Author Topic: Magistracy  (Read 5937 times)

Miles

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on: December 09, 2012, 05:40:44 PM
Pre-Prologue Introduction – Magistracy

Welcome to the world of Progan, an enormous world of 12 continents, each with their own native population and nations. Progan is a world controlled by forces known as Old Magic, a mysterious power from before the Second Recording of History; the current era, which has lasted for over 20,000 years. Curiously enough, the Old Magic not only controls this world but also contains everyone within their home continent; it is believed that whatever created this world also erected invisible barriers around the continents to protect each continent from the others.

10,000 years ago, a great catastrophe erupted across one continent known as Karlse, the catastrophe mutilated the land and sundered the skies. The life that was known was quickly approaching its end. That was until the Magisters appeared. The Magisters are beings of untold power, capable of controlling all of wonders of creation, and they used their miraculous powers to stop the catastrophe. Once they threw down the Great Beast, the one who orchestrated this disaster, they sealed the creature away; using their own blood to secure its imprisonment.

The continent celebrated in honour of their saviours, and through the passage of time; the Magisters were recognised for more than just their past efforts, and they rose through the ranks of society to the very top; to rule the continent.

“For as long as there is one Magister in all of Karlse, so shall the Great Beast be forever sealed in its prison. May the Magisters live eternally, for our existence depends on theirs, and so does all the lives of those beyond our lands.” – Words engraved on the throne within the Grand Palace of Karlse.

*Authors Note - This is merely a pre-prologue introduction to start things off, and to gather some interest as well. I find it easier to write stories if the audience already possesses some basic knowledge about the story. I will have the prologue gone before the weekend (hopefully). Also, would it be helpful to add in how to pronounce names? I am not sure whether to add them or not.*
« Last Edit: December 09, 2012, 05:45:48 PM by Miles »

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Miles

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Reply #1 on: December 12, 2012, 03:34:30 PM
Alright, here is the prologue, hope you all enjoy {:)

Prologue

Ten thousand years ago, there was no such thing as the Magistracy; the class system in which the Magisters, beings from an unknown world beyond ours, rule with absolute power and authority. Instead, the population consolidated their numbers in small, disorganised settlements all over the continent of Karlse; there was no government or rulership that controlled more than a single city. The continent was therefore unprepared for the Great Catastrophe, a momentous time in history when all life as it was known was threatened with total extinction.

The Great Catastrophe wreaked havoc across the land in the form of Infection; a black energy which was lethal on contact and killed everything that lived. No one knew where the Infection was coming from, all they knew was that everything the Infection touched turned as black as night before dissolving into ash, and that there was no magic or technology that could ward against this terrible power.

At the brink of complete devastation, when the last bastion of life huddled together on the edge of the continent, the blackened skies parted and three luminous forms fell to the defence of the continent; the first of the Magisters. They wove magic unlike what the people of Karlse ever saw before; they strengthened the power of life to resist the destructive effects of the Infection, they equipped the last of the mortals with enchanted weapons to purify the dark world, and, with all the might that was theirs, enhanced the power of the sun to pierce through the Infection’s blanket of dark clouds to attack the cursed lands below.

The Magisters, with the help of the mortals, drove the blackness backward before finally shattering the menacing curse of the Infection and restoring the continent back to its former glory. However, the Magisters knew it was not over. They led their army across the continent, and found the source of the disaster, the Great Beast, a horrific abomination bigger than mountains and stronger than nature.

The Magisters used their combined strengthen against the abomination, but this creature was more than just an evil being; it was an immortal God. Changing their tactics, the Magisters lured the creature from its lair and brought it out to Karl-Portane; cliffs with a deadly four mile drop straight into the sea. The Magisters used the power of the sun to boil the ocean to temperatures greater than molten lava and the people drove the Great Beast back against the edge of the cliff. Together, the Magisters formed into an unstoppable glowing white arrow; which pierced the Great Beasts heart before it plummeted straight down into the bubbling ocean. The Great Beast was finally defeated.
Yet, despite this great victory, the Magisters were still not satisfied. The Great Beast could rise again, and that possibility must never become reality. The Magisters, fatigued though they were, consolidated the last of their strengthen and poured their immortality into an extremely powerful seal, secured by their own immortal blood, to forever suspend the Great Beast in the ashes its physical form became. Thus, the Great Beast was to be forever imprisoned at the bottom of Karl-Portane in a formless, powerless state.

