Path of Shadows (Sonneillon/Synkkis, PM for entry)

[Synkkis Kyyneltya]

"Heh." The Shaman looked on with satisfaction. Whatever he did it worked and that was the most important thing. "Because of how difficult it is to cast, we have to do what it takes to act accordingly within combat when someone running up on you may be able to get in some good swings that'd put you out of action. In this regard, unorthodox and sly tactics work. You have to be creative and work well under pressure. Much easier than the elementalists who can summon a flurry of nature's furies to do all the work for them." The room started to warm up a little bit now. With Synkkis' free hand he grabbed some more spare wood for the fire.

In the corner of the room sat a chair with a broken leg and as he held it to bring it over to the fire he changed his mind on the spot and set it down in a clear space of the room. "I don't quite know the language you use for your tome, but mine is one that has both an older text and its Bernese translations. It took me quite some time to be able to cast proper spells and even so in the process I learned two new languages. That makes four now. Don't let your inability to cast well beat you down. The Elder Arts has a steep learning curve, but once you get a hold of it you'll find it allows you much more options than conventional magic."

Kyyneltya squatted back down next to the fire and started flipping through the pages in his tome. Without looking up at Sonneillon, he spoke to him again. "Has your body warmed up yet? Nevermind. Even if not, I want you to try and hit that chair over there with at least one tendril. Once you do that try two tendrils from opposite directions. Then try three and then four. Four usually does the trick when striking an actual enemy that's out for your blood." he said rather coldly and detached as if the thought of being in combat was just as natural as getting dressed in the morning.

In the intervals of him flipping pages, he'd twirl his finger through his white mohawk and tug on it gently. Even now he hadn't replaced his gloves just yet and thought nothing of the markings on his arm. Whether Sonneillon would take note of them or not didn't even cross his mind. "Most importantly, do what's effective and works for you. Everything else is a distraction." he said, now looking over to the boy. "Only repetition will help you out once you get the hang of it. Whatever you do, don't overstress your attacks. The chance of being one of the Silent is very real. I... I've never met one, but I've heard stories." he said as he looked away towards the chair - more so averting his eyes. To be perfectly honest Synkkis quite often put a lot of power behind his attacks and as such lacked in the technique in which he controlled the tendrils. His Flux acted more like a firepot exploding on an enemy than a concentrated and elaborate attack from all directions. He was curious as to how Sonneillon would develop his style.

[Sonneillon]

"Right... Okay. Unorthodox tactics."

The pupil nodded, warming himself and laying his cloak out to dry. As Synkkis ordered him to attack the chair, Neil nodded, standing up. The room was becoming comfortable, and although goosebumps still showed on his bare chest, accentuating his skin-and-bones build, the pupil stood firm and ready.

"Aeternis tenebris, circumda tibi nectens tuum sit!"

Tendrils spun out from his hands and dove into the ground like worms seeking a juicy bit of compost, wriggling away into the earth. A moment passed, and then two, three, four, five... An innumerable horde of tendrils exploded from the ground around the chair, descending on it like the plague and striking it with the force of a wisp of cloud.

That is, the tendrils passed through the chair, not even interacting with the object.

Breathing heavily, Neil shook his head in disbelief.

"I... What? Why aren't they... Solid?"

Slumping into a crouch, hanging his head in weary shame, the pupil regressed into gloom and self-loathing.

"Well, looks like my magic's useless. What's a Silent, by the way? Seems like I might be better suited to being one of those, if my guess is right... Damn it, I can't even cast."

[Synkkis Kyyneltya]

Sitting down on the floor, Synkkis opened up his canteen and took some water from it, enjoying the cool taste now that he had a bit of warmth around him. He saw how Sonneillon was entirely focused on casting his spell. The dark pupil was quick to shoot himself down, but what could he lack so much confidence about? Was it something else?

