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When Blaire had first met Azzanadra in his pyramid after freeing him, if anything, they might have said he was a bit underwhelming. The stories the people living in the bandit camp had been of a near godlike being capable of keeping entire armies at bay. The confused ghost that had greeted Blaire was a far cry from an ancient savior the desert people had been hoping for.
Still, a quest is a quest, and Blaire has put ghosts to rest before. Surely, telling him his people still lived and had hope because of his past heroics would help calm him.
Before they could try to placate him he began rambling about his master and some sort of “ancient magicks” that he hoped would serve them in the upcoming battle. At the end of his spiel he created a portal as he said he would and teleported away.
Not entirely sure how to break the news to Eblis yet, they took a look through the room and settled on investigating the altar. Its symbol was somewhat familiar, something that they may have seen on the dig-site by Varrock.
Walking closer Blaire suddenly heard another voice in their mind that spoke a language completely foreign and incomprehensible. It made their head feel fuzzy and their mind unfocused.
As quickly as it came on it faded out and was replaced with the relative quiet of the pyramid. After only seconds it was impossible to even recall who or what the voice had sounded like.
“What the fuck?” Blaire mumbled to nobody.
Taking a few steps back and rubbing their head gently as if they would find evidence of this invasion on their mind and began channeling a teleportation spell out of the pyramid not trusting where the portal Azzanadra left would lead.
It somehow felt off. It was a basic teleportation spell and it worked fine in the end so not quite wrong but there was something unfamiliar about it suddenly. Which, frankly, didn’t make any sense at all. It was one of the first spells ever taught to them. That and airstrike which was-
Something was very very wrong after all. A decade of fighting with magic was under their belt. Sure, swordsmanship was their prefered method of fighting when push comes to shove but they were a lethal force in their own right when it came to magic. The memory of using the spells was still there but it was out of focus, it was like someone had condensed only the barest of facts about the events and had taken all of the feeling from them.
Stepping off the Al Kharid lodestone Blaire started to make their way to the closest bank.
The bank staff seemingly as indifferent to any distress their adventuring clients might be in as ever greeted Blaire with a polite smile, “How can I help you today?”
“I’d like to withdraw some runes from my account,” Blaire stated hurriedly.
“You have a variety listed here what kinds would you like withdrawn?” The teller asked patiently.
“Air, fire, water, and uhhh,” Blaire trailed off for a moment before adding, “Blood runes too.”
After retrieving the runes they made their way out of the city and into the sand wastes beyond it.
* * *
They held a few air and water runes in their hands, a familiar weight and sensation still. The faintest tingle of potential still buzzing in their palms. They just couldn’t conceive of a next step. Theoretically it all still made sense: the runes react releasing magic that you then control to complete an attack. Beyond the theoretical however. . .
The blood runes sitting in the bottom of their bag seemed important suddenly. Taking a handful of them Blaire scrutinized them for a moment. These runes had never had quite the same feeling as water, fire, earth or air runes although wizards at wizard tower had mentioned that they were elemental runes as well, not catalyst runes. They had always had a slightly different weight to them. They were plainly weird and off putting. A bit warmer than a water rune, colder than a fire rune, and though the potential was still slight enough that less experienced wizards didn’t feel, in Blaire’s hands they almost hurt. They had made it a point not to carry them around if they didn’t have to.
Now they felt like they belonged in their hand as much as a sword did. The felt like they were practically crackling with energy. With certainty that could have only come from practice Blaire counted out a few chaos, blood, and death runes on feeling only while shifting into a casting position.
The spell was unlike any Blaire had ever cast before. On the surface it was clearly more powerful, the poor cactus they had used as a target was decimated. Deeper than that however, it was the first time that Blaire could really understand how mages described magic as a part of themself. In the past it was always a bit like archery to them. Point at an enemy and try to hit them. This felt nothing like that. It was almost like their energy was a part of the spell too. Like it didn’t stop being connected to them once it left their hands this time.
Looking at their hands as if they would see a trace of magic lingering their they slipped back into casting position. This was stupid, only kids ever tried doing this. But still, the buzz of magic still pulsed under the skin of their hand despite having used those runes. They took a step forward and made the attack gesture. Nothing interesting happened.
“I’m so glad nobody saw me do that,” Blaire said while slipping their hands back into their pockets and started a walk back to town for the night.
Outwardly, Blaire was calm as they walked through the now cooling sand dunes but that was a poker face perfected through years of practice. This was the most interesting thing that’s happened in ages. As strange as Azzanadra was, his ancient magicks were the real deal. And if they were the real deal maybe there was something to the ancient savior legends afterall. A new and powerful ally with a vendetta against the saradominists and zamorakians but who made no mention of any ill feelings towards Guthix? They could work with that for sure. Spells that packed a bigger punch that they somehow just knew. Blaire could see a whole world of possibilities before them.