There actually wasn't a whole lot to clean up aside from the charring, because John didn't know anything about fixing wards. The breakage had made the janitor's room chime, but that would have stopped as soon as John arrived. As long as he didn't get another call to clean something else, he was perfectly happy with staying where he was and watching, wide-eyed.
The guys he'd seen betting on how long Solomon Wreath would last as an Elder, let alone with his life, were in for a big surprise. In fact, John was just pondering how much he should lay down in the man's favour when Erskine spoke. It took a moment for the words to really sink in. "Sure."
He didn't even take the threat seriously, because he knew Erskine was joking. Well, about hurting him. He did get that it was important no one found out about Wreath's new magic before the man was ready. Whatever it was, it was powerful, so it was probably a good idea that Wreath was trying to figure it out now and not when someone tried to kill him again.
However it worked, John watched with slightly wide eyes, leaning on his mop in its empty bucket, as Wreath cut off that golden stream of light impacting Dexter's shield.
Solomon had discovered not all that long ago that Sanctuary paper was faintly magical. It wasn't enough for him to actually be able to write on it or read from it, but just enough for him to see its presence. He'd asked Tipstaff. The man's soul had turned thoughtful, and he concluded it was probably the enchantments. That was when Solomon had discovered that all Sanctuary-stamped stationary had triplicating and anti-doctoring spells on them. (He'd debated letting Erskine know that there actually was triplicating magic on them, which was quite easy to activate, but then decided he was too amused by the man's boredom to do so.)
Which meant that when Erskine waved the paper, Solomon could actually see it. And now he had some idea of how things worked. In fact, he suspected it was a great deal like how Necromancy had worked, except now he could see under the curtain to the machinery. He didn't need a focussing object anymore, but there was still a system of balances and weights. He tilted his head toward Erskine. "Well, far be it for me to be so rude as to decline."
The ex-Necromancer whirled, pushing down with his back hand just enough to place tension on the magic in his palm; then with a practised flick of his wrist, the very same kind he once used with his cane, he sent a small bolt of light toward the waving paper. It missed by about a foot, fizzling out against the wards. "Damn."
Before Erskine could object, Solomon charged another bolt and tossed it--and this time it caught the sheaf of paper squarely. The light took them straight out of Erskine's hand with another fizzle, like rain pattering on soil, and a moment later the paper had vanished from his Sight.
In reality they were fluttering every which way, the enchantments on them broken but the paper otherwise entirely unharmed. John Doe jumped with surprise and reached out to catch them. Erskine, too, would be fine; he would have felt the spark of the stationary's magic breaking more than any force from the bolt itself, and that would have just felt like a static shock.
"Ah. There we go. What was it you were saying about sharpshooting, Dexter?"
The banner rippled. "I'll say right now that I'm not protecting you when Erskine tries to singe your arse for scaring the soul out of him."
Solomon shrugged. "It's not like it would have hurt him. I don't think there's a whole lot physical about those bolts. It seems to impact soul more than anything else; that's probably why the sight of it hurt Sanguine so much and the three of you aren't having any troubles."
The only time it seemed to actually cause damage was when it hit something magical. Like the wards, or Dex's shields. Solomon frowned and eyed Dexter's banner speculatively. "Actually, I think I managed to bind Sanguine's magic for a moment or two. Or at least stun him magically. I wonder ..."
"Oh, no. I draw the line at being a magic-bound guinea pig."
"If I can influence magic, wouldn't it be better to know now?" Solomon asked innocently.
"The wards are fizzling. I think that probably confirms everything. But if you're that interested in de-magifying a me-shaped thing ..." There was a prismatic shimmer and a man-shaped form coalesced into view. The light was shifting too much for him to see actual details, but Solomon could see enough of the facial shape to guess it was a Dexter-shaped mannequin.
"I believe it's called dispelling," Solomon said mildly, and raised his hands. He didn't just want to break the construct with sheer force. No, that was too easy. He wanted to dissolve it at its most basic foundation. True, an ordinary bolt of whatever he was firing--'ordinary' being relative here--would probably do it, but that struck him as rather unrefined. Oh well. It was where he had to start, and maybe if he destroyed the Dexter-shaped mannequin enough he'd figure out something more subtle.
