Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » The Unbinding (1x1 w/Monkeycyborgninja)

When Bathe was just a lad, no more then sixteen or seventeen dragons were in control of the country to the farrest north. The Ember Isle was ruled by these fire breathing tyrants but a revolutionary rose to combat them. Sedgwick the Swordswinger was a great warrior and an even better leader but in a grand battle with the Dragon King Tatsuya he was vaporized with the mighty dragons flames of blue. Many men lost there lives slaying dragons but Sedgwick never even suffered a single burn until this fight where he was slayed like the beasts he fight, by the beasts he fought. The Dragons were just about pushed out of these northern isles because of Sedwick and his army of Sword Skin soldiers, but his death was no act of heroism for one young fighter...

Two hundred and fifty years ago Bathe, son of Sedgwick was a young mage. Upon hearing of his fathers death he stole his masters most powerful spell book and went to confront the beast alone. Tatsuya was not threatened in anyway by Bathe's pathetic spells and so burn him away Tatsuya did not. Instead the dragon used some of his own magic to bind the boy to his stollen spell book. Trapped forever in this dorm with no way to age or be destroyed, and apart from being able to levitate Bathe could not cast spells without the touch of mortal skin on his covers.

Bathe had been passed from Wabbaloq trader, to Bearon Mage, to Basil witch doctor, to Elven she-wizard. So many faces that did nothing for him, never even got close to helping him become human again, there was a point where a werewolf fell in love with him and lost her life fighting two wolf mages for him but still to no avail. As for right now he was in the hands of a Bearon salesman known as Icias, his price was five hundred silvers and no one wanted him. Unloved, unappreciated, undying. Pages had been torn out of him and he had even been buried TWICE! He just wanted to be released, or at least a friend...

Back in the Ember Isles the grandson of the wizard whom Bathe originally stole the book from was in the library reading his Grandfathers journals. Unknown to Bathe this figure, not much older then Bathe himself, had his own reasons for needing his grandfathers strongest spell book back, he had no idea who had happened to it. The Dragon menace all but dead, secluded in the most northern reaches of the Ember Isles. And with danger far from this grandsons mind, he set off to find Bathe, or as the book was once known "The Psijic Text".

Nearly a year after Vincent had set out on his journey, he had finally found Icias, the legendary merchant who sold spell books of the most powerful kind. With nothing with a drawing of the book from his grandfathers journal he didn't recegnize the face on the book. "This one is usually five hundred silvers," Icias scratched the fur between his thighs as he switched his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other, "but since I like ya, I'll give it to ya for four ninty five!" The Bearon, with mud and mead stains on his once white fur let out a thunderous laugh, he was a little bigger then fifteen feet tall and he had the fat to ad weight to that. "What do ya say Mage? Want the talking book??"

He found it, after a year of tireless searching, he finally found it. Vincent stared in awe of it, The Psijic Text, the epitome of his grandfather's work, of which he spent the best years of his life compiling and perfecting until it was one of the greatest Arcane Grimoires of all time. It had been two hundred and fifty years since the book was lost, and now, it was mere inches away from hands, just waiting to be taken back to its rightful home. However, there was something... off about it, specifically the large human face that adorned the cover. Vincent looked back at the sketch in his grandfather's journal, the book before him matched both the visual and the written description to a tee, save for the face. Usually such an odd defect would make anyone believe it to be a forgery, but it was just too perfect otherwise, there's no way somebody would go to the trouble of replicating the text so precisely just to slap a retarded looking face on it. No, whatever that face was, it was plastered on the genuine Psijic Text.

Vincent reached into his pocket, about to pull out the necessary coins in order to purchase the item, when something the Bearon said struck him as strange.

"Yes, of course I... wait, did you say "talking" book?"

The Bearon laughed as he pulled a lever on his cart. The doors of the cart swung closed, "no returns..." The Bearon handed the book off to Vincent, still very much asleep Bathe was handed from one mortal to the next. "Good luck with that one," the creature said hopping onto his cart and tossing the reins forward issuing the horses to begin their long walk east across the Castle Lands, "off to the Sapphire City with us boys." His horses stirred as they galloped away, leaving Vincent on the other side of the stone bridge that separated the large river before them. Alone in seclusion with this strange book and the sounds of horses racing away and water fighting to swim south, what was this book?

