Child of Magic ~ Veluthil Se'yasvaillo

The pair of arch-magi had vanished from the Tower, for a time. Mistress of the Reds had vanished, along with her second chair, the man that was her best friend and lover.. and some claimed that he was secretly her husband.

Dozens of questions were asked about what had caused the two to leave so abruptly, but none realized the truth of the matter. She was carrying his child, and required somewhere safe for their family. Yet what the Red Mistress wished, and what the truth was to be.. did not measure up. For the two arch-magi had long hunted those known as Renegades and stood as open enemies to those of the Grey Tower. Enemies that despite their attempts to hide, could not escape the life of battle which they had so long known.

The Greys came when she was at her most vulnerable, struggling to give life to their daughter. Her beloved tried to hold their foes at bay long enough to see his family safe, but such was not to be. In the spell battle that ensued the child was lost, or so such was believed. Their grief was unparalleled and in their sadness the two returned to the Tower and the lives they had sought to change.

And the child drifted.. in the ether of time and space, within the arms of magic.

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Drifting there, she watched events transpire as the world changed, she studied unseen and unknown beside her parents as they taught. She traveled with them as wars waged, she watched the Grey Tower fall. Through the bonds she was there beside her mother as she spanned the depths of time, and watched as the world was reshaped through the acts of all those brave enough to act.

The death of her mother brought no surprise. But it was her mother taking the role as the final guardian that earned the blessing of magic, and the girl taken.. was breathed to life.

She was cold.. and alone.

She was cold, alone and naked.. lying on the floor beside the hearth, upon a soft rug of bearskin. The warm rug tickled her side, as she peered into the half-light to gaze upon an empty house where life had once filled the walls. She knew this house, her parents had lived here once so long ago. It was a place she would have grown up in, a place she should have known family.. a place now of mere ghosts and memories from the past.

Gold eyes shot through with silver gazed through the darkness, as she realized how incredibly cold she found herself.

Being wrapped in the caress of magic, on the bridge between life and death through the ether of time had touched her skin with an icey embrace. The warmth of the fire did not reach her, and as she rose she drew the furs of bearskin about her shoulders to see what her parents had left behind in this world.

Books of magic in a burned shelf, and a cache of gold were to be her inheritance. And of course, all she had learned from watching them in the space between. Wrapped in just the fur, she left the ruined home towards what was her birth rite.

The Tower of Wayreth.

Or at least she intended to set out for Waywreth.

Her body, however, had other issues. New found legs buckled below her, and toppled the young woman to the ground. So much of her life had been spent in that state 'between' that her body had no grasp of it's functions just yet.

Still cold despite the furs, she curled one arm below her to begin the process of dragging herself back to the hearth. Inwardly, she cursed. She was the daughter of two of the most powerful arch-magi to have walked the land, and here she was forced to crawl in order to move.

Drawing herself up to sit, she tried to spark a fire in the hearth. It was a simple cantrip, she knew it by heart. She could feel the magic, she knew the words.. but her hands would not obey to form the sigils necessary to complete the spell.

Again, she swore.

No heat, no warmth.. no food and her body had yet to learn what it required in order to move in the way she wished for it to. Part of her wondered if she had finally been 'born' only to now die in such a manner.

Anger coursed through her, before a a shimmer of magic formed in the corner of the room and a graceful elven woman all in white came to kneel before her.

“Your coming was foretold, Veluthil. If you wish it, I will take you where you are meant to be.”

She did not hesitate, not even for a moment, before her hand found the woman's own and sealed her fate.

She learned the elven woman was Helene, currently standing as Mistress of the White Order, and High Mage. And that she had arrived in the Tower of Wayreth, still collapsed against the floor as her body had not yet grasped the notion of standing.

Lightning raged inside the room, as a storm raged about them from the very walls themselves.

“A training facility for magi, long promoted by your mother as I do recollect.”

As the white wizardess helped her to stand, the two settled into a discussion of magic. She was queried of the foundations and laws, the rules which governed Tower and all those within it. Each question was posed to her, and each one she answered with an easy confidence.

She had seen much in the space 'between' and had learned a great deal from watching the lives of others pass around her. As the two spoke, the woman who was high mage lent her aid, helping to teach her body to stand upright and move as directed.

~*~

As time progressed the way such often does, others would come to see her.

She was a curiosity, a thing of interest. None of them had any understanding of what she had endured or even how she endured it. Everything about her was a mystery.. the touch of magic which flowed through her veins, the way in which she was grown to adulthood even though she should be little more than infant, the mass of knowledge which had accumulated within her mind. How she had survived death at the hands of the Grey, if she had survived such a thing at all.

Some suspected she was undead, and swore that the cold touch of her skin was proof of such. Yet these were easily calmed, and they assured by their brethren that she was very much alive. It was due to her unique nature that she was permitted inside the tower, without being a full magus. She knew the truth, they simply wanted her close at hand in case she became threat.

Thinking that she might retain some normalcy, Veluthil herself began a study of necromancy in an effort to master herself and the ordeal she had undergone. More and more time was spent within the laboratories of the Black Robes, searching for answers that even she did not understand. Searching for a way to know the truth of herself.

Yet several of the Red Robes befriended her as well, friends of her parents who saw the two within the child. She looked near identical to her mother in vision, but her time 'between' had given her an icey demeanor not unlike that of her father.

In the time spent under a constant study and scrutiny, she managed to master control over her body that she could finally begin forming the complex sigils necessary for spellcasting. And the Art, flowed like quicksilver through her veins and danced upon her fingertips with an ease.

