http://natty-boy.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
natty-boy.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tampered2007-03-05 06:12 pm
natty-boy.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-03-05 06:12 pm
Log; Complete.
When; Evening of March 4th, the Festival.
Rating; PG.
Characters; Nathaniel [![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
natty_boy].
Summary; Research and sacrifice in the form of letting Mandrake take over. Time to see if it was worth it.
Log;
Without the beating of his heart to distract him, Nathaniel set to work. It was perfect timing, really. With the merriment of the Shang Yuan Festival filling the streets, it was hard to hear anything from the apartments - unless you were specifically straining to find anything out of the ordinary. But what out of the ordinary anything would anyone expect from the quiet Nathaniel? Room 15 in Building 7 had a tendency to remain silent, it's sole occupant busying himself in his study; and without breath and a heartbeat, the place tended to be dead silent, save for the rustle of turned pages.
Not now.
Nathaniel didn't allow himself to dwell on those two days where the deity, Siran, had granted him a brief respite from his fate. They were like living someone else's life, rediscovering what it meant to live and be truly happy at the same time - neither of which he had back home. He didn't realise what being dead in the City meant until he returned to that state, but it couldn't have come at a better time. He needed that break before diving into the matter at hand. Now he knew he had to at least try.
By all means, this wouldn't be the his only attempt. This was a draft, just to see if the alterations to the spell's usual bindings would hold. He and Mandrake (God, but he sounded utterly insane when it was phrased that way) had discovered the presence of weaker djinn in the City, and of course, it made sense. Anyone and everyone could be pulled here, and if Bartimaeus had been, who was to say it couldn't be the same for the other spirits?
The magician paused, chalk poised over the smooth floor as he thought. It should stand to reason that something could be summoned into the City1, since things are pulled in all the time, and just as similarly expelled. And if whole, corporeal matter could be captured, wouldn't energy be easier? Those are, in essence, what djinn are, aren't they? Nathaniel smiled briefly as he resumed tracing out the altered pentacle; he wasn't going to do anything of that sort.
In theory, he could Dismiss. That's what he hoped, anyway. Bartimaeus needed his essence to rest, or else the City could very well kill him. Would his world's magic be strong enough to fight the City's magic? He didn't know just how strong it would be, what forces he was up against. Normally, the young man would look into every aspect of his opponent - seen or unseen - but the Library was strangely lacking in explicit detail on the City. No doubt citizens were meant to be kept in the dark, but nevertheless...
He straightened, dusting the chalk dust from his trousers, eyeing his handiwork. "Not bad," Nathaniel murmured to himself, stepping from the pentacle to his notes on the oakwood desk. He traced a finger over the rough sketch, dark eyes flickering from floor to paper as he checked the runes. A bit of improvisation on his part, the runes. He wasn't neccesarily Dismissing or Summoning a djinn, as Bartimaeus was not under his charge, and therefore, he had no chains to Nathaniel. The young man hesitated at the thought, toying absently with the silver paperweight on his desk --
Undoubtedly, it was dangerous to test the City's barriers this way. But he didn't know what else to do. He could have asked Siran for an exit for Bartimaeus, but on what terms? Could a deity grant egress like that, no strings attached? Nathaniel didn't think so. No. Bartimaeus would have had to return to the City, perhaps, and the whole essence draining would have happened again.
"Enough," he muttered, rolling up the crisp white sleeves of his shirt. Again, the magician cast a critical eye over the points of the pentacle, the runes, the circle; no breaks, no cracks, no flaws. Again, he ran over the spells in his head; no mistranslations, no faltering, no mispronounciations. How many dead languages and spells would he attempt to invoke? This sort of thing was never done before, not quite like this. Summoning a djinn from the Other Place had the same principals: you tear a hole in another world, another dimension. But this was the City. That was what changed everything, that made this more of a gamble.
Ah, well, Nathaniel thought to himself. I'm already dead. What could happen?
He waved a hand once, and the binding spells on the windows and door took effect. No need for Kitty and the others to sense what he was up to. This was only a test run, after all. No actual breaking through the City's contraints, just poking at the surface, so to speak. Nathaniel knelt to activate the Voice Post feature on his laptop: he would set it to Private, of course. This was so he could listen to his spell afterwards, see what more alterations needed to be made.
That's it. No stalling now. Get it together, old man. It's for Bartimaeus. This is why you let that bastard take over, you knew he would test the enslavement of spirits here. Your world's magic can be done. To what extent? This is why you're trying this. Do it now.
Nathaniel stepped into the pentacle and took a deep breath. Then he began to speak, the old tongue rusty at first, but easily picking up the almost forgotten languages, syllables of Czech flowing easily. It would start in Czech first; magic was at it's strongest in Prague, the language held a closer tie than even Latin. But to state his intentions of the spell, a more literal and clear stance was needed, and the magician did switch to the dead language after the first verse.
