driftfleet | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Who: Lup + anyone!
Broadcast: Yes
Action: Heron / Iskaulit
When: Nowish

Hey there, fleeter friends, let me pick your brain for a few minutes, get those creative juices flowing.

If you could have any kind of magical weapon, armor, or a fancy artifact- what would it be, and what could it do? The theoretical sky is the limit, here, this is just a fun thought experiment.

[Toooootally theoretical. She's not fishing for new stuff to work on, no sir.

Lup can be found easily enough in person as needed, either in her room or in the kitchen on the Heron, or messing around in the smithy onboard the Iskaulit. It's project time.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[......]

Hey, Belth? Bud? Come over to the Iskaulit smithy, huh?

[All smiles and sugar-sweet tone.]

[... okay, that tone is something, but...]

... The smithy? Why? I don't think I can help you there, I'm not strong enough to lift anything.

[you poor dumbfuck.]

Because I can't kick your ass over the comm network, obviously.

[He is so fucking dead.]

Is that supposed to convince me to go?!

It'll be worse if you make me get up and track you down, sooo...

[Go on, test her. She has teleportation spells and she's not afraid to burn them out of spite.]

[He is so fucking dead he might as well just yeet himself into the cold vacuum of space. This is a instinctive fear he has not felt for some time... the wrath only an older sister can inspire. There's a certain look, a tone of voice. He remembers.]

Okay, okay, I'll come! Just don't kill me, all right?!

Nah, I won't kill you. It's pointless here, right? You'd just come back.

[Because that's the only reason.]

[... Very reassuring.]

... That isn't what I wanted to hear, exactly, but I'll take it.

[He'll be showing up at the smithy soon, and not looking happy about it. He can't figure out what Lup would want with him if she doesn't beat the snot out of him. Maybe the whole idea is to test how well he casts without a focus. He's ready to defend himself, even if it's a foregone conclusion against someone like Lup or Taako.]

[Is he ready to defend himself against the chalkboard brush that's suddenly flying towards his head? Because that's happening.]

[He throws up his hand in a snap, stopping the chalkboard brush with a shield of flame. It's obviously a close one judging by how wide-eyed he is.]

Can't we just talk about this like adults?!

[says the dumbfuck teenager]

[Fuck, he dodged. Well, good thing she had a contingency plan- and now that she's aware of the problem, she's watching how he casts like a goddamn hawk.]

Maybe when you act like one, you dumbass!

[And with an upraised fist, shaken in his direction, she redirects her Mage Hang levitating behind him to give the brush another good throw at the back of his head.]

[He has an edge in this because of the instinctive way he casts magic. He can feel it as a part of himself and the world around him, an edge only strengthened by the mage-sight. But it's not foolproof. And he definitely gets beaned by that second attempt.

He stumbles a bit forward and drops his shield so he can clutch at the back of his head.]

What part of taking responsibility for my own failures is childish?!

[Okay, cool, so it's not foolproof. And he apparently failed his concentration check so that's doubly-satisfying.]

The part when you completely fail to learn from those failures and use them to fix your own shit!

[Who can keep concentrating when being attached by an angry schoolmarm?]

What was I supposed to do, enchant a stick and hope it doesn't fail me? Conjure magical ingredients out of nowhere? I haven't found anything suitable for my incantations since I got here. I had to mold rocks to find something halfway suitable for mana gems, and those are completely inert.

This universe sucks at magic and I wasn't about to stop what I was doing just because of a little danger!

Wrong, dumbshit! You ask for help!

[Just try calling her that out loud, see what kind of dent she makes in your head then!]

A stick's better than nothing at all! What the fuck do you think this is? [She pulls the wooden spoon from her belt, pointing it at him.] It's my focus! You think I couldn't kick your ass into next week with this? You think it makes me weaker to use it, just because it isn't some fancy overpriced chunk of metal?

[Belthazar makes a face like that possibility never actually fucking occurred to him, because it didn't. He's had friends who were talented in magic, sure, but no one with the precise set of skills he has. He's known Taako and Lup for long enough that he could have, in theory, asked about a focus. But he didn't. He never even asked the network.

Other people could help? Other people could help. He stares mutely as she shoves a spoon in his face though he leans back slightly. The sound of yelling makes his ears pin against his head tightly like a cat, and he shrinks a bit, like he wants to run. He very sorely does, but he also wants to stand his ground because-- because. Because he's stubborn, that's why. Pride and wrath are his two greatest sins.

Which is why he continues this stupid shouting match.]