On some level Solomon had noticed the shift of approaching souls. It was just that it took until they actually entered the room for them to register, and in the same moment he had charged a flickering bolt in his palm and set it loose on the remarkably Dexter-looking mannequin with a twist of his hand.
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The guys he'd seen betting on how long Solomon Wreath would last as an Elder, let alone with his life, were in for a big surprise. In fact, John was just pondering how much he should lay down in the man's favour when Erskine spoke. It took a moment for the words to really sink in. "Sure."
He didn't even take the threat seriously, because he knew Erskine was joking. Well, about hurting him. He did get that it was important no one found out about Wreath's new magic before the man was ready. Whatever it was, it was powerful, so it was probably a good idea that Wreath was trying to figure it out now and not when someone tried to kill him again.
However it worked, John watched with slightly wide eyes, leaning on his mop in its empty bucket, as Wreath cut off that golden stream of light impacting Dexter's shield.
Solomon had discovered not all that long ago that Sanctuary paper was faintly magical. It wasn't enough for him to actually be able to write on it or read from it, but just enough for him to see its presence. He'd asked Tipstaff. The man's soul had turned thoughtful, and he concluded it was probably the enchantments. That was when Solomon had discovered that all Sanctuary-stamped stationary had triplicating and anti-doctoring spells on them. (He'd debated letting Erskine know that there actually was triplicating magic on them, which was quite easy to activate, but then decided he was too amused by the man's boredom to do so.)
Which meant that when Erskine waved the paper, Solomon could actually see it. And now he had some idea of how things worked. In fact, he suspected it was a great deal like how Necromancy had worked, except now he could see under the curtain to the machinery. He didn't need a focussing object anymore, but there was still a system of balances and weights. He tilted his head toward Erskine. "Well, far be it for me to be so rude as to decline."
The ex-Necromancer whirled, pushing down with his back hand just enough to place tension on the magic in his palm; then with a practised flick of his wrist, the very same kind he once used with his cane, he sent a small bolt of light toward the waving paper. It missed by about a foot, fizzling out against the wards. "Damn."
Before Erskine could object, Solomon charged another bolt and tossed it--and this time it caught the sheaf of paper squarely. The light took them straight out of Erskine's hand with another fizzle, like rain pattering on soil, and a moment later the paper had vanished from his Sight.
In reality they were fluttering every which way, the enchantments on them broken but the paper otherwise entirely unharmed. John Doe jumped with surprise and reached out to catch them. Erskine, too, would be fine; he would have felt the spark of the stationary's magic breaking more than any force from the bolt itself, and that would have just felt like a static shock.
"Ah. There we go. What was it you were saying about sharpshooting, Dexter?"
The banner rippled. "I'll say right now that I'm not protecting you when Erskine tries to singe your arse for scaring the soul out of him."
Solomon shrugged. "It's not like it would have hurt him. I don't think there's a whole lot physical about those bolts. It seems to impact soul more than anything else; that's probably why the sight of it hurt Sanguine so much and the three of you aren't having any troubles."
The only time it seemed to actually cause damage was when it hit something magical. Like the wards, or Dex's shields. Solomon frowned and eyed Dexter's banner speculatively. "Actually, I think I managed to bind Sanguine's magic for a moment or two. Or at least stun him magically. I wonder ..."
"Oh, no. I draw the line at being a magic-bound guinea pig."
"If I can influence magic, wouldn't it be better to know now?" Solomon asked innocently.
"The wards are fizzling. I think that probably confirms everything. But if you're that interested in de-magifying a me-shaped thing ..." There was a prismatic shimmer and a man-shaped form coalesced into view. The light was shifting too much for him to see actual details, but Solomon could see enough of the facial shape to guess it was a Dexter-shaped mannequin.
"I believe it's called dispelling," Solomon said mildly, and raised his hands. He didn't just want to break the construct with sheer force. No, that was too easy. He wanted to dissolve it at its most basic foundation. True, an ordinary bolt of whatever he was firing--'ordinary' being relative here--would probably do it, but that struck him as rather unrefined. Oh well. It was where he had to start, and maybe if he destroyed the Dexter-shaped mannequin enough he'd figure out something more subtle.
On some level Solomon had noticed the shift of approaching souls. It was just that it took until they actually entered the room for them to register, and in the same moment he had charged a flickering bolt in his palm and set it loose on the remarkably Dexter-looking mannequin with a twist of his hand.