The pentacle began to warm, then glow. So far, so good. Nathaniel focused his eyes on a spot on the ceiling, forcing his hands to relax as he continued. Smoke spiralled into the air, the runes sparked. Suddenly, he wished he had something to protect him, should this go wrong. Which it could. But there was no backing out now; and besides, the Amulet of Samarkand would have absorbed the spell's effects. Keep on going.
A dry wind whipped through the study, scattering notes and flickering candles. One spluttered and died, and the scent of melted wax mingled with the stirring rosemary. Nathaniel closed his eyes, pushed the spell out, words growing in volume. Where was it? Where did the City end? His consciousness expanded; out of the room, over the City, forest and ocean... Where?
Visuals died here. Could he see beyond the ocean, or was the City a world, and he had reached the edge of night? No sight, nothing new learned but that the ocean stretched far; there! Resistance. Tight and unyeilding. He tested it again. Did worlds lie behind this? Was home there, the Other Place, London or--
Fzzt-ktack!
The shock sent the magician spinning across the room with a cry, sweeping clean over his desk and sprawling on the ground behind it, books and notes tumbling down where he knocked them over. The pentacle began to hum angrily, then a bright flash followed by the soft hiss of a dying flame; Nathaniel's clothing smoked and his body felt plagued by pins and needles. An electric jolt of some sort. The City didn't like that. Hell, the deities probably didn't, either.
He groaned, rolling onto his back, eyes tightly shut. He was dead, but his chest rose and fell with the instinctive breathing patterns, finding that painful in its own right. He had no problems with lying there, but he forced open an eye, turned his stiff neck to try and see the pentacle. The chalk had burned away. That meant his seals had, too.
God, he thought. That meant Kitty must have felt it. Bartimaeus. Fuck. That wasn't meant to happen.
Nathaniel struggled up on his elbows with a wince, stretching out a hand to run blindly over the keyboard of his computer. That was enough. He had to--
"Fuck," the magician swore again as a sharp pain shot through his head. Too much. Lie down, damn it. Too much magic in one go. Stupid, stupid.
He rolled over, moved his mouth closer to the laptop on the floor.
"That was... the first attempt. Clearly the City - does not..." Nathaniel turned onto his back, falling away from the microphone; a bit of a rest should do it. No need to get up and find his bed to collapse on. He closed his eyes and let unconsciousness take him without qualm.
---
1 - Note from the mun: Yes, I've read the FAQs and am well aware of the consequences of trying to escape, summon something, and so on, and that it isn't quite possible. It's just Nat that doesn't, and this was his attempt to test the barriers of the City in order to see if he can save a friend. :D
Rating; PG.
Characters; Nathaniel [
natty_boy]. Summary; Research and sacrifice in the form of letting Mandrake take over. Time to see if it was worth it.
Log;
Without the beating of his heart to distract him, Nathaniel set to work. It was perfect timing, really. With the merriment of the Shang Yuan Festival filling the streets, it was hard to hear anything from the apartments - unless you were specifically straining to find anything out of the ordinary. But what out of the ordinary anything would anyone expect from the quiet Nathaniel? Room 15 in Building 7 had a tendency to remain silent, it's sole occupant busying himself in his study; and without breath and a heartbeat, the place tended to be dead silent, save for the rustle of turned pages.
Not now.
Nathaniel didn't allow himself to dwell on those two days where the deity, Siran, had granted him a brief respite from his fate. They were like living someone else's life, rediscovering what it meant to live and be truly happy at the same time - neither of which he had back home. He didn't realise what being dead in the City meant until he returned to that state, but it couldn't have come at a better time. He needed that break before diving into the matter at hand. Now he knew he had to at least try.
By all means, this wouldn't be the his only attempt. This was a draft, just to see if the alterations to the spell's usual bindings would hold. He and Mandrake (God, but he sounded utterly insane when it was phrased that way) had discovered the presence of weaker djinn in the City, and of course, it made sense. Anyone and everyone could be pulled here, and if Bartimaeus had been, who was to say it couldn't be the same for the other spirits?
The magician paused, chalk poised over the smooth floor as he thought. It should stand to reason that something could be summoned into the City1, since things are pulled in all the time, and just as similarly expelled. And if whole, corporeal matter could be captured, wouldn't energy be easier? Those are, in essence, what djinn are, aren't they? Nathaniel smiled briefly as he resumed tracing out the altered pentacle; he wasn't going to do anything of that sort.
In theory, he could Dismiss. That's what he hoped, anyway. Bartimaeus needed his essence to rest, or else the City could very well kill him. Would his world's magic be strong enough to fight the City's magic? He didn't know just how strong it would be, what forces he was up against. Normally, the young man would look into every aspect of his opponent - seen or unseen - but the Library was strangely lacking in explicit detail on the City. No doubt citizens were meant to be kept in the dark, but nevertheless...
