Dastilan groggily awoke to the strongest migraine he'd ever experienced. He leaned to his side to throw up his breakfast, but instead recoiled in head splitting pain. The catheter-like device was still in his side, a bulb-shaped, ornately decorated glass handle glowing a faint blue, halfway embedded into his muscle.

"Where did those dogs get this...? Gods, it stings!" With no hesitation, he extracted the device with a wince, sucking air through his teeth. Not his worst injury he'd suffered, but definitely up there on the pain scale. Having the mana drained from a man was like a wraith sucking the soul out of it's victim. He closed his eyelids tightly again to keep the daylight out, and rested his head against the cabin wall. He could hear shouting, but he wasn't particularly interested in what was being said. His body and mind just wanted sleep. He didn't much care if those soldiers killed him, as long as his death removed his gods forsaken migraine. The yelling stopped. Dastilan smiled. Then someone screamed. It was interrupted by a loud explosion, and the noise pulled Dastilan from his attempt of recuperation.

Can't those bastards keep quiet? What in the abyss are they doing...

Several rapid-fire shots rang out, before slowly fading, returning the soundspace to the calming ambience of the wind flowing, swaying the trees and rustling the foliage. Dastilan once again attempted to enjoy the peace, sinking into the wall, relaxing his flinching face muscles and sighing in exasperation. He sunk further into the embrace of unconsciousness. Finally.

"YO! ARE YOU STILL ALIVE? WHERE ARE YOU?" Cameron bellowed out across the homestead, walking towards the scene of the battle, looking for the deer man.

Dastilan's patience broke.

"For the love of the Gods, shut your foul mouth before I tear out your vocal chords, and feed them to you!"

Cameron's face turned white. He cringed with embarrasment and turned his head left and realised the man was slumped against the wall, right next to his feet.

"Oh shit, sorry man." Cameron said with an apologetic smile.

The man looked up to him in a daze. It was his turn for his expression to change. The 'thing' infront of him was stained a dark red from head to toe. it was dressed in a strange garb, well fitted clothes in a material and a design unknown to him. In it's hands, a steel device beyond his knowledge, a small tube sticking from a bigger main body, which had all sorts of protuberances and shapes sprouting. Not a soldier. Maybe a demon? His heart rate raised exponentially. The compounding effect of his injuries and the loss of his kin compounded with the personification of hell he was witnessing through concussion-stained eyes took his conscience from him. He was out for the count.

"Did... he just faint?" Cameron's timid first contact had failed. The man infront of him was haggard, torn clothes and face muddied from his collision into the ground. The man's chest raised and lowered gently.

Well, at least he's alive. I have questions.

Dastilan awoke groggily for the second time today. Looking from his window, he saw the daylight fading from the sky, the stars revealing themselves, sparkling in the air as if celebrating the end of the tyrrany of the sun. His migraine had left him, thankfully, but the blunt force trauma he had suffered left him feeling like he had taken the quick way down a cliff. He raised his palm over his chest, and emitted a slow glowing green over his body. He felt satisfied after a 2 minute application.

"Was that a healing spell? Wow."

Dastilan flinched. The strange accented voice came from the direction of his feet. He slowly raised his head to see who had spoken,digging his sharp hin into his chest, and found a panda-eyed man looking back at him with a look of wonderment.

"Are you dull?" Dastilan asked, snidely. His calm, rich voice punctuating his insult. "Don't you bastards learn simple combination spells in basic training... It's a mix of a pain blocker, and a boost to natural healing processes. 'Healing' is for priests and rich folk." He placed his head back on the soft feather-filled pillow. He was glad he spent the coin on it, now.

"What...? No, I'm not one of those soldiers." Cameron felt a pang of embarrasment. His question about the spell left him feeling like a toddler asking mummy what two plus two was.

"Ah. Who exactly are you then?" Dastilan relaxed a small amount, tenseness loosening from his shoulders, but still maintained his wariness. "A guardian spirit? I assume you killed those deserters. Maybe you're a punitive force from their former army, and you'll rid me of their presence, Gods willing. Although you seem a little... undereducated, for a millitary headhunter."

"No, I'm not. Not even from here. I did deal with them though. I'm just passing through. I've been... hired, in a way." Cameron scratched the back of his neck.

How do I approach this?

"Unfortunately, my employer is a cunt, and I'm debating calling off the job. I was searching for a place to clean myself off; I ran into some wildlife and got a bit messy. I saw smoke in the distance, and decided to check it out." Cameron didn't know how much to tell the man. He was never a great liar, so he resorted to half-truths to stay believable without giving out too much.

