lostcarnival | ⇨ THE SUMMERLANDS

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⇨ THE SUMMERLANDS

Who: Everyone!
When: Day 138 - Day 152
Where: The Summerlands
What: The Ringmaster brings the carnival to the Summerlands immediately after being freed from Portland so that everyone can take a fucking nap. Her included.
Warnings: Individually marked! Most likely discussion of torture and trauma in here.

DAYS OF SUMMER↴

You made it! And things are back to normal... more or less. Upon waking, you will be greeted with a clear blue sky and gentle breeze – the carnival has found itself situated between a pair of mountain peaks, with great fields of flowers extending in the distance. In the other direction, you’ll see mountain-top cities and tall waterfalls accenting vast swaths of forest.

Some of you will already know this place. It’s the Summerlands. You game here once to rest in safety nearly a year ago, and now you’ve come to rest once again.

► WAKING UP: Shortly after the carnival arrives, the Ringmaster will send out a somewhat cryptic radio message - but her immediate location won't be clear. Whatever items you had on your person at the time the Severing was broken will still be on your person, including whatever clothing. All of the animals and pets of the carnival will have returned to the grounds as well, though they are currently free from their designated living spaces. Things in the carnival will appeared to have naturally aged a month, as if the carnival was been sitting here empty and waiting while everyone was in Portland. The lawn needs mowing.

► SUMMER CITY: After the Summer Fae become aware of everyone's presence, they will welcome you into their city. There are stairs that lead up the sides of the mountains, but thankfully there are also magical means of getting up there as well. The Summer Fae will be willing to help workers with the injured as needed, offering herbal remedies and healing magic to those that want it. You'll also be invited to join them for dinner, but they will not be particularly offended if they are turned down, for now.

► SUMMER PEOPLE: The fae here will mostly enjoy the company of any carnival members that offer it - it doesn't seem that much happens here besides day after day of peaceful meditation and relaxation. It is not uncommon to see Summer Fae spent days doing exactly the same thing, whether that be enjoying the weather, listening to music, or dancing - the day and night periods may be similar to earth, but when you don't need rest it can all blur together just the same. Some of the fae work on feats of agriculture or craftsmanship, and while there is no particularly need to work in this place, they take pride in the fact that they do.

► NEW ARRIVALS: Though the Ringmaster will not be offering much guidance for the first week or so, eventually the carnival will begin running for a few small performance sessions, off and on, as a thank you to their fae hosts. The carnival will also be open to receiving new arrivals during that period, and so there will likely be some newbies to train and get orientated as well.

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"What other reason would there be?" He says with a coy tone, but his expression shifts to something more serious and thoughtful as he works out his phrasing. It's one thing to explain magic to someone who has simply never practiced it, but another to explain it to someone who may not actually be familiar with it.

"Mesmers are illusionists. We manipulate chaos energy for an array of spells designed to alter other's perception of the world around them and briefly change what is and isn't real. With further study we can learn to manipulate time as well, to a small scale."

He gestures to himself. "My skills are mostly combative, so most of what I know is designed to hurt someone or give me the advantage in a fight. Ah... it is a very broad field, are you more interested in spells that influence the mind most directly?"

Chaos energy? Now that's a term Strange hasn't heard before. He can't help but frown slightly, listening intently as Syrlya continues to explain.

And honestly, if Syrlya could do even half the things he mentioned, Strange would be downright impressed. Altering perceptions, manipulating time, these are things that he has no idea how to coax his English magic to do in the first place.

"I am," Strange answers. "I...unfortunately have some experience being the victim of magic that targets the mind. Though before we start on that, you mentioned chaos energy. Is that another name for the force that your magic manipulates or is it something different?"

Syrlya tilts his head, curious. Being a 'victim' of mind magic could be a lot of different things. But an explanation is in order, first.

"It is a more precise name for what powers my abilities." Syrlya gestures his hands out for emphasis. "All magic is intertwined but there are different facets of it, and those facets are capable of being twisted into different spells. As a Mesmer, I pull in chaos energy for my spells because it is that facet of magic that alters reality. There is some overlap, of course, but for the most part every magical profession is specialized in using a different face of energy."

"I see," Strange responds, with a nod. "So, to put my magic in your terms, I suspect that nature itself would be considered a facet of energy. After all, I can create wind, water, and fire as well as manipulate them."

He's a bit hesitant with his analogy, as shown by the small frown on his face after he says it, but Strange just continues ahead anyway. "I'd love a demonstration at some point--though I don't mind waiting until you've settled in, of course."

"Perhaps? Or simply charged with that energy... at least in Tyria, magical energy is its own raw, tangible force." And, well, Syrlya isn't an Elementalist nor has he spent years in the classroom like other magic users might have. It's worth comparing if Strange's magic is anything like that, or if English magic behaves in an entirely separate set of rules.

