Garion

“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. Experienced. 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. Uh-oh. 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.

@Jotnotes Azytzeen will give it a try, for sure. Wouldn't be the first time something tried playing in his head. My post will be up here soon.

@Jotnotes How much is Azytzeen allowed to defend himself? Can he pick an especially ugly memory to send to the entity? I'm starting to like this place more and more.

@Jotnotes Azytzeen uses his wytch/witch sight to, check out that Lantern tower he's gonna peep on the dirty peeper, looking for any psychic foot prints left behind by the two missing researchers, as well as any traps or anything hidden by illusion or etc. He'll continues this as they enter the swanky ancient plumbing system.

@jaistlyn Wouldn't a mount also affect movement?

Huehuehuehue Killing nasties on horseback, Azytzeen is gonna be living the dream.

@Jotnotes Yeup! I'm at work today and may have to stay late, but I'll have that post out tomorrow if that's okay?

=D

The Advocacy was there as always, wither to search and root out any possible threat to their king, but to also and often, deliver direct orders from the king. Glorified messengers it would seem. Watching as one of the Advocacy’s ships lift off, leaving both Azytzeen and his horse quite dissatisfied with the turn of events that transpired. The new apprentice stepped off the airship, looking all self important and smug, handed him a letter and simply said ‘read it’. It was obvious the man had a distaste in dealing with Azytzeen. It couldn’t be that it was because he gave a resounding ‘no’ when asked to join. No, it had to be making these poor sods fly out and deliver a message. Better things to do and all that. Yeah, that had to be it, couldn’t be that he told that exact snobbish prick to shove their request for him to join up his arse. It was months ago. “I’m getting too old,” with a defeated sigh he patted his old companion. With a derisive snort the horse maintained a glare on its flat and quite ugly face. Azytzeen was certain the horse probably thought of very rude things. Rude indeed. The horse was far to intelligent for its own good. Though it did often give the Psyker a reason to punch the bastard in the head. The smoke blue horse seemed to shudder. “Well, let’s see what our gracious king commands of us.” Of course he never would receive letters from old friends, most were dead and well, the other is a floating head. The latter not being the best to have much conversation with. After all, it's quite the startling experience. Folding the letter back up he gives a heavy sigh. Patting his trusty and unfriendly steed he couldn’t help but wonder if he was getting too old. To Yh’mi we go,” the big man gave with a chuckle . When he arrived to Yh’mi the first two things most noticed about him was his armor, and his size. He himself had set aside his laurels, and his full plate, and even the barding of his steed. He wore simple half-plate, leather and a cloak, and had a hauberk of good chain. Should normal folk and even soldiers come upon him in the driving rain, they would certainly mistake him for a brigand or even a sell-sword. It was with this unseemly disguise he set out on his King’s request. All in order to perform his duty. In his right hand, shod in articulated steel were the reins to his horse. A smoke blue warhorse, massive in size and muscle. Complementing its rider. Azytzeen’s bigness wasn’t that of the flesh. It was of corded well tempered muscle and ropey tendons. Broad shouldered and powerfully built, the very essence of a native to the Shawnee. Though he was a knight, or should he more aptly say once was? No matter. No doubt indeed he looked more the mercenary than one with Knightly discipline. He certainly wasn’t a handsome man, mayhaps once but no more. If not for the hideous scars that marred his face. An ornate eyepatch covered the ruined flesh that was his left eye, sadly it did not cover the scars that wreathed his face. Like snakes those scars twisted themselves from his left eye to above and under his right. When he smiled, it caused those very scars to slither as if alive. Though he did have the smile of a brigand up to no good rather than that of a man of honor. Not that the armor helped. He did have to say, that the tension was just like any battlefield. The kind of tension you don't get fighting simple armies. No, monsters are certainly the only ones capable of of making his left eye itch. Incessantly. Especially when he looked at the bottom left quadrant. “Let’s make the best of this Faran,” patting the horse he tapped his flanks with his heels and set off toward the group. Switching the reins to his left, he pulling the sword from the baldric strapped on the left of his saddle. The sword of war was ten pounds of sharpened steel, polished and resting comfortably against his shoulder. Passing Eri, the horse Faran brought the heavy bastard riding him as close as he possibly could to Gormaric. Well, close enough as to where Faran’s flat ugly face viciously stared at the ebon knight. Faran, being the beast it was thought this would and truly agitate Azytzeen. With a final derisive snort, almost as if it was looking down on the world turned the situation over too Azytzeen. “Sorry ‘bout that, he’s a bit temperamental. Might want to step to the side a bit more though, he has been known to bite people. ‘Damn horse, I ought to beat you senseless.’ Though he tried to be as polite as the Shawnee barbarian in him would allow, he doubted Faran would make him many friends on this trip. Though he would like to kill the horse, it was the best damn steed he ever had. To his chagrin. As much as he would have like to punch his horse a few times, in this situation he could only bull the reins and give Faran his most fearsome one eyed stare, “The name is Azytzeen, here on request.” he gave each one a good try at an amiable smile, sadly he certainly failed at it. “This unruly beast is Faran, he’s a rude bastard but you watch and see he has his uses. Truly he more than likely would have chosen this group to begin with, after all they were certainly interesting. Especially the woman dressed like a priestess. He came here to fight monsters, and make connections. Why not do both? “Ser, I have faced monsters before, but I am told the ones here are quite something else.” He turned his focus back to Gormaric. “I certainly would listen to any information on how to properly kill the nasty bastards.” He gave another hideous smile. @Fierach @EpicRome23 @Tyler @A Most Sovereign Lady [Bottom Left]

I'll have a post up Wednesday Storm came in and I have work tomorrow. Is that okay? @jaistlyn

Awww yeah

Azytzeen is ready. = ^ =