The Shaman watched the boy's attack himself and was impressed with the display. He managed to have control over the tendrils better than him in a way, actually. They weren't so different after all. But when he was ready for the well ornamented attack to strike the chair, he nearly choked as he spit some of his water up. "W-wait... what!?" Kyyneltya exclaimed in surprise. He'd never seen a Flux attack have absolutely no effect before. "Did you perform the entire incantation? I've never seen anything like that ever happen." he asked, puzzled.

Sonneillon had asked him something else, though, he noticed and quickly replied. "A Silent is someone who's been consumed by the void. They lose their personality and only are a shell of who they actually were. Apparently they mirror the personalities of those talking to them. It's not a way to be." Synkkis answered, the double meaning at the end there really striking home with what he was trying to say. Luckily he had not met one of these people, but even more so he hoped he'd never become one of them. It was a risk in their art.

[Sonneillon]

"Yeah. That's what happens. I can shoot little gobs of Flux and large balls, but when I try to bring all its potential to bear in the form of tendrils, they don't have any effect. I'm not misreading or misspeaking... It just doesn't work for me. I did get it to work once, but then I had one of my seizures afterward, so I can't count it as a success."

Shuddering at the shaman's explanation, Neil grimaced as he imagined himself becoming one of the Silent. Becoming everyone he interacted with...? Losing his sense of identity...? Becoming merely a husk, a body, with no spark of life within?

What an utterly terrifying fate.

"That would be... awful. It's almost petrifying beyond belief."

Why couldn't he cast? What was he doing wrong?!

[Synkkis Kyyneltya]

Sighing, the Shaman looked to the boy from across the fire. "I can only imagine. Thankfully I haven't ran into one just yet." He gripped his Flux tome tightly in his hands and flipped open the pages, looking at the sections devoted to casting. He honestly couldn't tell what the boy's incantation was, but the boy was most likely spot on if he had received instruction. Perhaps his sacrifices to the void weren't enough? Did they reject him for some reason? If that were the case then nothing would've happened when he recited the text...

Closing his tome, Synkkis posed a question. "What was so different about the time that actually worked?" he asked. The shaman paused, looking into the fire. "Have you ever killed a man?"

[Sonneillon]

"When I cast the tendrils successfully, my old mentor was about to fall into a chasm. I saved him, and then immediately had one of my seizures."

The pupil shrugged, but then immediately spoke up again.

"Sorry, I didn't really explain. When I push the limits of my casting, I sometimes pass out, see the symbols of my tome floating around in my mind, on a backdrop of black, and hear a voice chanting in my head. It goes something like this:

Discipulus auctorem passionem crucis
Redemptionem in regnum immergunt
Obstinata mente divina vincula
Da locum ignis pastor.

Ego superbus,
Agens autem et substantiam,
Necesse est vexillifer.
Et me belli,
Is armata in forti
Confortat infirmos,

Ira tua ego sum.
Ego sum, quam meretur iniquitas tua.
Ego sum ​​cupiditas tua.
Ego sum, legem autem tuam.
Ego sum stella.
Et ego te.

Sciatis me nominatim
Ego sum, et tenebræ."

Having recited the mantra, Neil stopped and looked to Synkkis for his response. Hopefully, there would be some simple solution, such as a mispronounced syllable or a lack of concentration, but a nagging sensation told him that he just wasn't good enough... And that he'd never be.

[Synkkis Kyyneltya]

The shaman sighed and stood up. Closing his eyes, he clasped his hands together, the tome pinned between his hands. "It sounds familiar. Here is my own rendition." Opening the tome, Synkkis placed his index and middle finger on the pages inside.

"Prustiik kodaaviik fah traxaav.
Orbalaan ko suleyksejun do komah.
Raalik hah stahdim grin.
Ofan weyt wah yol ustiidiik."

The book started to glow and crackle with electricity, yet an orb of it emerged from the pages. It flashed and flickered in the dark room, the fire and sparks battling one another's light on the stone walls.

"Zu'u los zokah do,
Droliik ahrk himur.
Nii los praagek do Qurnen.
Yen mul,
Gemulaag sahlo."