The Magisters, at a loss for their immortality, looked to the people as new vassals to contain their power. “The next three children born from you,” the Magisters echoed to the people, “will bear our mark and possess our power within your mortal forms. We shall forever remain, as guardians to this world, for our existence on this continent will sustain the prison which will always hold the Great Beast at bay.”

That is how the Magisters came, how they prevented the end of the world, but the people did not feel grateful forever. The descendants of the Magisters used their awesome abilities and rose to absolute power, collecting settlements all over the continent before forming into one enormous empire; ruling all of Karlse. As the people became jealous of their greatness, the Magisters came down hard on those who dared to defy them; igniting the flames of rebellion.

Those the Magisters came down hard upon, mostly the Greys, declared the Magisters tyrants and swore to end their rule by any means necessary. Those fanatically loyal to the Magisters, mostly the Reds, vowed to ensure the Magisters would forever remain in absolute power. With such high tensions, a civil war erupted, and the empire ultimately shattered into several independent nations. The Greys, still seeing the Magisters as the greatest threat to their newfound independence, made agreements with the other nations of the continent to isolate the Magisters’ “empire” before executing the find stage of the plan…

~~~

In the Grand Palace of Karlse, the home of the Magister Royal Family, Magisters from all across the continent gathered to conduct their mateship ritual, a special ceremony in which Magisters are brought together to consider each other for life long partnerships and, ultimately, breeding. The lavish ceremony would last up until midnight when Magisters would have the opportunity to magically summon a single beautiful blue rose to offer to their hearts desire and, if accepted, the couple would spend the rest of their days together.
The Magisters would participate in dances, magic displays, and discussions while mingling with the other guests. Family and friends would also assist in choosing a suitable partner for any eligible individual, giving their opinion and offering advice, but the decision is always up to the individual to choose their life partner. The King himself had to make his choice last year, which brought his own son into the world as a result; Prince Miles Valenhower. The newborn prince was safety secured in his nursery, surrounded by all the riches of royalty, and the eternal love of his regal parents.

In the throne room, as the Magisters danced to the serene music they so enjoyed, a guard burst through the doors at the end of the hall, “YOUR HIGHNESS,” he called across the room, panic in his voice, “WE ARE UNDER AT—“ the guard paused, looked down and found a blade sliding out of his chest from behind. The guard collapsed, revealing a Grey, to which more appeared and poured through into the throne room; cutting down Magisters with ferocious speed and efficiency.
The King, acting as quickly as he could, cast a spell and erected a barrier which slammed against the Greys, throwing them back, before holding the barrier between the surviving Magisters and the Greys. The Magisters worked co-operatively with the King to hold and release the barrier while others threw fireballs, lightning bolts and ice spears at the Greys, cutting down scores at a time, but more and more poured through; an seemingly endless horde of Grey…

~~~

Captain Lavin, the King’s closest confidante, rushed through the halls of the palace in search for Prince Miles, guided by the cub's crying due to the ear-splitting sound of cannon balls and explosions. Lavin, struggling to keep balance from the quaking of the earth, stumbled into the Prince’s nursery, and proceeded to the cot. The young Prince was thankfully unharmed, though distraught, and clothed in the finest in the entire kingdom.

Captain Lavin carefully picked up the young Prince before being startled with the projection of the King behind him. “Your Highness.” Lavin addressed the King, turning and bowing to his master. “Have you got my son? Is he safe?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Lavin replied while showing him the Prince under his arm. “Excellent. Now do your duty to the Magisters, as you are sworn to do!” the King ordered before his projection disappeared.

Captain Lavin rushed out of the nursery and proceeded to the rear of the palace to reach the Scholar’s Tower. As he ran through the halls, two greys surprised him and jumped to strike but missed due to Lavin’s quick reflexes, the Red drew his sword; cutting one down before running-through the other. Lavin is a veteran from the Civil War, and he knows how quick one must be against the Greys. He continued onward to the Scholar’s Tower.

Lavin managed to find the tower, looking outside into the night he could see the Grey fleet engaging the Red armada as well as ear the mind blowing screech of the palaces external alarms; the palace is built on the cliffs of Karl-Portane; looking out onto the endless ocean. While scanning the battle below, he noticed a Grey battleship had its cannons aimed at the bridge between the tower and the palace. Jumping to cover, Lavin witnessed the stone bridge explode and cascade down into the seas below.

