Remmus Mythweaver. The Grandmaster of the arts, the sovereign of the magical kingdom of Torlak. Being the grandmaster, he has a special role of monitoring, governing, and protecting the mystical arts taught uniquely to the citizens of his country and protect the needs of the people. Over the years, he has learned of so many ways of doing such a thing. Firstly, he can always fall back on the judgment of the council of Six Arms, advisors to help guide the nation in its smaller sectors. He has made friends among them, and he trusts their judgment sometimes to get things done. Though they are wise men and women, however, he finds that going out and seeing for your own eyes often yielded some of the best results. this is something he has found himself doing more and more often. Either by disguising himself to go through the street unabated or venturing to whatever unique situation found in the ruins of the old world, he finds a bit of solace doing so, despite the anxious pleas from the council to refrain from doing such reckless acts.

None of these things had determined his rule, however. What determined it was the safety of his home taking priority over anything else. To protect his citizens, to protect the teachings of magic, and the land they walk upon. It was during the civil war of the clans when Torlak was diplomatically twisted into joining this conflict, did he see the dangers of Torlakian magic used on the battlefield. And when he returned from that battlefield, he knew that change must come if he is to bring lasting peace to his home. The first step was to restrict the ability of secrets to be shared with any other nations. No one showing an ability in manipulating aura, the universal source of mortal magic, is forbidden to step foot onto Torlak. this may not last forever, but it is much easier to keep an eye on any mages. The next was restricting trade and making Torlak as self-sustaining as possible. He will never fully cut the diplomatic ties that Torlak, Hath, the Umani, and the Thirian Empire share. No matter how strenuous their relationship may be, the council agreed with him that if the time comes, having allies as powerful as those three will come to the benefit of Torlak.

But, he was naïve in one state. One obstacle to an everlasting piece he dreaded to confront, even in his own home. That threat that calls itself Talin. A perversion, in his eyes, of the very values Torlak has had for eons. And at some point in time, he was grateful that they had been squashed by his own hands. But it turns out that what he thought was a dried carcass of Talin had turned out to merely by the shed remains of what it had been. That Talin, in the satisfaction and celebration that he shared with his comrades, had in fact turned into something far more unsettling. They have returned and savagely attacked one of the members of Theurgy, kidnapping one of their own children. And soon, they may even declare war on the entire world. All their squashing was for nothing. And even at that, he is deemed unworthy to draw more power from the pendants, as Fate determined himself. That honor, that curse, is to be bestowed onto another victim, an innocent bystander who must now dawn the sword of justice and continue a fight that rightfully should have ended a decade ago.

That conversation he had with the former members festers in his mind, feeding his fears. James has sent Celia's son, Lyse, to discuss what may come next for Theurgy and find his sister. He couldn't help but wonder exactly the type of boy that Celia and Wilbur have crafted. What values he had. What he holds to be the answer to peace. but most importantly, is he fit to be one of them. As he sat at his desk, looking pointedly at the door some dozens of paces away, he couldn't help but ponder. There is so much he doesn't know, and that ached him. He learned all that magic could teach, and beyond. He learned the dangers this world is capable of, and beyond. He learned the trenches of depravity, and so much more. And yet, as the sun rises, and he must now face the ugly monster of Talin, he realizes that though he is the grandmaster, the supposed all-knowing, he knows nothing at all. He doesn't know what they are planning. He doesn't know who may be leading them, this time around, though he has suspicions. their weapons, how much they have evolved. Who they will summon to combat them. How far does it go, and how much are they hiding.

Only time will tell. But all things considered, nothing has changed. The only difference from now, and a decade ago, is that he now sits at the highest seat of power in the mystical world. He holds the knowledge of magic that may even rival the gods. But his wish never has changed. He only has one goal. And it is to protect his home.

(X)

Lyse looked out to the land of Torlak as the Nautilus Omega made a shady docking at one of the available ports. The Raven's vessel settled not too far away but they were ready to unload far before Moxie's crew. Those floating islands he saw before were much bigger than he had anticipated. Each was about the size of a small estate, just big enough for one or two buildings to be laid atop each. Some were fortresses, sloped orange and red tiles roofs with Archer's nests and crevices. That same style echoed to the rest of the docks, all the roofs sloping towards the sea with innate carvings and sculptures inlaid into the wood or stone. The city's colors created a weird effect as the morning sun cast orange bars across the roofs. Everything seems to be lifted somewhat like some mystical force made the city intangible. It was truly an unforgettable view from where they stood for any person who was not accustomed to such sights.

"Alright cubs," Makyra shouted to Lyse and Makyra. "We're leaving within the day. No chance in all the hands of Fate is I staying in this port to find out the healers' results. Be quick about your business."

