Terminus: The Patron's Mark II

[20:03] The magus populace of Antefinem seemed to have grown rather reserved as of late, either retired to foreign duties overseas, or otherwise within the comfort of their own dormitories. Lesser magi took their place for the time being, amongst countless guardsmen on their patrols.

By time, a Sterling Ryder was to arrive? A small detail of guardsmen would lead up the spire to inform others taken to post. After all, they were expecting him.

Word was beginning to spread, of the Patron of Antefinem -- An entity of supernatural prowess and growing menagerie of capabilities. Eventually, one would find the top floor of the spire, with bulkier guardsmen standing post -- heavy stares holding with one's passing them by. Within this top floored room? A shrine...

One such room glorified by columns that'd encompass a wide pool of abyssal substance. Had they proved alchemically inclined? They'd manage to identify the substance was being a concoction of preservatives, mixed in with something else.

Unlike the other parts of the isle, or even portions of the spire? This room seemed to house men and women donned in cloth versus metal; Ebony and Crimson colors all the same, although moreoff resembling a clergy. At the head of this congregation of meditating clergymen, was one donned in a more regal variant -- An elder that rose up to their feet at the sound of of footsteps. They seemingly stumbled as they done so, pushing themselves upright with a cane to assist their passage.

''Per Laurentius' claim, it would appear you have a visitor, Maledictus.''

The elder: The Maledictus, picked their head up, hooded yet allowing the room's ambient light to illuminate their wrinkled visage. Just the glint of their azure pupils managed, gazing for Sterling once they had crossed the threshold of the shrine room.
''Ah... Then, what the Insignis said had merit? Is it true, then''
The Maledictus spoke out for the youthful man.

''Have you come from the distant mainland, for our Lord's blessing?''
(Etheric Presence)

[20:09] Sterling certainly didn't expect such a welcome on coming to Antefinem, hands had immediately gone to guns at their sides upon being greeted by armed guards, though they quickly relaxed from their guarded stature, walking along with the guards up to the room of the shrine, regarding it with a head tilted upwards.

The drakanite had a confident gait, stepping into the shrine and glistening in what light was in the room, silver scales reflecting light, an orange glow occasionally coming from underneath random spots in between them, like explosions going off.

Their chin is tilted upwards as they regard The Maledictus. Hands resting on guns, but not in an aggressive stance. Just one that was comforting.

"Yea', ah'm here fer th' blessin' yer offerin'. 's a trade fer power, yea'?" The cowboy raises a brow, on hand going up to shift their hat backwards on their head just slightly. "Ah've got a feelin' ah'll be needin' tha' kinda thing 'ere shortly."
(Sterling Ryder)

[20:20] The elder nodded their head, examining over Sterling's features with a tad bit of scrutiny. Surely, they could've upped security -- However, with most of their known enemies kept at bay via the vast seas or ceasefires? There only needed to be -enough- attention to ensure that whatever antics played out could be mitigated against. After all, they've proven even without other magi assistance to be capable of repelling a single magi.

What was to say they couldn't do it again, if they were forced to?
''Sounds like a Serenity borne accent. Few out there that speak like that.'' The man seemed a tad bit distracted, perhaps trying to catch a feel for whom it was they were interfacing with. Though, at the end of the day, it didn't truly matter.

''Ah, yes... His blessings are something behold.

His word and intent flow through me, thus I is brought to my attention that I should have you know. His blessing comes with a cost...

A tribute -- But you seem to be quite aware of that already.

Might I ask, your name -- Traveler?''
A moment's pause was offered, though the silence would not carry for too long.
''Not that it, nor your ultimate intent truly matter for the ritual to commence.''

Some of the more youthful members of the clergy closer to Sterling's age, pried an eye open from their meditative endeavors, if only to peek at them in curiosity. There were few visitors to the isle, and even fewer that visited with prior knowledge of the Patron. Was it possible that others were growing knowledgeable as to the powers at their wake?
(Etheric Presence)

[20:29] Sterling shakes their head at the assumption of them being from Serenity. Sure, their accent may have been close - but it was far worse, quicker speech meant for a quicker life, with a drawl that could make many struggle to understand what exactly they were saying. "Nah. Ah ain' from Serenity, lad. Not from anywheres till 'ere recently, where ah joined up with Altharim. Nomadic by nature, y'know?"