Vincent stood in the middle of the road, silently staring as the Bearon and his cart faded from his view. He had a bad feeling about the merchant's reaction, but at the moment, he was too ecstatic about finally finding his grandfather's prized grimoire. He eyed the back cover, because the front adorned the creepy face, and smiled with a sense of wonder in his eyes.

"I can't believe it, I actually have it, the Psijic Text." He said with glee. He really wanted to open it up and read its contents right then and there, but a grimoire of this caliber deserved so much more than to be read in the middle of a dusty road. He reached over his shoulder and opened up his rucksack. "Don't worry, you'll be home soon." he said as he placed the book in the rucksack and placed it back over his shoulder. He began to walk down the trail to the next town but his excitement over accomplishing his mission manifested into him breaking out into a sprint and eventually leaping up into the air, cheering. "I DID IT!!"

Something about Vincent's yelling broke Bathe's light sleep spell, feeling a rush of the mortals first touch and being awoken ever so suddenly Bathe gave a cry out of his own, "What the hell!" Pulling away from the Electromage, Bathe hovered in mid air in front of the younger looking man, he was no longer strapped to that stupid merchants book shelf! "Who are you and what do you want?" Bathe asked trying to keep his distance. He had left the Mages back pack in shreds by accident, but hadn't much noticed it.

(Bathe is supposed to be inside Vincent's rucksack, you know, a back pack, he wasn't touching him when he yelled)

Vinent froze in place at the sudden outburst before turning his head to meet the gaze of the floating Grimoire. The Mage's befuddled expression met the book's irritated gaze, they stared at each other for a few moments before Vincent finally realized what was happening.

"Did... the Psijic Text just... talk?" He said to the air, before realization dawned on him. "Oh, so that's what the merchant meant!" He stated, completely ignoring the book's question.

Bathe looked into the eyes of the mage, "Psijic... Psijic Text? You know Master Balthazar?" Bathe asked referring to his old Wizard Master. Balthazar had been a Basil who had had a 'magic' touch for the spectacular. Magic like no one could imagine, bending oceans to his will by using moon spells and a bit of alchemy. Controlling storm clouds with his knowledge of wind and electricity. "How do you know Balthazar? It's been over two hundred years..."

"He's my grandfather... well, was my grandfather anyway." Vincent replied. "He lived longer than most, and had children later in his life, I'm the son of his youngest child, Cornelius." He explained. "...Wait, shouldn't I be asking you that, how do you know my grandfather?" He questioned.

The Balthazar that Bathe knew had been a stubborn man, not yet a geezer but getting there, probably around his late forties, early fifties. The man had young mages from all over the Ember Isles asking to train them in his extensive knowledge of elemental magic, but he had turned them all down. 'I take no students,' he would say, but for Bathe it was different. Balthazar had been the oldest childhood friend to Bathe's father Sedgewick, "I was his first student." Sedgwick had wanted his son to be a seasoned warrior, but respected that his son had no skill with a sword. So he approached his friend and asked as a personal favor if Balthazar would train Bathe in the ways of the arcane. "My father and your grandfather were the best of friends, only after my father asked him did he begin to accept students..."

"His first student... best of friends?" Vincent parroted, feeling as if he heard this story before. "Wait a minute, are you Bathe, son of the hero Sedgwick?" He inquired, his response coming in the form of the book's surprised look. "You are, aren't you, I remember reading about you in one of my grandfather's journals." He explained, searching to pile of books and maps left behind from his exploded rucksack. He eventually picked up an old looking leather journal, opening it up and turning it to a specific page.

"Let's see... ah, here it is 'Today, I find myself in a most peculiar and troublesome situation, in recent years the only people daft enough to interrupt my research are old friends whom I haven't seen in years, heroes-to-be seeking council on arcane matters that threatened the land, and greenhorn mages who wish to further their knowledge in the ways of magic; believe my surprise when I find all three standing at my door. Sedgwick, my oldest friend whose young face I can still recall perfectly in my earliest of memories, had come to visit me in my private dwelling, for more than just to reminisce of the past I am afraid. In the years that I had gone into seclusion, a great threat had come across the land, one that Sedgwick was fully intent on putting an end to, but before that, he wished to prepare his son, Bathe, in the ways of battle, so he may one day take his place in his righteous crusade. Unfortunately, the boy's skill with a blade is so pitiful that he is not to be left alone with anything sharper than the edge of a Crystal Ball lest he gouge his own eyes out, however, he had proven quite cunning and with a bright mind, and so Sedgwick felt that he would be most suited for the Arcane Arts, and so he has brought him to me. Normally I would never take on a student, I do not believe myself patient enough to deal with the naiveté and stubbornness of the young, but alas I could never deny a request from Sedgwick, and so now the boy sleeps in my spare room, awaiting his first day of study. In all honesty, I do not expect much from the boy, but even the most barren of plants can bare fruit, if one is willing to put in the effort.' That's you right?"