The Conclave decided to see the truth of her ability, her knowledge and skill. To determine if she were a threat to them, and to Magic itself.

The vast expanse of sand was opened before her, like a sea of silt the golden hued grains danced before her eyes in an endless shifting display. She lifted a hand before her eyes to peer through the distance, looking to see what lay ahead.

A collection of bodies, lay behind. Grey robes were lifted by the hot desert wind, the splatter of blood which stained such ensuring that the Renegades who had worn them would never rise again. She stepped over them without caring, they chose the Grey and she had killed them.

Her chest, burned. She had spent nearly every spell carried in memory to defeat the foes before her. And while she had managed to crush all those before her, the curse of being a magi had begun to weigh upon her heavily. Blood stained her lips, even as a golden hued gaze noted the rise of a tower on the horizon.

Trudging forward tiredly, she continued placing one foot before the other until she stood before the building and gazed upwards at the expanse of stonework. Someone moved within.

A doorway glimmered before her invitingly, and moving towards it the wooden entry swung inwards before her, and she stepped inside with a wary glance about. More movement from within, a shimmer of red passed before her gaze and she followed the flutter of color as it turned a corner.

Onwards, the fluttering movements of red hued silk guided her steps, moving through the empty building with a certainty. Upwards around a winding staircase she followed, until the flicker of red hued silk vanished before her eyes and a simple wooden door rested before her. A simple enough wooden door, save for the intense magical wards which wrapped about it.

The shimmering runes danced before her gaze and she halted, studying the magical defenses with a scrutiny. A slight sigh passed her lips, the magic was far beyond her level.. and she appraised the doorway with a look of contemplation before a voice intruded upon her thoughts.

“For you Veluthil, the way is safe.”

For a moment longer she eyed the door, before placing a hand upon the rune covered surface and pushing it inwards.

Golden light danced within, silver sparkles flickering on the air to draw her within and close the door securely behind her. The heat of the desert was less oppressive, only a comforting warmth remained as the lights began swirl and manifest within them two forms.

Silver and Gold spun to form figures garbed in red, manifesting to elven forms that she knew so well from all her time spent 'between'. A hot tear trickled down her cheek as her mother and father stood before her.

Two sets of arms wrapped her fast between them, holding her tight. She felt safe, loved.. happy.. she felt at home, she felt at peace. More tears continued to flow down her cheeks at the tender embrace of her parents.. something she had always wanted and never had. A hand brushed her cheek affectionately as another smoothed her hair, and for one moment she felt whole.

Still wrapped fast in the arms of her parents, she heard her mother's voice speak soft and low. “The gods of balance and twilight have given to all mortals the gift of free-will. The gift of choice. In what they have gifted to us, becomes now evident in the choice to be laid before you my daughter. My precious, loved Veluthil.”

Eyes still damp she looked up, listening raptly to the soft voice which spoke. “Family is what you have always wished, just as it was what we wished to have as well.. your father and I. Something we thought we had lost forever.. And so now I must offer you the cruelest of choices my dear one.”

“You can leave the Tower and your Magic behind.. and come home with us, your father and I.. to live as family. Or you can leave aside your family for the magic you have long sought.”

The soft hand touched her cheek again. “You are free, now and always, to choose.” She closed her eyes, shutting them tight against the surge of pain the decision brought out of her.

“But if I choose family, you will be taken from your role of Guardian, right?”

“I will be. Yet I would do so gladly for your sake.”

“And Magic will be once again at risk to all those fools who would come.. thinking to master what they should not touch?”

A sad smile was the answer.

Veluthil sighed, another hot tear sliding down her cheek. She knew what she wanted most.. she knew it with the core of her being. She knew what she loved most, desired most.. and what she refused to live without. And she knew, the constant temptation would be more than she could bear. More than she would ask the others to bear as well.

Her true love could not be put to risk..

Cold white fury surged through her body, as she unleashed the last of her magic in a rage. Magic streaked outwards, burning through both of her parents with a furious torrent. She could not simply choose and walk away, no. She had to destroy what she could not have, she had to burn away the want for something beyond the magic.. she had to unmake the threat to where her heart lay.

She screamed as the magic turned her parents to cinders.. only to find herself kneeling on the stone floor of the training grounds, weeping furiously.

High Magus Helene and an Archmagus of the Black were before her, giving her a moment to recover herself and to realize it was all illusion. All of it had been her Test, the trial by which she was measured before the Tower to see if she was worthy of the higher tiers of magic.

One hand wiping her face, she rose to standing haughtily. Her skin was again cold, the chill touch left by death upon her. While all the rest had been illusion certainly, the weariness of body and the ache in her heart were very much real.

“Magus Veluthil, Lord Nuitari welcomes you to his embrace. To kill something simply because you can not have it, takes a darkness of soul that only those of the black shall ever understand.” The black arch mage strode forward, a flare of negative energies bursting along her fingertips. “You would sacrifice your family for magic, very well. His lordship will ensure this sacrifice is made in full. Never will you create a family of your own.”

The hand filled with magic slammed into her abdomen, and a searing pain filled her body as the magic took hold. More agony shot through her body, ripping and tearing away parts inside of her with a vicious brutality, until she collapsed once more in a heap.

Black silk danced across the corner of her vision, wrapping about her slender frame where she lay crumpled. Moaning lightly at the hellish pain she stretched out her fingers in an effort to rise.. her last thought before blacking out was knowing the true price she had paid for the magic.