"Of course," Lyse waved. He only took a pouch, the remains of his funds, a few they were, and the letter that would get him to the Grandmaster. While he was wonderous at what he may encounter, he was also terrified. His setting foot in Torlak, an act so simple and necessary, is a danger comparable to few other places. If he is to be discovered, he will be executed. But he wasn't here to stop now. He has not come this far to turn tail and run away. The dangers that bear down on him was already beyond regular comprehension. There was no going back now. Although, he wished that his mother could join him. She has mostly recovered from her injuries, but traveling for her is possibly even more dangerous as it is for him. Her status as a farmer's wife was the greatest set of armor any could have given her. But out here. Out in this world, she was as bare as a newborn. Lyse promised her to return safely, and Makyra promised to protect Lyse. Although, as they prepared to depart, Lyse couldn't help but noticed a small discomfort, a reluctance to her movements as she put on her armor. He never saw her like this before. She was often confident and level-headed. More so than him. He never really saw her waver in such a way. But it was also somewhat comforting to him as well. He was not the only one that may be out of their element, or possibly have forebodings of what was to come for them.

The morning was young, but the streets were busy. As they waved away Edlund and the others, they immediately found themselves in a surge of a crowd, mostly merchants headed to the market or bazaar near the center of the city. They were headed in a similar direction. Makyra led him a little further east, where government and military establishments nestled around one another. In the meantime, Lyse took this opportunity to absorb as much as he could. It barely could dawn on him that everyone, every person from child to an adult could perform some kind of magic. It was apparent in much. Children who took the early sun played in the city squares, tagging each other with small wands, applying small effects or such. He saw a small boy turn another into a frog, who hopped around in surprise before moments later reverting to their original forms. Most wielded an assortment of objects, from rods to ivory staffs, a stack of what looked like playing cards at their waste. A book or two cradled in arms. There was no one color to describe to the people of Torlak. No one color, no one descriptive term. It was just a ball of exoticism that walked about. Now and again he's seeing someone with golden embroidery and a belt made from multicolored fabric with all sorts of patterns to accompany them. Men often wore formal dress shirts, white or grey, and contrasting maroon and blue waistcoat, very rarely black. Their black leather shoes were buckled with either bronze or gold caps. The women wore either skirts or narrow dresses. Many were of simple designs, but there were a few with a mixture of textures and colors that may have been imported from Umani merchants. Bracelets, necklaces, charms, and jewelry were everywhere. He has never seen such wealth adorn one man, even the nobility he has seen would appear dull next to even one Torlakian citizen. It's a wonder how he could blend in if he tried. His dark cloak and bland colored gambeson would stand out in its normalcy.

Sometimes, he would see uniformed men patrolling, although loosely, through the city. Their uniform was a striking scarlet red, white undergarments and golden lining their coats. Each carried a steel rod in hand, often carved with appeared to be small geometric symbols, some kind of language he knew to be the Torlakian sigils of magic. They operated in clusters of four or five, and the crowds parted easily amongst them, and sometimes even greeted them.

"That's the military police," Lyse asked quietly to Makyra, who stepped quicker as they passed them by not too far away.

"Yes. They are called the Cardinal Guard. They are led by one of the council members who oversee military activity. The closest thing they have to a Paladin of security. That woman is quite the monster."

"So you've met her?" he asked.

"Ever so briefly," she told him. "And thankfully it was so. She is known for being quite abrasive. Her name is Fiora Sol'Louché."

He was curious about how mages performed in combat. He never has seen one, and never have gotten many contexts of them. The closest thing to magic is what the gods have given him, and he doubted Torlakian magic performed even remotely similar. Though, seeing the resources that Talin appears to have, he will not be surprised when he finds himself against such mages. What he found a bit more concerning was the destination they were now rearing on. This section of the city was separated from the others, not by walls, but a large trench extended to unknown depths. A metal railing kept people from wandering in, despite the guards posted every so few meters along the perimeter. These soldiers wore coats a little shorter and thick. Like the military police, they held a steel rod carved in the forms of trees, rocks, animals, or even ghastly faces. Instead of the standard scarlet red, they wore dark blues and gold. They wore helmets, bell-shaped with no faceplate and wings fluttering the side of their face. the armor, plate, seemed rather thin. But as he used zoi to sense their aura, he saw that the armor was giving off its own distinct aura as well.

They did nothing as they found themselves at the bridge. It was enough to fit twenty men side by side. Few men and women entered or exited, but all took very particular notice of the Thirian and Liontarian pair walk across. They too did nothing of course but watched. This building in particular operated as the parliament house, and the councils' headquarters and subsequent governing bodies. this was the capital of the administrating efforts of Torlak, and it was daunting. The layout was very rectangular, a central building made from dark brownstone and sleek sloping roofs. It was architecture similar to some of the ruins found in Torlak, or those a little east of the clans, and into the outlands. This helped invoke a sense of immensity, as indeed it was among the taller structures that Lyse has ever seen. Six towers, each varying in height, but still managed to fade into the morning mist. The front door was a set of double doors covered in more bronze inlays depicting scenes of six men in a circle, hands pointed towards a star. Each seemed to represent the six major elements of magic, fire, earth, wind, water, light, and dark. Then, several more huddled around them, holding what appeared to be fans. The representatives of the tertiary elements, what the Torlakian called the arcane arts. That was the extent that Lyse knows, and most of what any knight knows of this rigid and structured practice.