"I suppose that depends how big of a demonstration you are looking for. It's... inadvisable for me to use most of my spells on you directly, but most of what I studied was in illusions and warping reality, anyway."

It's own raw, tangible force...that makes sense. There've been stops where Strange could feel the magic and others were he couldn't. Perhaps it was that sort of a force he was actually feeling?

"Then, if you don't mind, let's see an illusion or two!" Partly out of curiosity, partly now that he knows how Syrlya's magic works, he'll know what to look for. The ability to piece out the components of magic that he and Rita had was damn useful, but it would probably work best if he knew what components he was looking for in the first place.

"Mm, all right." Syrlya takes a step back to give space between them and holds out his hand, palm facing up. Watching his magic will be interesting for Strange both because and can see it with his third eye and, well, physically see it.

It has properties of glass, shards of energy flickering into focus as they draw towards his palm and, in the span of a few seconds, merge into a lifelike illusion of a pink lily. Once the illusion is together, there's no stray energy outside it, and if Strange wasn't privy to its magic with his new ability, it would be impossible to tell from reality--even to the touch.

He offers the flower to Strange. It's the most innocuous illusion he can offer, not wanting to startle the man with something to severe as a copy of himself or messing with his senses.

Visible. How interesting. Strange can't help but watch, obviously interested, as his eyes follow the shards of energy. Perhaps that, the energy that he could feel was what Syrlya called his chaos energy. How interesting. Strange simply thought of it as magic.

He gingerly takes the flower, as if touching it might cause the lily to break. Though oddly enough, as he holds the flower and gently touches the petals, Strange can't help but look a little disappointed. "Is that all?"

Syrlya might not want to startle Strange, but Strange isn't the sort of man to do anything small. He asked to see magic. Why wasn't Syrlya showing off more? Oh, the petals certainly felt real enough and he's certain that had he not had this new gift, he'd think this was real in the first place. But he at least got the impression that Syrlya could do great magic, not party tricks with flowers.

Syrlya raises his brows at the clear disappointment, a frown starting to develop. "Of course that is not--you said illusion." He gestures. It is an illusion!

He lowers his hand, and while Strange is messing with the lily the figure will suddenly break back into the glittering, purple-blue energy and dissipate. It will leave only a tingle on his fingers as the flower disappears.

Syrlya looks only mildly put off as a flash of that energy suddenly bursts around him, some of the magic warping from shards to small butterflies that evaporate quickly. And what looks to be Syrlya is still standing there with a stern expression.

But his voice comes from behind Strange. "As I said, most of my practice has been in combat, and I am not going to attack you in the middle of the carnival," he states with a cross of his arms.

The illusion doesn't mimic his movements, and instead puts one hand on its hip as it regains a more neutral expression. Almost like it's independent.

He can tell the magic is cast though, at the moment, Strange can't tell what it is. He frowns slightly at Syrlya, about to ask just what he cast...when he hears the man's voice behind him. Strange spins around, obviously a bit shocked and he takes a few steps backwards so that both Syrlyas are in eyesight.

And he can't help it: he just grins like a maniac. Now that's amazing. Strange isn't hiding the fact that he enjoys all this. He takes a few steps closer to the illusion-Syrlya and attempts to prod it in the shoulder, talking all the while.

"I do want you to attack me sometime, though," he says, launching into an explanation before Syrlya could question him. "We're both nightrunners, after all. I want to see what your magic's like in that sort of situation--it's really quite impressive, by the way."

The illusion glances around passively until Strange pokes it in the shoulder, and then it shifts to the side and fixes him with a look.

Syrlya, meanwhile, tips his chin up with pride. "Thank you! You said there was a training area... I'm sure we can find some time to spar. Knowing how each of us handles ourselves in battle is important." Lest soneone get beamed in the head with a stray spell or something.

"I would like to see what you do with your magic as well."

Edited (When u find a major typo hours later) 2017-08-11 17:22 (UTC)

As the illusion glares at him, Strange just looks back over to Syrlya with a grin on his face. He's downright impressed and that much is so obvious. Oh, the hours he could spend picking Srylya's brain, talking to him about magic and his world and how all these things work. Honestly, he's halfway tempted just to yank Syrlya over to the training grounds right now--though the rational part of Strange's brain, however small it is, points out that the man just arrived, give him time to breathe.

An hour or two should be plenty of time to get adjusted to the carnival. He'd simply bother Syrlya later! Though, as Syrlya mentions his magic, Strange's grin just grows even more.

"Would you want a demonstration now, or when we inevitably find time to spar?" He showed off some of his magic during their first meeting, but though mirror travel is impressive, Strange knows he's capable of so much more.

When he sees that grin, Syrlya thinks Strange would be right at home in the Priory, as one of their field researchers he often works beside.

"During a spar would be best. I'm sure most people would not appreciate either of us setting off violent spells in the middle of the carnival," he says with a lift of his hand. As he does that, the clone suddenly flattens out and shatters into glass-like pieces that crumble to the floor and disappear.

