Fantasy Of Spirits and Sorcerers

[Vampunk]

Since humanity first raised cities of stone out of desert sand, they had longed to understand the very fabric of reality, to see what powers keep the world turning and human hearts enthralled.
The answer to those questions never seemed to be simple, and yet, by what had seemed like a twist of fate, humanity's longing for wonder allowed them to reach further beyond the limits of their own realm.

What they found was a world where laws of nature did not apply, where entities dwelled that existed beyond the limits of human understanding.
Spirits, beings of the elements, creatures of raw, untamed energies...demons.
Over the centuries, humanity began to study that realm hiding beneath dimensions, slowly growing accustomed to the art of summoning the entities that resided there and making them bend to their will.

Thousands of spirits that had existed beyond time were given names, given form, given a purpose in history.

But what was once an art fueled simply by the longing for understanding has devolved into a tool, a weapon for conquest...and those who would wield it for their own gain would soon threaten the existence of free will itself as royal magicians of the British Empire would strive to subject not only spirits to their will, but also those common practitioners of magic.

But where there is force, there is resistance, and deep inside the heart of London, something stirs.
Something that would reach out to those willing to stand for the freedom of magic, spirit and human alike...

And as a letter would come to reach them, summoning them to a place beyond royalty's reach, they would be given time to prepare for what was yet to come.
For the fight began the moment wicked minds wielded magic as a tool for conquest.

It was too long since he had last felt the familiar calling, a summon that would give his existence form again, manifesting his essence as a vessel for the realm he inhabited to tread among mortal creatures.
For he was no mere elemental spirit to be conjured as a cheap street magician's trick.

He was Pavo Tumesco Magnificentiae, a spirit of the greatest design, for he embodied human emotion, their craving to be acknowledged, to be envied, to be looked up to, to be seen as the marvel they were.
He was a spirit of pride, and his presence was once again called upon.

He chuckled, a human way of portraying one's amusement over a particular situation, as his deep, multi-faceted voice hallowed through the empty, yet full space of his realm, a world of bright colors and pleasantly sweet scents, as he would accept this calling.

Unlike the lesser spirits he did not struggle, he did not resist, a magician's summon, for existing in a realm beyond time and change was a dull affair, instead he reached out with his figurative hand and gladly accepted this call.

His essence vibrated, stirred, as it phased through the many layers of the otherworld, manifesting inside the familiar confinements of a summoning circle designed for manifesting entities without a form or place as a mortal construct.
And just like the countless times he had visited this realm of change and potential, Pavo would not waste any opportunity of heralding his grand entrance with a display of his being.

The moment he entered this mortal sphere, the summoning circle would glow a bright shine of purple as its insides would be filled with a torrent of bright smoke, changing into all the colors humans could perceive as Pavo brought a piece of his realm into the human world.
The sweet scent of spring, of fine drinks, of blooming flowers and exotic fruit would fill the room of his summoner, manifesting with the spectacle transpiring in the pentagram.

Slowly the hazy mist would dissipate and give way to a cocoon of vivid feathers, reminiscent of those of peacocks, glowing in their many colors as they would dance to a faint melody vibrating from the chamber's walls.
Then the cocoon stirred and opened like a flower, giving way to the creature that resided inside.

A vaguely humanoid creature with distinct avian features would come into sight, as its coat of feathers would flutter like leaves in a gentle breeze, slowly sliding off its body as a tall, handsome man would be reborn among a swirl of feathers.
His plumage shifted as it condensed into a fashionable suit of purple, clinging to his long limbs and tall form as gloved hands would part the cyan hair adorning his head, revealing angular, sharp features and a faint, arrogant smirk resting on a pale visage.

Slowly he opened his eyes to meet his delightful host, to see to what place of pride he had been summoned. A royal court perhaps? An artist's abode? A temple of hedonism?...

But the golden eyes instead fell on a mess of a man hiding his face behind a grotesque mask.
Instead of the wonderful surroundings of a court, Pavo would be greeted with a confining apartment, littered with books and scarcely furnished.

His eyes widened as they would come to stare holes into his new 'master', his lips narrowing into a disgusted, thin line.
"Who are you to summon me to this plane?! To this...place!" Pavo spoke as the glamour over his appearance shifted, revealing some details of his true form as a long cloak of feathers would sprout from his back, each and every one of the feathery eyes on them would spring wide open, gazing down at his summoner with a cruel glare.

But he could not lash out, even if he wanted to, the summoning circle prevented him to do so.
"Speak, mortal!" Pavo hissed as his feathers fluttered with a wicked sound of a swarm of locusts.

 

[The Untitled King]

Matthew was quiet as he looked upon his summon, the only audible noise being his breath through the filters of his mask. He took his time in regarding the unique, lavish form the otherworldly creature had taken. The thing's mere existence grated against the stark, humble nature of his home, but that didn't bother him. Nor did the demanding tone he took, content with the fact that the summoning circle prevented hostile interactions. The bird-man could flail and gesture as he liked, as far as he was concerned, but the squawking wasn't preferred.