At least a dozen guards was waiting at this door. Known took notice of them till they approached the entrance, in which two of the guards stomped their staffs on the ground, and the hairs on the back of Lyse's neck stirred. There was suddenly some green, almost transparent barrier crackling with energy, that separates the inside from where they stood. One of the others stepped forth in a booming voice. The accent of a Torlakian was thick but understandable.

"I'm going to need to see some identification miss," he said, eyeing her and her armor. "A Thirian, I presume then?"

"Aye," Makyra confirmed and gestured to Lyse. "I'm escorting this gentleman here to see the grandmaster. He's an ambassador from Liontari."

"Liontari," the man raised an eyebrow, "Come such a long way, haven't you? Lucky as well, the Grandmaster just arrived from a . . . personal expedition to a small tomb in central Acurfa. So early not even the council have gotten time to chew him out, as far as I'm aware."

She seemed half-conscious as he read the letter, skimming through it and not seem worried about uncovering some secret plot through it. It would be rather difficult for a knight or a spy to make it this far past the ravens, who guarded the country so intensely, and there hadn't been any major attack on the country itself since over five hundred years ago when the dark isle first appeared. Lyse did not blame how lax they must have been in their regulations. After the brief read over the letter, he ordered the men to let them pass. The green barrier dissipated, and they were allowed into the anti-chamber of the main parliament house. The room was rather large, with massive collonades in three rows lining both sides. The tiles they walked on were a web of geometric symbols that made Lyse's toes tickle. Men in robes similar to those he saw amongst the Cardinal Guard. They were carrying around parchments and books that nearly toppled as they carefully glided from one room to another. There were a few guards within as well, making rounds and occasionally following one of the red-robed men and women. All words echoed well here, and Lyse noticed looking up the hovering roof, air rushing in to make hollow sounds as the ocean breeze washed the land. A domed ceiling, itself adorned with brass and gold, marked the middle of this space. And at the very end, a large curved desk with a dozen guards surrounding it.

Three men stood there, receiving large volumes of books that they subsequently took into a back room. But it was more than books. Artifacts. Chests of gold. Even a whole coffin laid across the granite table, waiting to be carried to be cataloged. Many of the ones who brought in these treasures rarely had uniforms, some of them could have been mistaken as merchants with how rugged they appeared. But Lyse suspected that these were mere guildsmen, mages that did not wish to serve the military but wanted to make a living. A system that was an echo of the system the clans produced. They too barely gave them a passing glance. They were only there to make sure the clerks knew who brought them the goods. Lyse kept a close eye on them, however. He was not used to the apathy they regarded him, a foreigner in their greatest halls. They should be more careful than this. But instead, they shuffled along without a care. At least the guards were less lenient, their hands firmly on their staffs as they watched them approach. Lyse and Makyra walked up to one of the only open clerks available, a lanky looking women with a grey laced dress, and spectacles resting on her nose. She looked older than even his mother, the gray overpowering her once rusty hair. But she looked down expectantly as they did reach her.

"How may I help you?" she asked in a smooth, practiced tone.

"We are here to speak with Grandmaster Remmus MythWeaver," Makyra carefully took the parchment from Lyse's hands and placed it on the desk before her.

The woman seemed to assess them as if now noticing their distinctive clan attire and her Thirian armor. She briefly glanced at Lyse, who shrunk back as if trying to evade her gaze and make himself look less imposing.

She finally looked at the form, and by the time she finished, she placed it back onto the table with a sigh, plagued by weariness. "The Grandmaster is open for discussion. A lesser thing, since he rarely stays in the capital. You should find him in the council chamber. I shall have two guards escort you there immediately."

Makyra and Lyse both nodded. She seemed to give them a look once more but shook her gaze as she saw yet another band of men with large sacks walking through the door. Lyse heard the muffled curse that came just before the practiced greeting. Two of the twelve guards immediately broke their formation, one going before them and another trailing behind. They kept out of arm's reach of either of them but didn't appear hostile. They led them to a set of stairs at the far eastern corner of this chamber that led to the next floor up. Almost no one came this far. Only guards could be seen, roaming around on guard, groups of five or more this far in. Lyse counted fifty men and women alone as they walked the halls until they came to a chamber door near the very center of this building. The smooth dividing wall columns that decorate this portion ended at another set of doors, this time closed. Ten more mages stood guard there, the only difference in their appearance was a white cape that draped down their right side. the mage before them gave a silent hand signal. A guard took out a pair of keys, unlocked the doors, and then stepped aside. The two who escorted them stopped a few dozen paces away, and now they have been allowed to meet with one of the most powerful men in the world. Makyra may not appear daunting, but Lyse felt an unease in his steps as they walked closer and closer. So many scenarios played out in his mind, all empty not knowing the kind of person that awaited him. HE willed himself to push these notions to the side, and focus on moving forwards.

Makyra pushed the doors open. They swung with a noiseless drift. The table was empty for documents of any kind, bare, save for a bag sitting in one of the seats. But what took the spot of attention was a red gem, a ruby the size of a man's head at the very center of the table. Silver inlays formed a geometric sigil around it, a diamond surrounded by two circles, one circumscribed with the other. And in between the spaces a plethora of small glyphs. Lyse refrained from using aura on this though because his attention was grabbed by the two men in the middle of conversation instead.