Mar’Kir zipped about the beautiful captain's cabin he inhabited, his stride seeming casual but covering exceptional amounts of space with the same time and effort as a full sprint, using his skill to cover the space therein quickly but gracefully. The dark wood captured the light of the crystal lantern holding an inert fire slime. It was truly a masterpiece of a room; the mental reconstruction of the finest ships he’d been on. The view out to the endless oceans of the elemental plane of water through the small portals disguised as viewports certainly helped. The creatures he saw through said windows were truly fascinating, and it was a great place to train whenever he felt like he needed to keep his edge.

He really wasn’t a fan of the violence this whole “being framed as bandits” called for. It was not only distasteful for a scholar to engage in, as he much preferred putting his knowledge to constructive causes, but it often involved working with entities like Saint Atibon. That deity of deals and knowledge was a chaotic being and worked based upon his whims and desires, rather than hard-set principles.

Great for a party, not so much for a bargain. A serious deal with an entity who found business droll was a poor choice, but few were the gods who would work with him in such a capacity. Not after he had a brief but torrid and passionate relationship with the demi-god child of the main god of deals; their parent ensured that few other major deities who enveloped such things would work with him. Word had it that that demi-god still sought revenge, but honestly, it wasn’t Mar’Kir’s fault that he misunderstood the nature of their relationship.

All this internal thought was a thin cover for the hurricane brewing beneath. His wife may have been the one who craved violence… but out of Mar’Kir’s many talents, forgiving a sleight was not one of them. And to put his home at risk, his village, his PEOPLE… that was bad enough. But he couldn’t keep from his mind what the brigands would do with them if they had their way and his town was weakened by the conflict they started. What they would do with his daughter.

His demeanor and appearance didn’t falter as the air grew hot, energy flowing in powerful arcs around the room. What they would do to dear, precious Varo’K. Distaste for what he was going to have to do slipped away as the fury began to surface again, enhanced earlier by Saint Atibon.

Mar’Kir had learned much during his time as an adventurer, as a sage, and as a caster. His parents were scholars, one of the founders of a university second only to the Fae-Lord-backed school of Msavii. This school was focused much more on the facts of history and culture than magic and other active adventuring skills, but for one well versed to searching and fieldwork, there was much to learn from. Especially from the ancient, dragon-led civilizations, before the gods won most of the conflicts of control for much of the world.

Soon these bandits would learn what it meant to be a channel for the sadism of ancients. Magic could do much, much more than kill, heal, bolster, and raise, the specialties of his love. Ingredients flew from shelves to the table upon which he would work, the ancient magic runes and circles on his bare skin thrumming with purpose and power. They were eager to get to work, a channel for the unmitigated wrath that pulsed through him, turning the production and flow of his energy into a torrent.

T’Kere focused on more modern, well-understood magics, but that was never where Mar’Kir’s interest lay. His fascination was instead with the primordial magic of dragons, the only other major source of magic, older than the arts provided to the Orox Empire to sway them to the side of the gods. Or at least, less changed over time.

These ancient traditions of magic were droll to those learning of it, but only because they didn’t understand the thrill. The power of the wyrm surging through your veins was borderline addictive. It’s why most who practiced the art well became warlords; because any excuse to use it was enough to make one indulge in the high. To feel the heat of your emotions warm you inside, to feel your energy generation accelerate and demand release. Another reason for the existence of this space; he would hate to harm any of the village in his excitement.

With all the strange arcane ingredients assembled, Mar’Kir sat once more in front of his table. It was almost time to begin, but there was but one missing piece. An agent through which to work. After all, he was in a stronger position here than if he actually moved himself there. Much easier to focus on the task at hand when you needn't worry about physical harm.

So, he searched for something to act in his place; a particular kind of creature that should be effective against the targets. Manipulation and damage resistant, subtle, and slow. The main reason it wasn’t much of a threat most of the time was because it usually lived deep in the woods, away from the prying of others.

If one was to simply glance, they might mistake it as a treant. Tall, spindly, with a bulbous canopy. If they were close enough to find out that wasn’t the case, well… they wouldn’t be a problem for long.

It clambered up out of the table, bending without the restriction of bones. It couldn’t stand at its full height inside, but it still looked at Mar’Kir with slitted eyes all down its stalk, no rhyme or reason to where they appeared. Each eye looked different, different colors, different shapes, some even had black scleras. They peeled out from the white chalky stalk and disappeared into the same flesh. It was a fungus of some sort, stalk leading to gills and a split canopy that made it look like bunches of reddish-orange leaves from a distance.

Limbs split off from the main stalk with a loud creak, a frayed hand with dozens of fingers like tendrils clasping into a fist against its chest, and it knelt to Mar’Kir, “head” down in respect.

Mental dialogue, more composed of simple feelings and images despite the creature’s substantial cleverness, went quickly. It wasn’t interested in the task asked of it, it informed him, because it was already full. But it would tell its friends an offer was being made. A few minutes of conjuring to similar results found him one that needed a meal.

This would have to do. Mar’Kir snapped himself out of his meditation with a sharp inhale of breath, the room changing as his vision blurred for a moment before clearing. It was an empty meditation room, a bunker of sorts he used to access his . The spirit was summoned, now, all he had to do was call it and offer it a veritable buffet. He almost felt bad for the poor saps that had targetted this village - almost.

He stretched, rubbing stiffness out of his tanned shoulder as he walked over to the cubby that held his clothing. He was not in the camp of those that preferred nakedness, but it was easier to focus without cloth rubbing against skin. He could feel fury bubbling under his skin.

The creature he summoned was a spirit summon, in particular one that was best connected to the fungal aspect. Though, aspects became more complicated once you got that specific. Life, soul, decay, fungal. All could be considered a part of the process. It was hungry for energy, thus why he selected this spirit. It was known for a particularly nasty ability, mixed with , though despite that it was a kindhearted creature. It wanted to make its victims happy, it was just… cruel for the method, should you realize what was happening.

Being skilled in manipulation, he had no doubts they would be.