"Don't be so loud, I have neighbours." Matt replied quietly, walking around the circle and admiring the creature. He brushed his thumb against the exposed bridge of his nose - a habit that the demon would become aware of before long - and finished his strafing observation.

In the interest of maintaining civility, he thought to appease what he might assume were the creature's mannerisms. He bowed, not low, and certainly in no extravagant fashion. "Matthew Thompson." He said curtly. "Sailor, whaler, soldier, mercenary, and occasionally cargoman. I summoned you with the purposes of putting my magical interest into practice and out of the realm of mere study."

 

[Iniquitous]

Several weeks ago, Callista had found herself at an auction of rare artifacts. The flyers had been posted around town, garish font curling into promises of rare finds and fantastic objects. The auction was held in a library on the edge of town, its architecture heavy and bold. She initially thought would be glamorous, history surrounded by history, but she was mistaken. There were no chairs, only a makeshift podium cobbled together by unskilled hands. There were few people in attendance beside herself. Some were new money, bedecked in finery, compensating for a lack of respect with a show of wealth. It was not only money that talked among the elite but how long it had been in your hands. Others were like her father, the backbone of wealthy society, stitched in so tightly the whole system would unravel without them. They were concentrated at the front, wealth hidden behind notoriety. Then there were the curious, laborers who had stolen a few precious moments away from their work, hoping to catch a glimpse of their betters, pretending to be anything other than themselves.

She remained at the back away, from prying eyes and probing questions. The auctioneer took the stage. He was a tall, frail man with stooped shoulders and a hawkish nose. The first piece was from the Americas, an amalgam of twisted metal and jewels. It shone beneath the few rays of sunlight let into library, fierce and beautiful. “There is a legend surrounding this artifact,” the auctioneer began. “It’s said to have been forged by dragon fire.” The crowd broke into murmurs and Callista raised her hand to begin the betting. The battle raged for several minutes until Callista finally emerged victorious. Her prize was wheeled into one of the library’s backrooms surrounded by windows and a few dilapidated bookshelves. The light had dimmed since her arrival, and shadows crawled beneath the bookshelves stretching themselves high along the walls. She laid her hand along the metal, tracing the jagged edges with her fingertips. Every caress caused her skin to prickle, and a burning curiosity danced along her spine. There was magic here-dark, ancient, and powerful.

Over the next few days, Callista began investigating her newly acquired prize. There was some truth to what the auctioneer had said. Every book mentioning the artifact also referred to the dragon that had created it, but his name was lost in the annals of history To anyone else, it would have seemed little more than a legend, but Callista knew there was something more to this tale, a darker more powerful presence. He had served as a both a boon and destructor of mankind, benevolent and occasionally cruel. It was these musings that had brought her to her current position. She stood among the chaos of her room, papers scattered everywhere filled with sketches and notes written by her hand. The must of old books lay heavy in the air, and the only light came from the few candles she had burning along her desk. Their wicks were low, and wax pooled along the table. Her summoning circle lay before her, and she concentrated her magic, hoping to bring forth the creator of her artifact. Her fingers twitched by her side, and she clasped her hands together in the effort to quiet her excitement. The pentagram began to pulsate and glow, and she took a step forward, eagerto see who or what had been dragged forth by her summon.

 

[Abyss]

Nostefaru Zomokari Dragos Kilgenesh

​

With the summoning circle activated the room was immediately filled with energy—hot and crackling like electricity from a storm cloud—the windows darkened and the candle-fire grew in spite of an increasing lack of fuel. Outside something rumbled, and the wind curled against the building so that it shook and sang along with the fierce symphony of the storm.

Then a gust of wind erupted outwards from within the circle, followed by a cloud of smoke and—something moved within the smoke; dark scales, liquid fire, and the flash of something reflective. To large to fit entirely.

The smoke cleared to reveal a creature somewhere between man and dragon. He stood on two legs and was taller than a human male, with four arms that held crossed against his chest, and a long tail curled around his legs in order to fit within the confines of the circle. His eyes were closed. The dragon-man inhaled: taking in the rich scent of aged leather, paper and ink. He could feel the warmth of the burning flames that licked greedily at the air from wax towers; hungry and desperate to consume more than what was given. The air was equally restless, though far less agressive in nature. It had been content after its initial forceful burst to settle with rustling the papers and generally keeping the room stirred just enough to avoid the feeling of emptiness that came with being indoors. For a moment, Dragos did nothing but savour his welcoming. It was good to be home again.

