Re: On the Sorcerers' Tower
Vincent's jaw had tightened as, as he heard it, 'half-blood' was spit out by yet another, but he kept himself reigned in, turning to Asleif for direction.
Facing her and taking her hands, they honed in on the core of the enchantment together. There was someone of no small amount of skill or power at work behind it. Enchantment was not the hammer-strike of evocation or summoned beasts, it was magic wielded as a scalpel and paintbrush. It was also Vincent's strongest school of magic.
Quickly, but not at the cost of precision, Vincent constructed, for lack of better words, a magical razor, slipping within the pathways the enchantment had constructed, and lashing out at the tether which linked them to their prime caster.
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