I don't make things like that! I make floating potted plants and dresses that change color, and macarons that are every flavor you can think of, and cakes that sparkle and journals that lock at a command, and -- [His voice trembles.] -- gems that store mana so I don't have to go draining people when I get thirsty.

I can't make arcane focuses or weapons and I don't want to! I don't want to hurt people!

[And that right there? That makes her pause. Practically a breakthrough, that one. She takes in his words, his tone, his body language, the implications which may or may not lie between what he's actually saying.

It's an interesting perspective, but not one that she especially likes. So, y'know. Something to poke at, there.

She lowers her spoon and closes the distance between them, standing in front of him and eyeing him over. When she speaks, her voice is quieter, infinitely more calm.]

Belth, what do you think a focus is?

[Lup doesn't shout back but he's still tense, still ready to act reflexively if hit. Her quiet voice gets him to look up finally, his expression cautious and confused. It's been a while since he looked like this. He feels twelve again. And considering how he's still hunched over a bit, he looks it, too.

She's too close but he's afraid of moving, now. So he just looks up at her and hopes against hope he's not about to get completely destroyed. Something about the change in tone is... scarier than the yelling, because he doesn't know what she'll do.]

It's a-- a vertex. [Rambling book definitions helps at a time like this. He talks far too fast and doesn't breathe, but that's normal.] A point of magical energies initiated by the caster so they can anchor a spell and prevent irregularities from tainting the ritual. It can also amplify the natural abilities of the caster. Over time an arcane focus can also take on some qualities of its owner, which is why archmages' staves are usually passed down to their successors. Materially, they're generally found as staves and quarterstaves, wands, and enchanted daggers and swords.

[That's... the answer she wanted, right?]

Bzzt. Wrong.

[Very precise, very technical. Very accurate.

Very empty.]

Lots of words about what it does and what it can be made of. That's not what it is. Try again.

[He's being tested. Critical thinking under pressure. He scrambles for another answer.]

It's a-- an extension of the caster?

[That doesn't sound right but it's what he's got.]

Hmm... closer. I'll take it.

[Lup holds her focus between both hands, spinning it slowly. It's intricately decorated, carved tongues of red-hot flames creeping up the handle and neck, ending with a cascade of stars in the bowl. However pretty it might be, it's still just a wooden spoon, and the only magic attached to it is leftover energy from her spells. As she said, nothing fancy.]

Pure magic is volatile, a living thing. Call it the Weave, or the will of the gods, or whatever you named it in your plane of existence- it's all the same. Pure anything is stronger and ultimately more dangerous than a diluted form, you have to know that much. A focus is the dilution of that power. It's a partner, a shield, a tool- something to help you use magic, instead of it using you. The Weave is drawn in, and then out- redirected through the focus and towards your target. If you use yourself as a focus, that magic can go anywhere, including back inside of you.

[She abruptly stops her spinning.]

You said you make salves, because of how you do spellcasting. Tell me what happened- any example you can think of.

[His body language eases slightly as she launches into an explanation. Of course raw arcane energy is the most volatile-- that's not news. But it's never stopped him before.]

One of my first ideas here was to make a mana gem that would store sunlight and convert it to mana. I had a friend help me, a human who could build robots. But when I tried the formula, the entire gem exploded.

If a spell backfires like that it just means it wasn't perfect. And I think part of the problem was the shape, as you showed me.

Yeah, I'm not interested in excuses or reasons. It's all bullshit used to dance around what happened: you got hurt because of your own spell.

[She shoots him an interrogating look.]

And that's happened a few times. Right?

[The way he'd phrased the original comment that set her off sure made it seem that way.]

[His ears pin against his hair again. Okay, nope, she's still mad. But he's incensed too, his frustration at his own limits clear and bubbling just beneath the surface.]

Y... yes, but-- if it's my research, then that's fine. Advancements aren't made without risk and if it's just me, then it's a risk I'll take for as many times as it takes!

[That's about what she'd expected from him - more excuses, more justification - and since she'd been prepping a spell for when they inevitably came, she thrusts a hand out and fires it off as soon as he finishes. A shard of ice flies right past his ear, stabbing itself into the wall directly behind him. With a burst of arcane energy it explodes out in all directions - and towards him - but she expertly twists her spoon, weaving the magic to go where she wills it, and the shrapnel of her attack strikes in a delicate semi-circle around him, damaging only the floor and the nearest wall, the attack curving harmlessly outside his space. The shards of ice vanish a few seconds later, but they leave behind uncomfortably shredded pieces of broken tile and metal where they impacted the decor. Let that do what it will for his imagination.

Meanwhile Lup lowers her arm and waits, watching his reaction.]