The Grey scholar materialised from her end of the bridge, “Hurry,” she screamed, “we don’t have much time.” The scholar used her magic and raised a temporary bridge, glowing with white light, and Lavin wasted no time crossing the bridge and darting into the tower with the scholar.
“I almost have the device ready; give me a few more minutes…” the scholar told Lavin, anxiously waiting beside her latest invention; a staff capable of opening the barriers between the continents. “Are you sure this thing can work? What are you waiting for?” Lavin rushed, gathering what he could from the scholar’s stores of potions and enchanted items. “Unlike crude swords, magic is not predictable; it must have time!” the scholar scolded before the staff flashed; glistening with magic. The scholar carefully removed the staff from its holds and stood proudly, announcing, “Behold the Intercontinental Teleporter!” before cannon fire violently shook the tower.

The scholar and Lavin rushed out of her laboratory and down the tower to where the King’s personal cruiser awaits for the Prince. Finally emerging from four miles worth of steps, Lavin and the scholar threw themselves onto the ship; Lavin landing on his back with the Prince still safe in his arms. “Get this ship to the barrier, NOW!” Lavin barked to the crew, who jumped to his command, while he took the Prince into the safe room repurposed for the Prince.
Lavin, though uneasy with the decision, had to return above deck to command the evacuation of an entire race. The Greys were not just here to eliminate every trace of the Magistracy, but every Magister along with anyone who stands in their defence, and the Reds are sworn to protect the Magisters to their very last breathe.
Entering the command room, an animated map of the battlefield showed all current positions of Reds and Greys, and although the Reds had power on their side, the Greys had overwhelming numbers on theirs. “Use the heavy cruisers and dreadnoughts to form a barrier against the Greys, let nothing get through!” Lavin ordered, “We will go to the continental barrier and open the way for the evacuation freighters while acting as the last line of defence against the Greys.” The communicators quickly sent the orders through to the armada, which took their positions, while the King’s cruiser headed for the continental barrier.

Looking at the enormous barrier glow from the touch of the sea and the wind, the scholar stood on deck and used her staff, summoning great energies from all of creation, and sent the flickering mass straight for the barrier. Making contact, the barrier flashed before giving way; creating an archway out into the misty seas beyond. The freighters were the first to rush for the archway, they carried tens of thousands of Reds; all loyalists to the Magisters.

Piercing through the skies overhead, bombs dropped into the sea but missed the Red ships; Lavin noticed that planes were now entering the theatre of war along with a carrier to service them. Three planes, packed with explosives, headed for the defensive line of heavy cruisers and dreadnoughts. Lavin gritted his teeth, watching with sobering horror, before the planes disappeared from the map. Looking up, the Captain was relieved to see the palace’s naval defences come online and begin to fire on the Grey fleet, which was now heavy pinned down.
Once the last freighter was through, Lavin sent a call through the armada, “Every ship is to now withdraw through the archway in the pre-designed stratagem.” and the armada broke ranks while laying down heavy fire onto the Grey fleet to keep them as far away as possible.

~~~

Back in the throne room, the Magisters were still putting up a fight; with piles of Greys lining the floor of the throne room, but the Greys still got close enough to force the Magisters to draw their swords. The King himself drew his sword and joined the fight, cutting down as many Greys as he could, but he ultimately knew how this battle will end. From the choas of combat, a distinctive Grey burst from the shadows and pounced onto the King, to which he threw the attacker over his back, sending the Grey flying into the throne. Picking up his sword, His Highness faced his opponent only to find that it was a familiar face; President Horken, the man who enraptured the Greys to rebel.
Horken did not sit in a palace, nor did he command from a desk, he lead from the front and is a recipient of great admiration of all the Greys. “Horken,” the King condemned, “I was hoping to have the pleasure of killing the traitorous agitator before my own end.”
“Really,” Horken smirked before he slammed his own broadsword against the King’s, magic sizzling from the heat of battle, “Magisters are not the only ones will magical capabilities, and now, finally, we are to be free from the gluttonous vermin that have infected this continent for far too long.”
“You fool,” the King continued while dueling, “you want to bring the end to this world? You want to raise the Great Beast?!”
“LIES!” Horken thrust against the King, to which he dodged, “THERE IS NO BEAST!” Horken raged, “THERE IS ONLY YOU AND YOUR ARROGANCE!!!”
Striking the King with all his might, Horken stumbled the monarch before thrusting his sword straight up into His Royal Highness, feeling the King’s life energies pour from his body before sharply withdrawing; dropping him on the floor. The King looked around, and saw his brethren fall all around him.

The King, with the last of his own personal lifeforce, erected an impenetrable barrier around himself; if he must die here then he will die only on his own terms. “You… are fools!” he struggled, “For ten thousand years, my family have watched over this continent, and though we had to make difficult choices, we made them for the best intentions of all the people under our care. We are the only defence against the Great Beast and the Infection it spread across this world. And now, all thanks to you…” the King choked “…the Beast shall rise again, and… damn you all… .” the King dropped to the floor; dead…