"But if you have anything else you can show me, like the mirrors, I would be happy to see it."

"I've plenty to show you!" Strange takes a step back stretching and cracking his knuckles slightly. He's obviously ready and willing to show off and cast something impressive. Weather's always a good bet, it looks fairly impressive but the spells themselves are quite easy. However common sense prevails for a brief moment as he pauses to ask,

"Does your...ah, species, have any dislike of water, cold, or wind?" Look, he's still got no idea what Syrlya actually is. He's been wrapped up so much in talking about magic that Strange hasn't gotten around to asking 'by the way, you look oddly plantlike, is that normal.'

"Sylvari." Strange didn't ask for the name, but Syrlya offers it regardless. "And it depends, but I myself am not very fond of the cold... still, it hardly matters unless you intend to dump a storm on me, doesn't it?"

Because those sound like the elements for a storm, and Syrlya would prefer not to get drenched.

"I do plan to call up a storm. However, I'll be the first to admit that keeping things confined to a small area isn't one of my stronger suits. I'll try not to get us wet, though."

What Strange isn't saying is that there's definitely a possibility that they're going to end up getting wet. He's not exactly the best at keeping things subtle and confined but dammit, he's certainly going to try with this one.

"Well, a little rain never hurts, I suppose." Syrlya gestures for him to go ahead. His attention is more on Strange than the environment, as he's curious what form spellcasting takes with this 'English magic'.

With a little nod, Strange takes a few steps away from Syrlya. He closes his eyes, muttering something under his breath. As he continues to mutter, he raises his hands in the air, but points them at an angle, towards a patch of trees a few feet away from them. Clouds start to gather over the patch of trees, thankfully passing over Sylya and Strange. And then, it starts to rain.

Some of the rain manages to get them wet because it's rain, rain's terrible at staying in one place, but most of the rain manages to stay within the patch of trees. As he hears the rain start to fall, Strange moves his arms down, stops muttering, and opens his eyes. Even though he's cast this spell plenty of times, he still seems a bit astonished that the spell was cast correctly and stayed in relatively one place.

"There you go! Have a storm."

Syrlya leans a little closer as he hears the murmuring. He's less interested in the storm brewing overhead as he is the way that Strange... what had he said, persuades it to appear. It's only once Strange casts the spell that he turns to witness the miniature storm over the trees.

"What was it that you were saying, just now? The spell."

"The spell? I was simply asking the clouds to appear and the rain to start." It's said as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. That's just how magic is done in England. One asks the elements and asks nature to move and hopes that they're willing to listen.

"Unless you were asking about the technical text?" It's still raining, despite the fact that Strange seems to be paying no attention to the actual rain and is instead talking to Syrlya.

Syrlya quirks a brow. "Yes! Do you not need to phrase your request in a specific manner? Or is it the gesture which must be precise? How do you ensure that the spell actually works?"

"I do need to phrase it in a specific manner, the gesture isn't precise but it certainly helps, and I know it actually works when it actually works." Strange answers the questions as if he's rattling off a list.

"Of course, half the time it's hard to tell what the specific manner is. Some of the older spells used by magicians of the past rarely work. I usually end up making my own additions just to get a result close to the ones they claim will happen."

And that's said with a sigh and a roll of his eyes. The fact that some spells don't work is an understandable hazard of the magic, but a damn annoying one at that.

So Strange isn't really a studied magician? Syrlya feels that must be admirable on its own, to have to learn magic through trial and error. He's about to ask about Strange's personal history with spellcasting, but his brain skips over the next thing he says a second time and his eye's widen.

"What do you mean they 'rarely work'? It is all the same magic, is it not? How does a spell just stop working?" How does magic stop working? It's one thing to lose ancient magic, but quite another to find it and have it end up completely defunct.

And at that question, Strange shrugs! Sorry Syrlya, he's got no idea. Strange isn't a studied magician but also flies by the seat of his pants for a lot of magic as well. "For a few hundred years, England didn't have any magic--only recently has magic come back to England thanks to the actions of my former teacher and myself. Perhaps that has something to do with the reason the spells don't work?"

It's certainly a shaky hypothesis but, at least in Strange's mind, it's a plausible one. Of course, he doesn't realize that by mentioning the vanishing of magic, he's opened up more questions than expected.

It does only raise more questions, but Syrlya realizes that Strange probably doesn't have the answers he's looking for. Surely, to remove magic, it would have to be something on the power of an Elder Dragon. And even they did not consume the entirety of magic. Unless it wasn't that magic was removed, but was being blocked or siphoned elsewhere?

He shifts back on his heels, regarding Strange. He's terrible at guessing age as is, and while Strange looks... mostly human, it's hard to tell.

"You said this was the magic of your county, correct? What about the state of magic in other parts of your world? Did it disappear as well? And how long ago did you bring it back?"

⇨ THE SUMMERLANDS

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