The orb begun to take shape as the symbols seen in the book. The image would change with each current, but they were rigid and precise. The sphere grew in size, reaching a crescendo.

"Zu'u los hin rahgot.
Zu'u los, fein hin iniquity qaariv.
Zu'u los hin tarvok.
Zu'u los, nuz thy thun dreh.
Zu'u los fil.
Ahrk Zu'u hi."

The symbol disappeared, leaving a few wisps that converged into a black ball of inky darkness. It erupted in a bright flame that did not look like anything natural to their realm. It bubbled internally before the weight caused it to drip to the floor, the darkness seeping into the ground vanishing from view.

"Hi fend mindok zey naal for.
Zu'u los vulom."

A large hex glowed on the floor beneath the chair and four tendrils broke from the earth and smashed inwards towards the chair, imploding the points on contact and then releasing the pent up energy by exploding outwards. The chair itself wasn't much to look at anymore, but there was a hanging presence in the air of just how serious this power was. It wasn't something to be pushed away and played with. It was designed to kill and maim and that's exactly what it did to that poor inanimate object.

Taking a deep breath and rubbing his temples, Synkkis looked over to Sonneillon. "I think you're just going through the motions. You have a basic understanding of how to handle the Elder Arts, but you do not understand what they really are - to truly devastate and sate the abyss' hunger. You sacrificed once to save your teacher and you finally got a result. That's what this art is; it's only one of pain and sacrifice. There is nothing good to come from the skills learned from the nether. That is only possible in what you use the power for."

[Sonneillon]

"Pain... and sacrifice? But what if I don't want to sacrifice myself? Can the pain be someone else's pain, the sacrifice theirs instead of mine?"

Neil spoke quickly, his tone revealing that he still wasn't much more than a youngling. Still afraid of pain and loss, still gripped by the hand of fear.

"No. No, I have to become strong. If it means pain and sacrifice, then that's what I'll undergo. I just don't seem to understand how I sacrifice... Is there a trick to that?"

The pupil searched within himself, trying to find a way to sacrifice, a way to give of himself... But instead of finding something he wished to keep, he stumbled upon that which he sought to cast away. Memories of his parents, those who bore him into the world, and those who had dumped him in the gutter and disappeared, leaving him to fend for himself.

Bile rose in Neil's throat, but he forced it down as he began to tremble in rage. How dare they? How dare they, his parents, his blood, his family... toss him aside like a scrap from the table?

Raising his arms, the pupil narrowed his eyes and focused on the crippled chair, the pieces littering the floor.

"Aeternis tenebris, circumda tibi nectens tuum sit!"

Barking it out, the pupil realized something. He hated his parents. Hated his mother and father, who had betrayed him. He loathed them as one loathed a roach or a rat.

And the darkness smiled. One small tendril came forth, grabbing a leg of the chair, and then collapsing again, leaving the rod smashed in two pieces on the floor.

The pupil felt like weeping.

[Synkkis Kyyneltya]

The shaman saw that it took a toll on him. Perhaps the Elder Arts weren't much of a match for the young man, but he was determined to go through with it. It showed his resolute strength which he had to push through the first few months of experimenting with the odd magic. He still didn't recognize the language he had used, but either way he figured it was more of what was going through his mind that troubled him more than the after effects and wear from the void.

He felt like congratulating the boy on accomplishing the feat, but that's not what he needed at that moment - or so he thought. He remained silent, watching. He squatted down and tended to the fire more, the flame building and melting away the thick haze of pressure in the air. A flickering light of hope and comforting warmth. While Synkkis knew nothing of light magic, he could see how they would be drawn to it.

It didn't sit right with him, however. Perhaps it was something else. While he could feel these outside pulls towards anima and light magic, he was very comfortable in his dark corner so to speak. It invigorated him and ultimately gave him strength.

Pulling his attention away from the fire pit and towards the young boy, Synkkis gave him a blank expression yet it was leaning towards paying attention to Sonneillon and his own reactions. "Is it worth it?" he asked, raising his eyebrows into an inquisitive look.