~~~

As the last dreadnought fled through the archway, the scholar summoned the power which opened the archway back into the staff; sealing the breach. Deep below the oceans, in its darkest depths, three red eyes opened and glowed with evil intentions.

~~~

As Horken looked down smugly on the King’s corpse, the palace shook and drew dark, the chandeliers vibrated, and suddenly, above the throne, three red eyes appeared before Horken and his soldiers. It formed from the shadows and slowly twisted into a physical form. “HORKEN.” a sinister howl echoed through the hall.
In blind panic, Horken ordered his men to attack but the Beast screeched, freezing all but Horken in paralysis before their bodies turned black and burst into ash. “HORKEN,” the terrible beast spoke, “YOU ARE MY SAVIOUR, MY CHAMPION, AND I SHALL REWARD YOU WITH THE GREATEST GIFT I CAN BISTOW. YOUR DEATH!!!”
Horken turned and ran, the Beast cast a spell which raced after him, caught him and enveloped him in fires before incinerating him alive while the Beast merely watched with great satisfaction…

~~~

From the position of the Red armada, Lavin and the scholar looked with worry as dark clouds quickly formed over the continent. The lands blackened, the skies clouded into darkness and the seas turned a sickeningly poisonous purple, the Infection slammed against the continental barrier before it… shattered. Lavin and the scholar froze in disbelief, they thought the barrier would hold the Infection as it did in ancient times; Lavin broke from his gaze and jumped into the command room. “FULL SPEED AHEAD!” he frantically ordered, “WE HAVE TO OUTRUN THE INFECTION!”
“But sir,” they replied, “nothing can outrun the Infection!”

In a last desperate bid, the ships tried to run for the next continent but the Infection was spreading through the sea ten times faster than the speed of the Red armada.

~~~

High above their world, in the Crystalline Realm, one lone immortal Magister stood witness to all that had transpired. Looking down into his crystal mirror, he saw the predicament of the Red armada and, like all those before him, summoned his own blade. “For countless eons, we have watched over all of creation, sacrificing ourselves for your kind, and you do little to help with our endeavors. You have forgotten, but I shall remind you.”
The Magister took his own blade and, while opening his luminous form to reveal his own heart, he thrust the dagger into it, and with its continued beating, he used his own immortality to cast the last miracle only a Magisters sacrifice could perform...

~~~

As the Reds braced for the end, a massive wall of yellow light sprung from the sea and ringed the whole of Progan. The Infection spread and struck the wall hard, poisonous seawater crashed against it but did not pass through it. The wall remained intact, and held back the Infection.

~~~

In the Crystalline Realm, the Magister dropped the dagger, gasping for air, before he collapsed to the floor as his body turned mortal and transformed into that of a Kitsune. He was no longer immortal but he was still alive for as long as this new mortal vassal can sustain itself. He stood up again and peered down on the mortals, gladdened for their safety but saddened for paying the ultimate price for their sake…

~~~

Relieved, Lavin and the scholar hugged each other, as did the other Reds. Their end was not to be today,  they will live to see a new day; and new continent. “Captain Lavin,” a crew member called for him, “look.”
Ahead of them, the mist of the sea cleared and ahead was a new landmass, a new continent and a fresh start for a race that lost their home. They will never see Karlse again; the Grand Palace, the cities, the people and all that they knew was now consumed by the Great Beast, but at least, despite it all, they still had their peoples greatest and more valuable treasure of all; Prince Miles Valenhower, the Last of the Magisters.

* Author's Note - I originally did not plan to have my fursona in this story but... my stories tend to have a mind of their own, and practically write themselves. Feel free to comment. *
« Last Edit: December 12, 2012, 04:13:14 PM by Miles »

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Virmir

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Reply #2 on: December 13, 2012, 09:07:55 PM
Interesting setting with the barriers and such. I like the setup! Red vs. Gray is always fun. [;) Looking forward to reading more!

[fox] Virmir


Miles

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Reply #3 on: January 14, 2013, 05:06:42 PM
Hello. Sorry this took so long to write but it is finally done. Hope you enjoy.