A raised brow, glancing to the youthful members around them with a look of thought. Wondering just how much they did know about the outside world. Sterling pauses, tipping their hat towards the one addressing them.

"Th' name's Sterling Avar Ryder, since ah'm assumin' you folk're of th'... fancy type, ah'll give y' all parts of m'name." Boot angles off to the side just a bit, getting more comfortable standing in the room, hands falling to belt, thumbs looping into it.

"An' - yea'. Ah'm aware of th' cost in mana. Ah'm - plenty willin' t'take th' loss."
(Sterling Ryder)

[20:44] A traveler from Altharim?
Perhaps, the times were changing after all...
In the past, such a statement would immediately earn spears, but given history as of late -- It would seem that Fortune was doing miracle work for their vassal and Altharim's relations.

''Sterling Avar Ryder -- A pleasure. If you would... Please...'' A hand motioned for their approach around the pool, to meet the Maledictus in person. For the northern front of the shrine room, near the nightscape balcony.

Had there proven to be any confusion, two clergymen rose up to their feet, to meet Sterling at their sides. They would offer guidance, from passage to ensuring there weren't any sudden movements that'd cause them to slip into the ominous pit in the center of the shrine room.

All the while, continued presence in the room -did- draw an awareness to a sensation.
It was in the air...
A coldness...
A thickness...
Ambient mana that impacted the realm on a metaphysical level -- the occasional ember of sapphire glimmering into reality from naught, hovering so still, only to wade with one's passing -- as though the invisible webs that suspended it in the air were briskly disturbed.

Was this... The Deity's presence, they eluded to?

''If you would... Stand... Here.''
The Maledictus' heads gestured for the individual to take their first few steps down the staircase into the pool.
''Then, I will preform your rites...''

Could they feel it? The subtle tickle at the mind... As though a seasoned lockpick fiddled with a sturdy lock to see its pins submit. To turn the cognitive lock, to peruse through the matters that lied behind the windows of the soul. All of which, from a silent spectator that betrayed a physical stature to behold...

At least, from above the surface of this vantablack substance.
(Etheric Presence)

[20:52] Sterling doesn't look... scared of the presence in the air. They were far too cocky - far too prideful - for any of that. The thump of their heartbeat and the explosions underneath their scales did not accelerate, did not waver, as the step down into the liquid just a bit with their boots, duster catching the substance at the tips.

Sterling let their hands slip free from the belt, one grabbing their hat before it sits, hanging at their side to at least seem more religious, of any sort. More respectful at the least. A glance around the substance with eyes of scrutiny.

Just what, actually, hid underneath the water?

"Ah'm ready when y'are." A confident voice sounds to the Maledictus, the drakanite's wings folding in just a bit more to be accommodating for the room, and the Maledictus.

A slow, deep breath in as Sterling wondered one simply thing, as they waited for the rites.

Was the four ok with this? Probably. Maybe. Sterling would check after, better to ask for forgiveness than permission when the gain of power was involved.

(Sterling Ryder)

===============================
SCENE BREAK -- Power outage forced scene to be broken apart across a few days
===============================

[18:27] It was not often that few magi captivated Terminus attention to incur rumination, though for whatever reason -- a sole drakanite managed to induce such for him...

Perhaps, it was simply a whim...
Perhaps, it was a result of absolute audacity -- though, regardless, the mind wandered, to a time before this period of solitude.

||Flashback: 8 Months Earlier||

''Ah'm ready when y'are.''
Sterling was amongst the more confident individuals to stroll into one's shrine, interfacing with the Maledictus directly, even.

''You seem like an individual that likes their dress and appearance, so I ought to offer you this warning...

You will be submerged. Consider it... Like a baptism.''
With that, the elder's eyes closed, and body fell lax. They were doing quite the opposite to concentration -- Something that would be quite necessary for a seemingly nonmagus character like himself to invoke any sort of prominent cast--

Their eyes opened once more... But this time? They shined a gleaming white, with pupils alit with lavender. Their mouth spoke, but it was doubled -- Carrying the bass heavy tone of the -other- that had been observing from the unknown source. A surge of the occult wafted from the man, psionic powers eclipsing around them -- For now, they were possessed by a supernatural power of the transmundane, having previously attuned themselves to its power.