Bathe had studied with Balthazar for just over three years to prepare himself for Dragon Slaying with his father. Now none of that mattered, there was probably a half dozen dragons left in the world... If even that. None of it mattered, nothing mattered, "why does it matter?" Bathe had returned from memory lane and was back to the realization that he was freed from that traveling merchant who was a bit more witty then Bathe had originally expected. One of his kinder keepers the boy in the book was still not fond of anyone who treated him like an object. "How do I even know your his grandson and not just some thief mage who is hungry for power?"

"Thief, how the hell am I thief, even if I wasn't Balthazar's grandson, which I am, I tracked down and purchased the text fair and square, nothing sleazy or thief-like about it." Vincent defended himself. "Plus, I don't plan on using it for power anyway, grandfather never meant for the Psijic Text to be used as a weapon of war, it's a tool for knowledge, an archive for the wisdom of the Mages of this and all other eras, the fact that it was passed around like a battle worn sword should be considered a crime in itself." he asserted. "With that said, the Psijic Text belongs back at Balthazar's Arcadia, where it could be properly safe guarded, and the sooner I get it there, the better." The young Mage approached the sentient book, reaching to grab it out of the air.

As the boy hand touched Bathe and pulled him close the book opened, see Bathe was one of the most powerful spell books in the entire world, but without a mortals touch he couldn't even cast a basic transmutation spell. But as soon as Vincent's mortal hand touched the book Bathe's eyes turned from brown to golden and out of the pages rushed a swarm of angry bees! Buzzing around Vincent's face and stinging him repeatedly, the caused him to drop the book. "Sucker," as soon as Vincent's touch left his cover and spine, the book boy's eyes switched back to a dark brown. He floated away once again, not out of range because he wasn't that fast, "I WILL NOT SIT ON ANOTHER BOOK SHELF FOR TWENTY YEARS!!!"

"GAH, THE BEES!!" Vincent exclaimed as he frantically ran all about, trying to rid himself of the insects. "Grrr, CUT IT OUT!!" The mage exclaimed, raising his hand at the swarm. The Runic Symbol on his fingerless glove began to glow brightly before a Rune Circle appeared right in front of his hand. The bees began glowing the same color and were sucked into the magical circle, disappearing along with it. "...Geez, what the hell was that?" He said with genuine shock and curiosity. He then turned his attention to the book that was slowly floating away from him.

"Oh no you don't, you get back here!" Vincent reached his hand out to him and another Rune Circle appeared, this time just under the book, immobilizing it. Vincent gestured his hand back and the Rune Circle and the book came floating back to him.

"Rune Port..." Bathe said sarcastically, I've got about ten spells in me that would put your little magic trick to shame, and another ten spells that can make your spell null..." Unfortunately he couldn't use any of the twenty spells mentioned without a mortal touch and his pages opened. "Fine, I'll go sit on another self for a decade or two until your home is destroyed by badits or rival mages..."

"Well aren't you just a ray of sunshine." Vincent shot back sarcastically, slightly irritated at the book's attitude. "And "Rune Port", get your spells straight, transportation spells are instantaneous, what I'm using right now is something more akin to levitation, or telekinesis. I'm not surprised though, my grandfather's journal entries did say you had trouble with nomenclature and other technical stuff, anything beyond practicality you didn't even bother with, not a good habit for a mage." He said condescendingly.

"You need a ruin for Telekenisis?" Bathe asked upon returning infront of Vincent. "I have met children with more talent then you! You didn't track me down for power, you tracked me down to be mediocer!" The face on the book was laughing at Vincent now, ruin circles should only be used for teleportation and transmutation,/'d even those can be master 'eventually', with out a ruin circle. Those were for beginners, and being such a powerful artifact, Bathe hadn't been around a mage this weak in quite some time. "Go on, pull a rabbit out of your pants!! I'll clap for you," Bathe said, his pages fluttered as he laughed.