Chapter One

Carefully, the young Magister manipulates the threads of magic on the Spellweaver; an articulate device used by magic wielders to create ready-to-use spells. Spellweavers make it possible for non-magic wielders to use magic, if restrictively, and magic wielders the opportunity to use spells they would not be able to cast manually. Only Scholars are trusted to Spellweave, those trained and disciplined to use magical energies, since the consequences of a none-magic wielder operating such a machine would be catastrophic; but non-magic wielders do not need to operate the machine to use woven spells.

When a Scholar weaves a spell, the Spellweaver displays a holographic imagine of the Arcane Core, shown as a set of webbed circles, between four Anchors, which act as supports to hold a spell in place. The Arcane Core is the “operating system” in which a spell can be “programmed” to do what the Scholar would want it to do, and once the spell has been woven, the Scholar will then need to empower it. Empowering spells requires raw magical energy, which can only be consolidated using a Rotational Device; a machine of linked rings that spin, collecting background magical energy, and distils it into its purest form, a dark red liquid called Soulium.

The Magister, satisfied with his new woven spell, walks over to his miniaturised version of the Scholary’s Rotational Device. He takes a Sealmouth Vial from his small store of containers and inserts it into the port of the machine. Soulium is both incredibly useful and incredibly dangerous, everything that is used to contain Soulium must be carefully cleaned, pressurised and sealed; a single stay atom could cause an explosion fifteen times more powerful than the Hydrogen Bomb. Needless to say, the Scholary continues to tirelessly agonise over the extreme caution necessary for operating and maintaining the Rotational Device. Thankfully, the Scholary does have safeguards and procedures in case of a leak, but not all of these precautions are reliable enough to stop all possible dangers associated with Soulium leaks and explosions; far better to avoid such incidences entirely.

Miles took the small Sealmouth Vial out of the machine and looked to find less than a drop of Soulium inside. Each Sealmouth Vial possesses small, finely printed measurements along the body of the vial, which measures Soulium by units. Most spells require only a few units of Soulium, but the spell Miles has woven requires seven units, making it more powerful than what most Scholars normally weave themselves.
Satisfied with the amount, Miles returns to the Spellweaver and inserts the vial of Soulium. Introducing Soulium to a woven spell causes the holographic imagine to collapse internally and compress into a ball of glowing energy; a form spells take once they have been empowered. The Magister turns a wheel on the side of the machine to lower the Anchors and slowly drag the ball of energy down into a Spell Jar, an enchanted container used to house spells once created. All that is required to cast a spell within a Spell Jar is to break its glass.

Miles pops the lid on the jar, which magically seals itself, before deactivating the Spellweaver and releasing the spell from the Anchors’ hold. Spellweavers are also used to modify spells contained within Spell Jars, or examine them to see their effects. Since only Scholars can weave spells, other than Miles, the Scholary makes a fortune selling spells to those able to pay for them, especially to aspiring adventurers who enjoy plundering the many mysteries scattered across the continent. Unfortunately, because the Scholary has only been operating on this continent for twenty years, it has not advanced beyond the bounds of the Reds’ one and only city.

Picking up the Spell Jar and adding it to his bag, Miles turns to walk out of his personal lab when he catches sight of the Spell Jar containing the first spell he ever cast manually; an iceball. When he cast it at the tender age of fourteen, Novera, the Grey Scholar, took a Spell Jar and trapped the iceball inside for Miles to keep as a memento of that day.

Of course, Miles did not really need a memento to remember that day. There was nothing quite like the sensation of holding a spell in one’s own paws, the feeling of magic and power flowing through your veins, the enrapturing whispers of the endless possibilities and infinite potential that can lead to the very power that every magic wielder dreams of one day possessing; the supreme power of the Gods themselves. His fascination in the limitlessness of magic drives him onward in developing his magical capabilities, though there is no magic inherently evil, Miles does recognise that senseless abuse of power can bring no small amount of suffering on their world.

The young fox walks out of his lab and finds himself within the lounge of his own personal quarters. Checking behind him, the fox watched as the reinforced door to his lab closed and displayed an arcane circle indicating that the door is impenetrably sealed; one can never be too careful. Turning forwards again, Miles heads to the left, past the lounge, towards his bedroom to grab his jacket. Within his bedroom are the typical pieces of bedroom furniture; a four-poster bed, chest of draws, two bedside tables, body length mirror, and a wardrobe, as well as a magically sealed cupboard built into the wall, which houses all of his more private possessions.