''F A L L''
"F A L L"
A faceless force sought to tug the Drakanite to the depths of the aquatic element before them, and certainly they could resist -- However, had they allowed the force to take them? They would be briefly singed by the acidic properties of the vantablack substance. However, the burning sensation would not last... It swiftly faded. Allowing imposed gravity to continue to cart one lower...

Lower...

Ever the bit lower...

Down into the abyssal depths of a body of alchemically changed ichor that betrayed the initial presumption of its own depth.
Whatever was down here, needed to justify how far down one could float... And time? It would be revealed through the darkness.

Eyes of crimson pierced it through -- and a resonating pulsation boomed through the aquatic element.
The Godseed within the monochromatic silhouette below shined a distinct lavender, killing the monotony of it all, if only briefly -- constantly stifled by foreign magicks in constant contest...

Betwixt the blessings of Mortyl, and curses of Varrach and Za'agan Sun -- Ethereal powers wagered a distinct singularity within the Husk of the Patron of Antefinem...
Down here, the mystical properties of the light enabled sight once more...
So one could behold it:

Lying across the base of the pool, nearing two dozen feet in height, albeit laid horizontal. Its chest was hollowed open, where its contested core proved buried behind malignant magics constantly seeking to unmake it...
Of Death Magics...
Of Ethereal Magics...
All in contest against regenerative endeavors...
(Etheric Presence)

[18:29] Leylines ignited, trailing down the length of a titanic arm -- The Left Arm of Terminus: The Patron's Brand. In such close proximity, one could feel it...
The tug that transcended the physical... Not for the flesh, but the circuitry beneath it. The constant pulsations of the Godseed within one's chest did more than beckon one's approach, it sent reverberations through the aquatic domain, akin to sonar. It sought to rattle through armor, through cloth, through flesh and bone. It was a power, incorporeal to one's touch, yet influenced by one's mana, had it been wagered to sheath one's vessel.

A gargantuan entity rested here, prayed to akin to a God...
An ancient with powers unknown.
Called upon for a favor, for a cost...

Its voice boomed out, directly into one's mind. It lacked a bottom jaw, removed with the exposed cavity in one's chest -- Likely a combination of damages during its time walking amongst the masses of Meranthe.
"I shall impart my Mark upon your heart... To amplify your circuit... In trade for tribute."

For an entity such as this? This, was their opportunity to feed...

And as their illuminated arm slowly waded up, a sensation sought to warp for the Drakanite yet again...
One that sought to grace something... Beyond even the typically incorporeal leylines of mana within their circuitry. It dared to attempt a reach beyond the mundane... To explore the Divine...
It sought to grace its subtle occult-riddled touch, against the very divine barrier that sheathed one's soul.

Enigmatic as it was... It was an exploratory endeavor that left one moreso intrigued... Not, of Sterling... But of its own prowess. All the while, all of which still in the Drakanite's court. At any point, had they decided such to be more than they were willing to explore? They could swim against the induced current!

They could repel against the magus influence imbued against their vessel to examine their anatomy.

They could resist it all -- Though, the boon to be explored with contact with such an enigma? Was it worth disregarding?
(Etheric Presence)

[18:35] Sterling watched that entity call to them. Ask of them for a tribute - simple. Mana for power, as the knight that visited Altharim had said. In no way had the drakanite, with firing flaring under scaled skin and some amount of zealotry deep down... expected this. But it didn't matter, then.

The drakanite accepts the mark on their soul, with a simple nod of their head, metal horns dipping down. Power was necessary. It was the only thing that kept people like Sterling alive, and they needed more of it. For the war. For those they cared about. For their own selfish gain. More was needed, no matter the source.

No matter the betrayals that could come from it.

So Sterling reached out to meet the entity. To give all they could give in exchange. After all? One of the dragons had the very same ideals, so they'd heard. And that - was something they could agree with.
(Sterling Ryder)

[19:03] The gargantuan hand neared, spanning its digits to challenge the height of Sterling's entire body. The runic symbols trailed along a alchemic circle with a distinct symbol shining within its center. Upon closer inspection, it would prove quite blatant...

