclone. The younger woman opened the canister of plain rooibos, and started filling the nearest tea strainer with spoonfuls of rich, spicy tea leaves. While the water heated up, Peony led her over to the magicite – already set up in neat rows, it seemed – and Cy got to take her first look at her opponents. She tilted her head, eyeing the pale stones. But as long as they did the trick... “How do we tell if the spell even worked on them?” “No easy way, I’m afraid,” Peony said. “They are a sad substitution for real targets – perhaps if they were to light up when activated? Though each would have to be keyed to a specific spell, then.” A conversation to have with Riyeko, perhaps. That would make for a lovely teaching aid, indeed. “As it stands now, they will retain the spell signature, at least for a few moments; if it is formed correctly, the effect will linger and you should be able to tell.” She took the kettle from the stove when it began to whistle, filled the teapot to begin steeping the tea. “A stone will survive a status spell better than a plant.” She gave a look at the pots of herbs on her windowsill. “They will certainly react when cast at, but it is a surefire way to kill them, and I must admit to being fond of my basil.” “Yeah,” Cy said quietly. “And it brings us right on back to the inherent problem, innit? Practicing status magic on living things isn’t really ideal if you’re not in battle. But we’ll make do.” Hand diving into her pocket, she withdrew a scarred wooden stick – with a businesslike flip, it telescoped and unfolded into a long thin staff. She could feel the magic humming beneath her fingertips when she touched it, ready to harness the spells. There was a pause. Then: “How should I start?” Cy asked, her tone a little lost. She readjusted her stance in front of the stones, hopping from foot to foot and spreading her legs for a more balanced position. “By observing, first,” Peony told her. Most everyone who had lived for any time in the tower had seen different types of magic in action, but there was a difference between seeing and watching. It took only moments to retrieve her rod from where it rested when she was in her rooms, to aim and shape the spell slowly. “I have read in several places that this is not unlike some time magic or synergy,” she commented after she had completed one casting. “You cast around as opposed to into; rather a departure from elemental magicks, but it should be more comfortable for you.” It was one of the reasons she had chosen this spell to offer, in the end. Blind and Poison were a bit more complex with how they had to be targeted. For a synergist, Stun would likely prove somewhat easier to shape. “I am certain you have already read the texts as they relate to this spell,” she continued. Cyclone was nothing if not thorough in her research. “However, I do believe that that easiest way to learn is by doing. Once again.” She repeated the spell; the signature of it lingered in the magicite before slowly fading. “You can hurt little – try it and we will adjust. Incidentally,” she added, her expression quite amused as she poured a cup of tea and brought it to her nose to inhale the aroma, “if you seek a living target to check your work, status magicks, when properly targeted, are quite an effective remedy for weeds.” A small, soft laugh. “I am certain all the gardeners knew me by name in my early years at the Tower.” Cy’s eyebrows climbed into her hairline, and she immediately started weighing the options for the small garden beside her and Cormac’s dwellings. They didn’t grow flowers – far too impractical! – but the small squares of earth beside the clinic were rampant with herbs, for use in brewing potions and remedies. “We have a cheap apprentice for that,” she said slowly, “but I could probably give it a shot around the house...” “It is certainly rather cost-effective,” Peony said with another smile. And a harmless way to practice without involving people. It was not something she did often, these days, but as a training aid, it had been invaluable. That said, Cy switched her attention back to watching the black mage: the way she moved, each little twitch of movement and the way she drew the raw magick out of the rod and the air, the exact order and array of the incantation she’d used. Cy mimicked it then, rattling off the words in a clipped and precise monotone. There was a pause, as if it hadn’t done anything – but then she felt her staff react, and a blast of energy ripple out from it. It missed the magicite, and she felt more than saw it dissolve. Oops. She frowned, and started readying another. “How’s Pyr doing?” Cy asked. “Funny, that he ended up being your brother. And what a way for him to be introduced to the city.” “He and his brother are both healed now,” she answered. Still, she had taken them to the clinic herself, just to ascertain that the damage really was minimal. “It is curious,” she mused softly. “Although I know I was most effectively deployed on the front lines, I feel...” As though she had failed them. But no, that was irrational. “Guilty, I suppose,” she finished. “Though of course I am glad that others helped them escape greater harm.” Uncomfortable thoughts, these. She would need to think on the subject at length once she was alone. But for now, there were more immediate concerns. She came up beside Cyclone, adjusted the angle of her wrist. “Try it again,” she said, her hands remaining where they were; if permitted, she would guide the other woman’s casting as much as she was able. Again, and this time when Cy flexed her fingers and jerked the telescopic staff, the ripple of magic hit the magicite properly. She watched it carefully, eyes narrowed, trying to see the slight signs of a Stun having been successfully administered... The imprint on the cool stone faded, shifting back to its normal grey. “Hm,” Cy said. “I think it worked properly, but it wasn’t strong enough. Any tips?” She still had masses of manna at her fingertips; she could go on like this for hours, so long as a garuda wasn’t breathing down her neck. The spell indeed looked to have been formulated correctly, though the potency had been insufficient. It was, in some ways, easier working with adults, who could easily see their own shortcomings. Then again, unlike children, sometimes there were years of habits to be corrected, or simply years of experience in a certain school of magic which made grasping a new one particularly challenging. It was one of the things Peony respected about Merrion – his capability to switch schools and achieve results with almost everything he attempted. She did not think she would be as successful, were she to try. “Attempt it once more, and take your time gathering the power and forming the spell,” she suggested, having given it some thought. “And for a target so small, do not cast so wide. It does not take much to envelop it. There will be time enough for a larger area of effect when you are attempting to Stun me.” She lifted her staff, demonstrated once more, reciting the incantation slowly, forming the spell carefully. Such a tempo was more suited for a thoughtful arithmetician, perhaps, as opposed to someone exuberant like Cyclone, but to begin, she had always found it beneficial to move slowly. Cy’s lips pursed once more, her entire face arraying itself into tense lines of concentration, all of her focus narrowed down to this one task. It took effort to slow herself down and take it at a measured pace; true to her name, Cyclone tended to work in a frenzy of activity, rarely stopping to rest or breathe or sleep. Her entire undergraduate career at the University was a haze of self-cast Haste and Vigilance, the world painted in blurs. But with Peony’s steadying influence beside her, Cy breathed in. Out. And cast the spell, again and again. She kept practicing and there they stayed for the rest of the night with occasional breaks for tea, ultimately ending with a dazed black mage picking herself off the mat on the floor, dusting off her robes, and nodding in confirmation. Success. |