#cardsona

Dhuunyr sat on his haunches, considering the options before him. For the past few decades the sphinx had been researching the an ancient time-travel tech that had been lost to the ages. The ninth wind blew, and Dhuunyr stretched his bat-like wings to feel the cool air rush past. The most recent development in his research was what seemed like a dead end: the last being to interact with the technology was Magllahan, an ancient and long-dead sphinx. Dhuunyr couldn't proceed further without knowing all Magllahan could tell him, and he certainly wasn't going to abandon forty years of work. That left him with one option: he had to raise Magllahan. The cold air suddenly felt more ominous than comforting, and Dhuunyr folded his wings. After a few moments of steeling himself, the sphinx took to the air.

There were laws against disturbing the dead, but Dhuunyr had never been one to follow such useless rules. He dropped lightly to all fours on a blue-silver pillar, surveying the expanse of bone and etherium before him: The Scrapyard. The bodies of long-dead Esperites were collected and thrown together here, awaiting the Etherium Sculptors who would come and harvest the metal parts for re-use. Dhuunyr shuddered and stretched his wings, trying vainly not to think about how many arms and legs it took to craft his wings. Locating Magllahan wasn't hard – the ancient sphinx had been easily twice the size of any Dhuunyr had met before, and his half-disassembled skeleton stood out like an a drake among homonculi. Dhuunyr strode as close as he dared, locking eyes with Magllahan's gaping sockets. With a steadying breath, Dhuunyr closed his eyes. He had communed with the risen dead before, but never with one so ancient or powerful. Dhuunyr's eyes glowed a dim blue as he focused on the leylines around him. He shut out everything but the tangled mesh of mana in the center of the skull before him, tugging and coaxing the weave apart. As he worked, the tangled started to undo itself faster and faster. Too fast. Magllahan swarmed him, pressing against his mind with incredible force. Dhuunyr tried to pull away, but found that he couldn't. Magllahan's spirit had a powerful grip on his mind, and was forcing his way in deep. Dhuunyr began to panic as he felt himself slipping from control of his own body, his own spirit drifting in some wayward, indescribable direction. The world began to fade, and Dhuunyr grabbed onto his body with a desperation and fear he had never experienced before. The leylines around him began to melt and refract, weaving themselves into beautiful patterns he had never seen before. Two new types of mana flooded into wordly gaps that he had never noticed before, and it took everything he had to not pass out from the sheer exertion and shock. Magllahan's mind receded, and Dhuunyr gasped as he was suddenly the only pilot of his body again.