[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/eE6lcKb.png[/img][/center] [h3]Just outside Lost Haven[/h3] [b]Midafternoon, the same day as the Walmart adventure[/b] ----- The old man stood on a hill overlooking the city of Lost Haven, Maine. He had teleported himself here from Augusta, and it had taken a bit out of him, even with the help of the gnarled staff in which he stored most of his gathered energy. Thankfully, this area seemed to run [i]rife[/i] with the stuff, and the staff, a heavy, two metre length of ash wood, fairly dripped with responding magic. The sword at his side, currently covered by a simple illusion as a fanny pack, [i]vibrated[/i]. [i]Something is either terribly wrong or terribly right here[/i], the old man thought to himself as he stroked a long, salt and pepper beard. Piercing, steel-coloured eyes swept over the city, picking out points where concentrations of magic seemed to clot like scabs over wounds, still throbbing with natural energy as the place recovered from a significant incursion of some sort. The same thing, though more concentrated and far more raw and fresh, had been in New York when he passed through there. New York had been impossible to examine in detail, though, due to the obvious presences of werewolf territory and vampiric influence. Nothing here was nearly as established, though the city also stank with the presence of metahumans and corruption. The man painted an odd picture as he stood. Wind whipped around the area as a sea breeze hit the hill, but it barely rippled the heavy leather coat he wore. This was due to both the many enchantments layered into the leather, and the steel plates sewn in to armour the thing, also enchanted to make them lighter. His clothes all looked hand-stitched, because they were, and he was not the best tailor. He obviously thought of practicality before any sort of style. Even though he looked homeless, his presence carried echoes of well-established authority and a taste of agelessness. Unfortunately, his straight-backed and rigid posture was more from determination and willpower more than through strength of body. Anyone looking closely at him could see that age was taking its toll rather heavily on him. Sighing heavily, he turned his gaze out to the west side, near the coast, where a much fresher scar seemed to be radiating. The same flavour of energy that he was looking for, though very violent in nature. [i]Finally found you, boy,[/i] he thought to himself as his face settled into an expression somewhere between a frown and a grimace. [i]And you are in much more trouble than you think, if that is what it looks like.[/i] Nodding to himself as if in affirmation to a question no one asked, he strode off along the edges of the suburbs, angling around the city towards the scar. [hr] [h3]A sea cave, somewhere on the coast of Maine[/h3] [b]that night[/b] ------ Green eyes snapped open as the earthquake shot through the stone around him. His coming to consciousness was with alarm. A familiar presence was somewhere close, one which boded ill for him. And now his mind fogged with the arrival of something [i]else[/i], large and powerful and not magical in nature. But he had no time to ponder before his entire being was wracked with pain. His left side felt as if it was dipped in molten metal. He looked down slowly, gritting his teeth, and saw that magic, metal, and flesh had been fused together to create a whole thing where he had destroyed himself. The memories came back slowly. He had created something, [i]knew[/i] he had been successful, but he couldn't recall what it had been. Looking at the damage it had wrought upon him, it must not have been happy, but this was unacceptable. He would have to show his creation who its master was, and possibly destroy it for its gall at attacking him. A voice from the darkness woke him from his anger. “Master is awake!” The voice was weedy, like something sneaking through the grass. “Ah,” he said, and paused. His voice echoed oddly, and his face felt stiff. [i]How much damage had the thing done?[/i] “Abaristus, you yet live.” “Yes, Master! I have been very busy, very busy [i]indeed[/i], rebuilding you.” His familiar slunk out of the shadows and into the firelight he was bathed in. Abaristus was his first creation, more a golem that the familiar inhabited. It resembled a hairless, oversized weasel, nearly three feet long, with a monkey's tail, bat wings, and larger than normal forelimbs complete with opposable thumbs. It bowed and scraped towards him, though the treacherous thing still had an evil glint in its eyes. He couldn't fathom why it had saved him, really. His death would have ended the contract binding it to him and released it back to its native plane. “Have you, now.” He attempted to sit up, but the pain was far too unbearable and he fell back with a hiss. “What all has been done? And how long has it been?” “Master, much had to be done. Over the past moon, I have painstakingly, hmm, rebuilt your left arm and leg, to the trunk. Several organs have been replaced, and much of the ribs.” It paused, hemming and hawing in hesitation. “And my face,” the man prompted. “Yes, master. The skull, the eye, the jaw, the throat. All had to be reworked. I, hmm. Hmmm. I did what I could.” “No matter. How long until I am fit to move myself again?” The familiar glanced over its shoulder, almost as if they were in hiding. “Ahhh, at least, hmm, another moon. The nerves, you see. Hmmm. They require some work yet.” He glared at the thing with a sidelong glance. It was wringing its hand, fearful. And he knew why. “What,” the mage growled, “has happened to the lab? Why am I in this stinking hole?” There was much hemming again. Abaristus was trying to avoid agitating him. “Tell me. There is not much I can do now.” “Ahhhh. The, ah, accident, hmmm. It destroyed your lab. And much of the cliff. Hmmmm. I managed to drag you from the waves, yes. No books, no potions. I have had to feed off of the lines, hmmm, to aoid any suspicion. The work is, hmmm. Slow, yes. Very slow.” “And you aven't taken many pains to avoid [i]mine[/i]. To be expected. You are a nasty and base thing. Stay this useful, however, and mayhaps we will see about an upgrade once I recover.” Abaristus bowed and scraped and thanked him. He closed his eyes, exhausted from even this simple conversation. Thankfully, the creature was, while clever, incredibly greedy, and thus easy to manipulate into less treacherous mindsets. This situation was delicate. Aside from the not-zero chance that his familiar simply 'failed' to save his life, he knew there was probably little time before the old Salamander came to find him, and both his familiar and [i]whatever[/i] it was he had created were so much a violation of his terms of apprenticeship that he had no doubt the old man would kill him, given a chance. [i]Well, we'll just have to make sure he doesn't get one.[/i] With that smug thought, he drifted back into unconsciousness, despite the pain of Abaristus's tugging at something on his scalp.