It was the very same symbol identified as the Antefinemite emblem -- One found singed in crimson upon the ebony steel of every knight that marched to its horns.

It, in its truest form...
Was the Mark of Terminus: The Patron's Mark.
The radiance permeated through armor, flesh and bone one more, this time with clasping digits to afford direct contact between a submerged vessel and one's opened palm. The surge of energies sought to blitz at the body...
To blitz at the mind...
To prevent the natural defenses of the unconscious spirit -- for the silent incantation cast by one's markings sought to invoke a spell that drafted incorporeal digits past the skin.

Their ink, would be Terminus' mana, blasted with an intensity to vaporize flesh, but funneled with the precision to mitigate collateral. It was the exercise of over a century's worth of practice...
A mark that would not stain the skin, having skipped it for the heart directly.
One that the individual could rest assured in, but find their very anatomy battling with the spirit and soul alike.

Terminus' voice boomed out, almost as though to narrate its own antics... Monologue, moreso. Being submerged in an ambiguous substance with Sterling, and lacking a bottom jaw, it was likely such was psionic in nature. While Sterling lacked attunement to Terminus prior to such, the direct contact circumvented such restrictions.


"Many debate the connection between the Body, Spirit and Soul. Where they reside... How they interact...
The body proves responsible for housing them both, but it can not enhance itself with mana. For that, is not where mana originates from... The spirit can not manifest mana either, for it is the consequence of it entangled with one's life experiences... One's memories, their... 'essence'.

No... It is either bound to the brain, or the heart -- Many would argue both. Though, it is without a doubt, that the mana nexus within your heart, when excited, induces what all would dub 'Symbolic Casting'... Your... 'Magus Unveiling'."
As it spoke, a sharp singing pain continued to dart at one's chest... Perhaps, it would force one to gasp, to wince, to flinch -- and any and every instance that opened one's mouth would force them to swallow the very substance they were surrounded by.

This was taking some time...
Perhaps, too long even! Surely, if they didn't hurry, they would drown! Nay, the very procedure being committed in such inhospitable conditions was aguarantee that one would drown! Yet, the Patron of Antefinem certainly didn't seem keen on caring on the matter -- as though all was well within its control.
The longer the procedure carried out, the more absolute its grasp on one's anatomy proved -- Not merely clinging to their appendages via telekinetic binds, but slowly hooking into their circuitry, and hanging unto their very heart.

With the symbol nearing completion, the carving sensation would only get worse...
"Worry not... You lie within a pool of my blood. I shall ensure that your life is not forfeit on this day. Dismiss doubt and concern -- You will rise from my depths, greater than you arrived...

Born anew..."
Throughout the endeavor, a sinking sensation pooled at the chest, sapping away. The mark had the purpose of remotely scribing upon one's heart... But the mark impaired upon the chest served multiple roles. As it poured mana back towards its originator, it burned from within -- tearing the circuitry around the immediate heart asunder, only to... Regenerate?

Such, was not within the natural accord of Drakanite ilk, nor blessings... Yet, through lost magics of the Occult, contact with this eldritch entity seemed to undo damages incurred by its touch. Almost, as though to temporarily offer one's own regenerative qualities... Or utilize the cancerous flesh that molted from its husk as a target for more vampiric qualities of the Occult, to feed into one's recuperation.

"What is this one's story, I wonder... How... What... Why... Would they seek me, for power to venture back into the world...

To save... A loved one?
To claim... For one's own?
Something more altruistic? Domineering? Destructive? How... I wonder..."

A prodding could be felt... Inkling within the corners of one's mind, attempting to slip in, for a peek. The ancient entity sought to read one's mind... To read one's memories...
To learn, even the surface level of one's intent -- Should their mind prove unguarded.
(Etheric Presence)

[19:14] Sterling was a resilient drakanite, if nothing else. No struggle was made, no gasp for air, not even a wince. The fires under their scales glowed brighter than before, their heart rate increased, and the area around them in the water - the blood - illuminated with the drakanite's own flame. Burning brightly.

They do not speak, as that would open them to the waters surrounded. Nor did they breathe in or out, the fire inside instead stayed lit, and with it, did they stay in control - however little they actually had.

