“No traps,” he said thoughtfully as he looked about the room. as more and more people descended. The group was certainly diverse, and seemed to have quite a few experienced hands, albeit that is how it often goes. The man who had begun to search for traps, was quite well armoured. Azytzeen know that the man was well armed to face threats in small spaces. Azytzeen peered down at his own sheathed blade. Ten pounds of metal weighted reassuringly on his hip. His one eye peered around the room trying to make out anything important when a cone of light flared brightly.
“Well more light can’t hurt, though you might want to save your magic for something…life threatening.”
While the rest began to enter the room one by one, Azytzeen continued to simply stare about the room. With a pondering gaze, his single eye traced first over the tipped vase, then the script along the surface of the walls, and lastly the foot prints. It was certainly visited, but the most important thing is what happened. He took note of the vase, cleaned yet tipped over as though all the work to it meant nothing. Researchers are a studious bunch, if anything can be learned at the Lorespire, it is that all researches are meticulous in their field. At least the good ones. The ashy foot prints also left a bit of doubt that this places was simply an empty ruin. Turning his one-eyed gaze from the vase he began to watch the two latest entrants go about their work.
That they certainly are, they moved with purpose holding their baubles and devices of their trade. He himself wasn’t sure exactly what they were doing, but no doubt they were recording and gathering as much information as possible. They looked like treasure hunters to him though. They all had the same kind of feeling coming off them. Switching the Lantern to his left hand he eyed them at their work. He was not disappointed, no sooner had the woman shined light on the upright vase something something came bubbling and rising. Of course, always after a glib comment. His sword, Laevateinn, already a blur of silver, ten pounds of sharpened metal ready to slay. Likewise by the time his blade had been drawn he could only stare quizzically at the thing as the black shapeless mass, along with its incessant angry chattering, disappeared down the hall.
“Well, did you find any treasure?” Azytzeen gave a boyish grin as he looked over at Anatase.
The blue flickering around his sword, though dull to begin with faded as he rest the flat of the blade against his shoulder. Watching the two with a bemused smile he gave the vase one last glance before turning his attention to the rest of the group and following Celestine It was then that he got the feeling of being watched. It’s not the feverish paranoia madmen have, he’s felt it before the tell tale sign was as familiar as the hilt of his sword.
I hate being watched.
Throughout his life as a Psyker he had always lived with the feeling of being maliciously watched. His mind open to the vast space that is called the Immaterium, the Aether. The beings that reside there are not shaped by nature, completely formed by pure emotion and thought. Not a single one could be considered benevolent. Regardless of this entity’s true purpose, the one reason Azytzeen refused to ignore it was purely based on it’s incessant and perverse peeping. It irked him, the bastard hiding in its tower watching them like some amused god. He despised that way it made his skin crawl. He never liked the feeling when as a child he tasted what it was like to have his mind invaded. He certainly doesn’t like the tower. Grey hues peered out at the tower, as he and the party moves forward. With each ticking second his patience for the entity was already at its lowest point from the start. Now what little that had been left vanished.
Fine you cheeky bastard let’s see what you look like.
Stopping he took in a deep breath, invisibly his psychic presence expanded, searching over every surface as it stretched towards the Tower of Glass. His psychic influence is like the thousands of eyes and hands searching and looking. As the seconds passed by nothing seemed to happen, not any glowing nor even a simple ripple against his psychic influence. He was debating about simply ignoring the tower when the vile presence finally made itself known. When a pair of eyes appeared staring straight at him his stomach turned cold.
No sooner was he about to step through the doorway he stopped dead. The first two seconds would be that small feeling of dread everyone gets. They know the feeling, like a sixth sense that tells you to cover your arse, ‘cause you are in for a ride. When the eyes came he could feel it. Its mind held a terrible power, the first of his psychic wards crumbled beneath the strain. His entire body goes stiff. Due to both the invasive entity, but also now he has to concentrate. He would have laughed at the entity feasting on his memories, if he wasn’t busy focusing every ounce of his will to push the creature back, and feed it some of his most hated ones. The air around his body became cold, hoarfrost began to slowly spread out from his feat. There is the smell of burnt sugar and weird dreams, not in anyway identifiable. The now cold air rippled like water, as if matter was beginning to squirm.
He began to push back. Trained by Preceptor Fellgrave, tempered by the knowledge of the Lorespire he gathered his will. The being was by far the most powerful he had come across. Regardless, he would still escape. He has no other choice. His psychic self smiled mischievously as he began to feed it some of his worst memories. He showed it the first time he ever used his cursed eye. The first time he peered into the Empyrean. It would see the horror, the mass of raw thought taking hideous form. A memory he was fine with forgetting, he certainly had plenty of those to share. Still the creature kept digging, stripping, endlessly feeding and searching.
Blood began to leak from his left eye.
It throbbed, hidden behind the Artificer’s eye-patch his cursed eye throbbed painfully. Its pale malevolently light though hidden glowed furiously under the entity’s mental onslaught. Suddenly before the entity’s presence a flaming blue eye wreathed by snakes flared between Azytzeen and the it. Shit. It looked at the psychic presence of the entity with almost an amused glance. The ward specific to Azytzeen began to burn furiously at the presence with psychic fire, more to push the being away that truly harm it. He wasn’t certain if he could fully kill the entity, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up. He may be a high Delta by the Lorespire’s rankings, alas Azytzeen knew he would be outmatched. The creature seemed more than simply malicious, it gave a trade with each memory it took it gave one in return.
Not that any of it helped. Much of it made little to no sense, jumbled more or less. Not that it out weighed the vile feeling of being mentally invaded. Just like he remembered, his physical body feels as though its at the bottom of the ocean forced to hold a heavy boulder. While trying to swim up. Though powerful, there is a price to shift through someone’s mind. The entity is in his mind. What is seconds out side feels like hours in the mental struggle. “Someone give me a shake,” hoarsely and with difficulty he managed to get the words out. He has managed to slow the creature down, the ward, to his chagrin is working fine, though he will have a talk with the artificer when he can even worry about it.
He needed an anchor to the material world.
He hoped by whatever gods are in fashion, that someone give him a shake. Even a bump, he’d be eternally grateful.