Ascent of the Archmage: Sylen

Prompt 1: Sylen witnesses a Witchfinder harassing a supposed Hidden Mage.

With Bross, there was always something.

Sylen and Bross had arrived in this town (or "city", if you could really call it that) just this morning. Miriam had appointed Sylen to, once again, work with his least favorite Witchfinder-- an overeager camelid itching to abuse what little semblance of authority he thought he had.

She'd told the two of them to sniff out any hidden mages and immediately report them to the Order. The large town-- er, small city-- was not far beyond Mead, and was apparently a popular place of residence for those hiding from the Order; its proximity to the academy made mage-centric commodities easy to access.

Sylen had spent the first part of his day trotting through the streets a bit lazily. A thick morning fog had been crawling its way through the alleys, now finally dissipated after the sun had fully risen in the sky; though the fog had taken its leave, the damp smell of petrichor hung about, drawing out the scents of soil and leaves and stone. It had been a soothing morning, a peaceful one, the type of calm that Sylen had desperately needed.

Shortly thereafter, Bross had started up a disaster.

The llama reared slightly, shoving a forehoof into someone's side as he shouted out commands; a massive crowd was swarming Bross and his victim like bees to a hive. Sylen lifted his head, barely managing to scan above the crowd, forcing his way through the panicked townsfolk as he approached.

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Prompt 2: Sylen intervenes.

"Bross," Sylen snapped, just as he broke through the ring of bystanders. "What the fuck are you doing?"

The shaggy red llama, ears flattened back against his head, lip curled in disgust, hovered over a quivering young deer crouched on the cobblestone. "My job."

Sylen stared down at the cervine. "Bross. This 'mage' is barely more than a fawn."

"What, and that makes it legal, then?"

Sylen looked back up to his teammate and glowered. "Did you see them do magic?"

"What? I--"

"Did you see this fawn do any magic, Bross? Perform any rituals? Turn into some other creature?"

The llama held his mouth shut. Sylen flicked his tail, ears flat.

"That's what I thought."

Sylen stepped forward, the clack of his hooves on stone audible as the crowd wavered behind him, holding their breath. He reached down, peering toward the fawn's face; they were shivering, avoiding eye contact.

A pang of regret, cold and hard, cut deep into the back of Sylen's throat, forcing it to tighten. In the same moment, a swathe of that morning fog washed over him; suddenly, he forgot what he seemed to be regretting. He rose back to his full height, brow furrowed, and took a deep breath to steady himself in his confusion.

Instantly Sylen watched his best friend, small and helpless, crying out in pain and desperation as his own magic overtook him, the gentle lamb Sylen once knew twisting into a monstrous aberration. 

Shock rocked Sylen to his core and he wobbled on his feet, stumbling a few steps back from Bross and the fawn, chest heaving as he fought away the memory. He regained his composure and glanced upward; Bross seemed dazed as well, as did the fawn.

Fury suddenly settled in Bross' expression. He looked down to the huddled fawn and raised a hoof high above their throat.

"NO!"

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Prompt 3: Sylen makes peace (of a sort).

Sylen lunged forward, shoving himself between the fawn and the Witchfinder. Bross' hoof slammed down into Sylen's side and the equine reeled, the fawn scurrying out and away from under him.

Bross squared his shoulders and took a step back, readying himself. "You trying to undermine me?" he growled. His ears were flat against the sides of his head, teeth bared. "You think you know how to do my job better than me?"

"Bross, please," Sylen groaned, "cut the shit. I'm not trying to undermine you." He lowered his voice to barely more than a murmur, hidden behind his teeth. "And we have the same job."

The fawn had scurried to the edge of the ring of townsfolk, but the crowd blocked their exit. Sylen slowly moved himself between Bross and the fawn, head low, shoulders tight. Bross' gaze followed Sylen around the ring.

"I'm not trying to undermine you," Sylen repeated. "I know what can happen to a mage. Even a child." He glanced over his shoulder at the fawn, who cowered behind him. Sylen turned back to Bross. "I'll take them to the Order myself. The mages there can test them. But what you're doing, and how you're acting-- it's not how we should be running things. Senseless violence isn't part of the job."

Bross sneered. "You are trying to undermine me," he spat. Though his voice and pose implied he was ready for a fight, Bross' nervous tells were out on display, and Sylen knew them all.

"Take it up with Miriam." Sylen moved until the fawn was by his side, and beckoned the child with a flick of his tail. To the fawn, he spoke gently, "I need you to follow me."

Sylen broke through the crowd, fawn by his side, feeling the glare of the Witchfinder burning into his shoulders, hearing the whispers of the crowd around him.

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