"Before, or after my nephews died?" Dastilan sharply asked, almost accusatorially.

"Uh... before. I was... I wasn't in a position to help. I'm sorry, I didn't know who was in the wrong. Seemed like the smart move was staying out of it. Didn't stop them dragging me into it, though." Cameron felt a small trickle of guilt trying to explain himself. He was telling the truth, though. To him, any smart man would avoid fire and lightning cooking them alive. He would've moved on if his nerves hadn't betrayed him and made him a target.

"It was a smart move. I would have done the same. I dont blame you. Their mother would be paralysed from the grief though, if she was still alive. I loved my sister dearly, but her children were self absorbed pricks. They only accepted my offer to stay after she passed because they thought they would weasle their way into my 'fortunes'. Not that they deserved death for it." Dastilan forlornly remembered his sister. What a wonderful spirit she had. How he missed her, so, so dearly.

"Huh. Are you some sort of... nobility, or something? Farm work doesn't seem too profitable." Cameron asked innocently, but Dastilan slowly sat up on the bed, and narrowed his eyes.

"No. I used to be a court mage, so don't get any ideas." Dastilan was on edge. "In fact, why ARE you still here?" His voice dripped venom, and Cameron recoiled, his hand reaffirming it's hold on the grip of the gun in his lap. "You'll get NOTHING from me, mercenary. Many have tried, and I'll die before I give a crumb-"

"Woah, jesus man. Calm down! I wasn't thinking of doing anything to you!" He took a leap of faith, and held his palms out in surrender. It only caused Dastilan's eyes to open in panic, seeming to him that he was readying an offensive spell, and he raised his own palm to form a defense.

"FUCK! No I swear that wasn't - I wasn't trying to hurt you! I don't even know how this shit works! I can't do anything like you people!" Cameron swore at his cultural slip, and placed his hands down.

Of course, that's a threat. That's how this world aims. Fuck.

"What sort of excuse is that? And what do you mean, 'you people'?" Dastilan coughed blood from the strain his body was undergoing. Mana does not come back quickly or lightly after absolute deprivation. His shield appeared, and then disappeared, flickering between the two like a broken streetlight.

"You guys, fucking wizards! You're completely terrifying! I want nothing to do with any of it!" Cameron's outburst caused a lull in the room. Silence rained for several seconds, before the antlered man pierced it with his tongue.

"What?" Dastilan was confused. He looked the strange man up and down. "You talk as if YOU can't cast. Are you abstaining from magic, or some such? How can you have nothing to do with your own power? Are you scared of your own shadow, too?!" He spat, incredulously.

"I don't HAVE power. I don't have any mana, and apparently I never will. Maybe if you people opened your eyes you'd realise how terrifying shooting lightning from your fingertips like some kind of supervillain is!" Cameron's patience broke, and he revealed how weak he felt. He showed fear on his face. Dastilan looked at him warily, unbelieving.

"That's not possible." He snorted with amusement. What kind of tale is this? He had heard kid's stories more believable. "Even rocks retain ambient mana, except maybe lead, or some such. Everything does. You don't look as dense as lead, boy. Well, I'm sure that head of yours is. What folly." He looked down his nose at the strange man, and snorted with derision.

"You're kind of an asshole, aren't you?" Cameron took a breath to center himself.

I can probably tell him what I am. We won't get anywhere like this, and I NEED information from him. Turns out I'm wrong, and he still wants me dead, I'll just shoot him. Casting doesn't seem faster than a bullet.

"Were you a minstrel in a past life? Hoh, or maybe you still are." Dastilan sat on the edge of the bed, facing the man in his home with a humourous look on his long, thin face. "What a ridiculous tale. You're talented at your craft, though. Although, the Church of Amari would scalp you alive for the implication that there could be a being higher than their God. The rest of the Churches too, I imagine. You're braver than you look." The man scratched the place between his antlers and leaned back, cracking his spine with several loud pops. He felt better now, mainly from his combinated spell he cast beforehand, but aided, he felt, by Cameron's strange percieved brand of comedy.

Cameron told the man of his spiriting away, picked up and put to task by an unfeeling cosmic being, how his 'soul was inferior' and that he was expected to die, before replacement by his betters. He neglected to mention the armory ability. Dastilan loved the part about the boars. Not so much about his fear of becoming a target for the soldiers, but it did lend credibility to the story. No one would fabricate that they could have saved someone's kin, and didn't, from wariness. It still wasn't enough, though. Evidence was needed.

"Can you prove this? Any of this?"

"Well, the boars are probably still there, if any other animal hadn't got to them first."