After the brief pause, Dragos opened his eyes; blue, reptilian and suspicious of what he might find. The fires burned brighter, illuminating the sorcerer before him and all their surroundings: She was much shorter than his middling form, with red hair and eyes that looked almost the same color. She was also young, but then he'd not known many magic users to make it to old age. The demon was more than a little surprised to find that they were inside of a personal room, surrounded by drawings—Ever since one particular wizard in wales, Dragos half-expected to be find himself arriving to the mortal plane in the midst of battle—many of which bore a strong resemblance to some of his more noteworthy ventures. Interesting.

"You seem to be... already informed to who I am." Dragos felt the beginning of curiosity being stirred within himself. Who would desire to summon him specifically and what did they have planned, if anything? He was feeling a little reluctant to submit himself to the control of another sorcerer so soon after the last one proved unworthy of his aid. Should he really be hoping this one would be different?

"For what purpose have you summoned me?"

 

[Vampunk]

Whatever ancient curse and oh so vile remark lingered on Pavo's tongue dissipated as his summoner showed at least a shred of decency as he took a quick bow before the creature he had summoned.
Not a gesture the vividly colored demon was accustomed to, having been graced with the pinnacle of courtly customs when serving under so many masters throughout the mortal stream of time, and the spirit couldn't help himself but pucker his nose in visible displeasure at Matthew listing his many professions, all of which were lowly and far displaced from the realms of pride.

The demon hesitated, the physical body it had chosen as its facade flickering like a fading rainbow as it tried to regain its composure, the silhouette of its true form nudging into view like a looming shade of waiting to pounce.
"Like a toddler grasping for the most colorful toy you have chosen to summon ME into this plane, into YOUR service. Just to sate your curiosity? To what end? What did you intend to accomplish after summoning ME here? I who have served kings, visionaries and artists of legend?"

Pavo spoke, the demon's voice booming whenever it referred back to itself, truly the one thing it thought the many otherworlds revolved around.

"Speak or dismiss me this instant. Time is a human construct but even for a spirit like me it drags on in the face of mediocrity and the mundane." The prideful entity mused as a large, ornate armchair appeared out of thin air, allowing Pavo to sink into its velvet cushions and poise its chin on a propped up palm.

A spectacle that aimed to underline the point the creature tried to make, for it did not require a seat to truly find respite, for its form was always in flux and did not obey rules of gravity, or most of those of nature.
"Well?"

 

[Iniquitous]

The summon was overwhelming. Its power flooded the entirety of her room, pulsating and undulating through the air like serpents across water. Callista tried to breathe, but the air was caught in her throat, choked by incredulity. Such power. There had been previous summons before this one, but they were always spectacles to dazzle the mind and bewitch the eyes. It had never been like this, pure power, raw and uncontrolled.

Wind stirred her hair and pulled at the cloth of her dress. She closed one hand around her throat in the effort to find her breath among the chaos. Then something moved with in the circle. He was unlike anything she had ever seen, an amalgam of draconic and human features. Her brow furrowed in an attempt to make sense of him. Most demons she summoned always had the semblance of humanity, their deep, dark desires held beneath a fragile mask or mortality. She can see the edges of their abnormality flicker beneath the façade, but this create made little attempt to fit in with her species. He was decidedly different, tall and serpentine. ”How odd…” she mused, grabbing a piece of paper and a block of charcoal from a nearby table.

The energy of her room had settled to a steady thrum, curiosity embedded into the very fibers of its being. The floorboards creaked, the walls trembled, all begging for another taste of what the demon offered. Everything was in disarray, wild with anticipation. Books had flown off their shelves, face down in a heap, like birds, wings spread wide. Papers floated to the ground, content with their leisure. The creature’s eyes opened, and Callista grabbed a piece of paper and a chunk of charcoal. She began sketching, eyes kept on the creature as she circled him. ”The books don’t do you justice. Truly. Their art lacked substance…voice. It was simply ink on the page.” Her bottom lip found its way between her teeth, eyes occasionally looking down to the paper in her hand. Her heels clacked across the wooden floor, as she embedded his essence into the parchment. The curve of his tail, the glimmer of his scales against the candlelight, the suspicion contained within his azure depths. Within a few minutes she was done, and the charcoal fell from her darkened hand.

”I could do better with more time, but it will do.” She held the portrait up, the pale skin of her palm cracking through the soot like stars among the night sky. His likeness was well captured on the page, rougher and more expressive than the drawings from times past. ”I know of you, yes. It seems as though you have been an object of fascination for many.” She gestured around the room. ”Myself included. She set the sketch down just outside the circle. ”Purpose? You make it sound so…utilitarian. I simply wished to chat. I came across a unique object at auction, and I wanted to see if I could find the person responsible for making it. There were very few leads, even less credible ones. All I could find was a vague description of a dragon and a few drawings. I have no interest in your power, as great as it might be.” She took several steps toward her desk and sat along its edge. "I find extra-planar beings fascinating. It’s become a hobby of mine, committing parts of them to the page. I simply wish to learn more about you, but I will not keep you here against your will. If you choose to leave, you are more than welcome to do so.”