He straightened, dusting the chalk dust from his trousers, eyeing his handiwork. "Not bad," Nathaniel murmured to himself, stepping from the pentacle to his notes on the oakwood desk. He traced a finger over the rough sketch, dark eyes flickering from floor to paper as he checked the runes. A bit of improvisation on his part, the runes. He wasn't neccesarily Dismissing or Summoning a djinn, as Bartimaeus was not under his charge, and therefore, he had no chains to Nathaniel. The young man hesitated at the thought, toying absently with the silver paperweight on his desk --
Undoubtedly, it was dangerous to test the City's barriers this way. But he didn't know what else to do. He could have asked Siran for an exit for Bartimaeus, but on what terms? Could a deity grant egress like that, no strings attached? Nathaniel didn't think so. No. Bartimaeus would have had to return to the City, perhaps, and the whole essence draining would have happened again.
"Enough," he muttered, rolling up the crisp white sleeves of his shirt. Again, the magician cast a critical eye over the points of the pentacle, the runes, the circle; no breaks, no cracks, no flaws. Again, he ran over the spells in his head; no mistranslations, no faltering, no mispronounciations. How many dead languages and spells would he attempt to invoke? This sort of thing was never done before, not quite like this. Summoning a djinn from the Other Place had the same principals: you tear a hole in another world, another dimension. But this was the City. That was what changed everything, that made this more of a gamble.
Ah, well, Nathaniel thought to himself. I'm already dead. What could happen?
He waved a hand once, and the binding spells on the windows and door took effect. No need for Kitty and the others to sense what he was up to. This was only a test run, after all. No actual breaking through the City's contraints, just poking at the surface, so to speak. Nathaniel knelt to activate the Voice Post feature on his laptop: he would set it to Private, of course. This was so he could listen to his spell afterwards, see what more alterations needed to be made.
That's it. No stalling now. Get it together, old man. It's for Bartimaeus. This is why you let that bastard take over, you knew he would test the enslavement of spirits here. Your world's magic can be done. To what extent? This is why you're trying this. Do it now.
Nathaniel stepped into the pentacle and took a deep breath. Then he began to speak, the old tongue rusty at first, but easily picking up the almost forgotten languages, syllables of Czech flowing easily. It would start in Czech first; magic was at it's strongest in Prague, the language held a closer tie than even Latin. But to state his intentions of the spell, a more literal and clear stance was needed, and the magician did switch to the dead language after the first verse.
The pentacle began to warm, then glow. So far, so good. Nathaniel focused his eyes on a spot on the ceiling, forcing his hands to relax as he continued. Smoke spiralled into the air, the runes sparked. Suddenly, he wished he had something to protect him, should this go wrong. Which it could. But there was no backing out now; and besides, the Amulet of Samarkand would have absorbed the spell's effects. Keep on going.
A dry wind whipped through the study, scattering notes and flickering candles. One spluttered and died, and the scent of melted wax mingled with the stirring rosemary. Nathaniel closed his eyes, pushed the spell out, words growing in volume. Where was it? Where did the City end? His consciousness expanded; out of the room, over the City, forest and ocean... Where?
Visuals died here. Could he see beyond the ocean, or was the City a world, and he had reached the edge of night? No sight, nothing new learned but that the ocean stretched far; there! Resistance. Tight and unyeilding. He tested it again. Did worlds lie behind this? Was home there, the Other Place, London or--
Fzzt-ktack!
The shock sent the magician spinning across the room with a cry, sweeping clean over his desk and sprawling on the ground behind it, books and notes tumbling down where he knocked them over. The pentacle began to hum angrily, then a bright flash followed by the soft hiss of a dying flame; Nathaniel's clothing smoked and his body felt plagued by pins and needles. An electric jolt of some sort. The City didn't like that. Hell, the deities probably didn't, either.
He groaned, rolling onto his back, eyes tightly shut. He was dead, but his chest rose and fell with the instinctive breathing patterns, finding that painful in its own right. He had no problems with lying there, but he forced open an eye, turned his stiff neck to try and see the pentacle. The chalk had burned away. That meant his seals had, too.
God, he thought. That meant Kitty must have felt it. Bartimaeus. Fuck. That wasn't meant to happen.
Nathaniel struggled up on his elbows with a wince, stretching out a hand to run blindly over the keyboard of his computer. That was enough. He had to--
"Fuck," the magician swore again as a sharp pain shot through his head. Too much. Lie down, damn it. Too much magic in one go. Stupid, stupid.
He rolled over, moved his mouth closer to the laptop on the floor.
"That was... the first attempt. Clearly the City - does not..." Nathaniel turned onto his back, falling away from the microphone; a bit of a rest should do it. No need to get up and find his bed to collapse on. He closed his eyes and let unconsciousness take him without qualm.
---
1 - Note from the mun: Yes, I've read the FAQs and am well aware of the consequences of trying to escape, summon something, and so on, and that it isn't quite possible. It's just Nat that doesn't, and this was his attempt to test the barriers of the City in order to see if he can save a friend. :D