Mavarion watched as the figure, staying just out of the range of light, searched around. Whether for an escape route or looking for any allies might be laying in wait, Mavarion did not know. Within moments, it was clear this person did not mean to leave.
Mavarion watched as the figure dug knives into the cracked and creased ceiling above himself, momentarily jealous of the nimbleness in the other's limbs. Internally cursing the loss of his youth and the sprightly movements of his limbs for bringing this moment about, the old man took one small step back, the heat of the flames behind him slowly dying as the fire consumed the only fuel available to it. As the oil from the lamp began to diminish, so too did the light from the flames, if only slightly at the moment the other figure began to speak.
Azer wrote:'Who am I,' he replied in an indignant voice, 'who the fuck are you?'
Disrespect from his equals and superiors was one thing, though it had been an extremely long time since Mavarion had considered anyone an equal, let alone superior. Disrespect from a gutter crawling street rat was altogether another. With a whispered word, Mavarion unleashed the spell he was holding, allowing the now significant power within him to finally find absolution. The flows of power drifted from him to latch on to the items the spell was directed towards, wrapping gently around the knives the figure before him had dug into the ceiling and now (presumably) held most of his weight. The corrupting magic would take a moment to seep fully into the knife blades, causing imperfections and weakening the metal. Unless, of course, the blades were magically protected from such tampering.
Mavarion knew that if the figure was able to bring the roof down, much of this building would come down. The spell itself was an attempt to protect himself from the effects of a falling building, but he was also ready to take other precautions. A quick glance down the hall showed the light coming from a room a dozen feet further down. Inside that room, part of a wall had fallen, easily allowing someone to exit and enter through it.
Mavarion turned back to the figure, speaking in a cold, commanding voice.
"Who I am is of no importance, as it seems I would have been here first. Therefore, it would seem that perhaps you are the intruder into my domain, and perhaps I should deal with you thus. Does that sound like a good idea?"
Mavarion folded his hands in front of him, patiently awaiting a reply, or for the knives to crumble. He cocked his left wrist at a particular angle, allowing the spring -hinged holder to slide the dagger he kept for protection into his hand. The large, long sleeves of his robes would have hid the movement even if he were not backlit by the firelight.