"That wouldn't be nearly enough."

Cameron racked his brain for proof.

"Wait, can't you people 'scan' me? Like, analyse me and find out who I am, or something?"

"Ah. Yes. I really should have done that by now. I apologise." Dastilan scratched his neck, looking away from Cameron, a slight blush on his sunken cheeks. He turned his eyes to the man, and they began to glow white.

"I don't have many people visiting out here, you see. My old habits from my court days have left me. All I usually employ out here is Earth-Type magicks an..." Dastilan furrowed his brows in confusion. "Are you obscuring 'Observe'? That's rather antithetical to proving your story, you know."

"I told you, I'm literally incapable of doing that." Cameron was tired of having to reiterate. "Try something else. You must have something that can prove me right."

Dastilan begrudgingly tried other avenues. More advanced magicks, like 'Analyse', paired with 'Reveal' and 'Deobfuscate' got him nowhere. He accused Cameron of non-compliance, and Cameron argued back his innocence. They were getting nowhere. Dastilan put his hands on his sides with a huff, and the spot of the injury from the siphon flared. He gritted his teeth in pain. Wait. That's a good idea. He looked at the man infront of him with an intimidating grin.

"There's one definitive way we can do this. How do you feel about being stabbed, my obstinate friend?"

"I tend to avoid it, if I can..." Cameron raised a wary eyebrow.

"The mana siphon. A good idea, don't you think?"

"What is that...?"

"Ever the innocent lamb, aren't you? The higher echelons of crime prevention forces use them to pacify paticularly nasty mages. Or, any one that can steal or afford one, apparently. How those deserters got their hands on one I'll never know. Regardless of that, it's a tool to collect mana from whatever it's 'applied' to, leaving the subject in a constantly mana withdrawn state until removed. Not pleasant, I can tell you. Headaches you've never felt and will never want to, again. If you really are 'manaless' then it will have no other effect than a knife would, wouldn't you agree?"

"Is what what they stabbed you with? I picked it up earlier. It looked expensive, figured you'd want it. Not like I know any buyers." Cameron took the glass device from the top of the cabinet next to him and passed it to Dastilan.

"Expeditious fellow, aren't we? I suppose you can't be all bad, if you didn't run off with this to the nearest town and hawk it." Dastilan examined the object. It didn't bring him any joy.

"Yes, this is it. Ah, you've even wiped my blood off it. Probably for the best, hygeine and all." He flicked the device's handle into his palm, and motioned with it to Cameron's arm. "Well then, get on with it. Brace your arm on the cabinet."

Cameron flinched.

"...is this the only way? That thing's needle is massive! It's gonna hurt like a bitch!" Still, Cameron compliantly held his arm over the cabinet's top. He could stomach this. Probably. Truthfully, he hated needles. Tube sized needles, even less. His shots for deploying to Africa were a bloodbath.

"Oh, a bitch it is, my friend." Dastilan grinned the grin of the devil, and raised the device high, before plunging the sharp spherical edge directly into Cameron's left forearm. The antlered man winced at the wound. He might have been too eager for Cameron to share his pain. It travelled into his arm, before hitting bone, and stopping.

"YOU FUCKING PSYCHO! THAT'S NOT HOW YOU USE A FUCKING NEEDLE! ARGH, GOD!" Cameron fought against the need to extract the foreign object from his arm, instead beating the bottom of his fist into the wooden wall beside him. The distraction didn't work. The pain screamed through his nerve endings. He recognised it was the second time today his arm had been mutilated. What the fuck does this world have against my arm?!

"I... may have been too violent. I apologise, sincerely. Still, if you're right, you will have your proof." To Dastilan's credit, his guilt was sincere. He behaved impulsively, and he wondered if he was still concussed. He realised it would do nothing to soothe the man's pain to share that, though. He drew his sight to the bulb shaped tool-cum-torture device.

Surely not.

Nothing happened. No glow. No signal of operation. Cameron remained conscious, albeit crying out in pain. The status quo continued for another five minutes, with no change other than Cameron biting into a piece of cloth given to him, and his screams turning to muffled groans.

"You... maybe the device broke." Dastilan had goosebumps.

"Feel free to try it on yourself again, man. I'll help the application, if you like?" Cameron smiled through a dark grimace.

"No... I have to concede defeat. These tools don't break from average use, and you cant deny their siphoning. They're relics, really, from the old age. The ancestors built everything they made to last." Dastilan had to capitulate in the face of irreconciliable evidence.

"You really are an outworlder. By the Gods."

"Can I take this 'precious relic' out of my fucking arm now?"