The cowboy, Sterling Ryder, was not one to be purely controlled. Their spirit guarded them from much damage to it, that of a drakanite who only seeked to serve them and their own - not some god such as this. Their memories, however, have no such protections. Some have searched there before, and this time it'd be no different.

Sterling's intent was power, gleaned from the forefront of their mind. Greed. Pictures swelled in their head of a possible future, surrounded by gold. Surrounded by subjects, the cowboy was more than just that.

They were a King.

And they were finally happy, sitting on their silvered throne, overlooking all they owned.

Prodding into memories proved a much more uncertain task... certain areas of the mind blockaded from others. Practically forgotten by Sterling all-together, as if cut out by a precise knife.


(Sterling Ryder)

[19:42] If only one's visage bore enough attributes to showcase emotions, perhaps one could've bore witness to a risen brow. The rattle of bass taking the place of a satisfied hum would have to do.

A presumption was made, without much desire to dig further. After all, Fate oft showcased all stories to fruition, or damnation as she saw fit, versus what her subjects considered of her or themselves.

"Long ago, there were few I've witnessed not unlike yourself...

Jokul of Giants' past...
Xarxes of the fallen fae...
K'thul of Mori's lost coven...
Syrta of my former Heralds...

All characters throughout history that bore a similar mindsets over the past hundred years. History speaks and hides their lays to claim, as kingdoms rise and fell throughout the ages, and their achievements alike immortalized or buried, all the same: Heroes, Villains... --and their spectators.

Now... Let us see, what story shall you tell?"
The ancient looked upon the drakanite, not as a new prospect, but as an actor upon a stage. The gift he offered, was already being paid for...

Now, it was a matter of how one sought to use it.
The titanic hand withdrew from one's vessel, not merely branding one's heart directly, but consistently casting a spell that wrought one's circuitry into overdrive. It was like a tingling sensation that refused to cease -- As though every muscle fiber steeled by the very radiance of excess potency. Surely, there was a distinct loss, taken like a breath...

But in return, what remained would be all the greater for it.
A small piece of Terminus remained, ensuring the incantation would continue forevermore. In some capacity, it hummed, just as the Godseed within the entity did. As though to mirror it... As though its very echo -- Now, Sterling would act as that role.

"You are not merely enhanced... For now, you carry a part of me, and I, a part of you..."
The singing sensation stopped abruptly, enabling one to take upon the shine of ambient mana bleeding from every pore. It was the result of being overcharged, overclocked -- An amplification of the magus anatomy, rejuvenated to ensure it could withstand its only augmentation.

"Arise, Sterling Avar Ryder... Carry the title of mine Champion by my Touch, in public or secret, it matters not -- For my boons, are now yours."

Bubbles could be felt budding at one's skin, rolling through one's hair, and catching at one's clothes. The world seemed to be getting... Brighter? A glimpse up would reveal the aquatic ceiling swiftly approaching... They were being telekinetically drafted from thedepths, carried for the shrine up above -- and with a great breach of alabaster foam and mist? The scene sought to slow down, droplets of water dripping from one's cloth and skin alike, lacking the adhesive qualities of your standard body of water.

Whatever had occurred, didn't seem to scar one's clothes... Examination upon one's chest, wouldn't even reveal a brand on the skin.
The pain that carried at one's heart, was just there... Revealed, only to a proper surgeon willing to explore the originations of one's recent power-up: The Patron's Mark.

"Prove a testament to my power, and realize your potential... I shall behold your claim to the fruits of your labor, in time."
(Etheric Presence)

[19:50] Sterling rose to the surface, coughing. A gasp for breath after being submerged for so long their clawed, scaled hands clutches at their chest - but finds no wound. No evidence of what had just happened. The drakanite moves to the stairs of the pool, sitting upon the step and watching the dark waters with some sort of keen interested.

Was what they just saw...entirely real? It couldn't have been, right?

The cowboy shook their head. No. No, it was, certainly. Something had taken hold of them, taken one thing for another. A permenant change within them. One that would allow them to rise to heights greater than before - one to bring them to the level of King that they deserved.

"Th' fuck..." They sighed out, starting to stand - glancing at the people of Antefinem that surrounded them, the people who worshipped this...

Thing that dwelled within the deep.

"..." There's no words to say more than that. What, exactly, had the drakanite agreed to? Time would tell.

(Sterling Ryder)