Work Text:
We see an elderly archmage, backed by a contingent of wizards and sorcerers, all channeling magic into emergency stations in a part of the plaza he stands in, channeling the beginnings of their vast magic stores into the Etheric Net of the city. This standard procedure, in times of trouble, is to ensure the preservation of the city, by any means necessary. And yet, on this terrible night, Eldamir the Wise feels something akin to doubt in his mind. The more advanced mages of course have plenty of magic to spare, but the civilians being escorted forward by the guard to channel their own into the Net, well...he knows this will end with bodies on the floor, unable to move, unable to run for safety. But, it is the decision of the Septarion that the city and its effects must be preserved first, or all their work over the years will have been for nothing.
And then, projected across the display mirrors and waterfalls and beacons across the city, and in a huge image below the city, Eldamir, and everyone else, looks up in awe at a face they all trust implicitly.
"Good evening, Avalir and Cathmoira--no...good evening, Toramunda!"
The civilians stop channeling magics, and even the well-trained mages and sorcerers slow their own etheric streams down to trickles, as they listen and watch, enraptured, as the Herald of Avalon announces the cancellation of the Replenishment, the betrayal of the Administration, and warns them of the incoming danger. Eldamir can only watch, in utter bewilderment. Didn't he send Loras to instruct the Herald to tell the people of the Etheric Net Preservation? To inspire them to give their lives so that their legacy may live on?
"But don't trust me. Trust someone else."
"Oh...hello. It is I, Eldamir the Wise. Loquatius speaks true, as always..."
The crowd around him murmurs in shock, looking from him to the sky. None of them know of Loquatius's true nature. The populace always assumed it was a magical editorial trick, to make his transitions look so smooth. They watch, now themselves in disbelief, as Eldamir himself gives the evacuation order, telling all to use their magic not to save the city, but to flee for safety for themselves. And as they watch, more confused than ever, Eldamir just starts to chuckle, before throwing his head back in an unadulterated cackle that only an old wizard can truly pull off.
"Loquatius Seelie, you brilliant son of a bitch! How could I, the wisest man in Avalir, forget such a simple truth of life!? It is not a collection of buildings and grand magical marvels and towering spires that make a city! IT. IS. ITS. PEOPLE!"
As the broadcast comes to an end, the civilians feeling emboldened while the surrounding mages look a bit apprehensive and look towards Eldamir, and Eldamir looks back at them. "Well!? You heard me up there, what are you standing around here for!? Get those civilians to the galley, and any that can't find a spot, burn whatever magic you can into teleporting them off the city, or get as big of a group together you can and Fly them away!"
As he gives this order, a scream of terror comes from a little girl, pointing down the street of the plaza, as a horde of devils comes charging and flying down the street, right for the assembled group. In a flash, Eldamir stands in front of the little girl, and slams the end of his gnarled wooden staff against the pavement, erecting a Wall of magical Force in their way. The horde slams into the barely visible wall, stretched 30 feet tall and blocking the entire street. He turns to the girl, and gives a warm smile to her awestruck face. "There, there, child. All will be well, I am sure of it." He turns a steeled expression to the mages. "GO! NOW!" A mage rushes up and grabs the girl, and the crowd rushes down a side street, heading for the galley as fast as they can.
Eldamir turns back to the horde, a grimace on his face. He hasn't had to actually cast a spell like this in years, decades even. A crack appears in the wall, and as the last civilian turns the corner, he gives a wry smirk. "And as for you...fiends of the lower realms..." With a swift wave of his staff-holding hand, the wall shatters outwards, the force of it throwing the horde back, as Eldamir begins to rise above the horde. He calls out as he begins to cast a spell, "Come on then, ye hordes of the Hells! I haven't lost my fire yet!" He unleashes a powerful spell, before charging forward, magic guarding himself and starting to blast spell after spell into the horde, with one final battlecry on his lips.
"FOR TORAMUNDA! AAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!"