Unsealing by his approach, Miles whips open the cupboard, grabs his jacket, and slips it on. The jacket was specially made by the city’s master tailors for Miles’ twentieth birthday; he immediately liked it due to its obvious quality and lack of ostentatiousness. Complementing the jacket, he stitched some enchantments on the inside to provide some magical protection as well as slightly amplify his abilities. After adding his Magisterial Emblem, his badge of authority recognised by the Reds, to his jacket, Miles closed the wardrobe and left his bedroom. The fox quickly walks through the lounge and steps onto the Teleportal Panel sending him to the ground floor of the castle.

Appearing in the corridor of Teleportal Panels, all of which lead up to the various floors of the castle’s tower, Miles walks through to the end of the corridor and arrives in the throne room of the castle. Normally, Miles would hold court for an hour per day but has suspected court on urgent business. Making his way across the room to the double entrance doors to the front, Minister Jordan sees him and pipes up, “Milord!” across the hall.

“I am not holding court today, Jordan.” Miles dismisses, heading for the door, “It will have to wait until tomorrow.”

“But Milord,” Jordan cuts across the room to intercept Miles, stopping him momentarily, “the Empress’s Imperial Delegation has arrived…”

“Again,” Miles sharply moves past him, “it will have to wait until tomorrow. I’m busy.”

In a fit of frustration, Jordan shouts, “The Empress is with them!” which stops the Magister in his tracks, “What?”

“The Empress has come to visit Holins personally; she has gotten tired of the excuses you have used to avoid visiting the capital so she has come here to see you herself. She has also brought her daughter along with her.”

Miles cringes, “Not this again…”

“The Empress demands you visit her at the Scholary,” Jordan continues, “she is currently taking a tour of the facilities, she has taken a great interest in the Scholary’s work these last few years and she is willing to become a benefactor to fund our research. She is being entertained by Lavin and Tory at the moment, and Lavin ordered me to wait down here for you and to escort you to the Scholary, once I had caught you, so that you would make an appearance.”

“Lavin ordered?” Miles exclaimed, “I am the Land Holder of Holins. You’re meant to take orders from me, not Lavin!”

“You are also meant to be the King of Karlse, but that is not the case either. Better get used to possessing limited political power, Milord.” Jordan grabs Miles’ arm and gestures to the guards, “Escort me and our Land Holder to the Scholary immediately with all due haste, failing to have us arrive there as soon as possible is not an option.”

~~~

Ever since the Reds arrived here on the continent of Lestefell, they have lived in Holins, a city the Reds built, before the ruling power of the continent, the Puritanical Empire, discovered them. Holins is situated on the southern-most point of the continent, in a region the Empire had no interest in before the Reds arrived, mainly due to the area being rather warm in comparison to the frosty climate across the rest of the continent.

When Holins was absorbed into the Empire, the result of the political compromise struck to avoid war, the Puritanical Emperor, Siliennest Braunhol, awarded Holins the status as a Holding, lands governed by a noble aristocratic family, in exchange for the Reds’ fealty. Lavin presided as the acting Land Holder until two years ago when Miles was finally old enough to take over, and for the past two years the Empress, Kenniesten Braunhol, has been trying to get the new Land Holder to visit the Empire’s capital of Tiberrien.

After refusing to attend every appointment, the Empress had finally had enough of Miles’ excuses and came to Holins herself with her daughter, who was once used as an “incentive” for Miles to visit the capital, a poorly conceived plan that obviously failed.

Once the Reds settled into their new role and status as a Holding, they discovered that the continent is home to two native races; the Puritanicals, or Whites as the Reds call them, and the Silvarians, also known as Silvers. Puritanicals and Silvarians have been at each other’s throats since the Empire conquered the eastern regions of the continent, the Silvarian homelands, bring with them many cultural doctrines, which were not welcome, including the Puritanical Faith.

Walking into the main hall of the Scholary, Holins’ seat of scientific and arcane learning, the young Land Holder found the Imperial Delegation stood in front of the Scholary’s enormous hundred foot Rotational Device, which spun over the heads of those in the main hall and stretched all the way to the top of the domed ceiling. The Empress, a tall and broad woman who towered over those surrounding her, appeared to be talking with Miles’ ministers, Lavin and Tory, before she noticed the Land Holder’s approach.
“Ah,” the Empress acknowledged him, interrupting the current conversation, “so nice that you finally decided to join us, Miles.”

“Your Highness,” he bowed gracefully, “it is a pleasure to have you in our humble city.”
“Yes, I am sure that is just as sincere as your enthusiasm for Imperial Oversight.” the Empress jibed, “Might I introduce my daughter, Princess Elenniom Braunhol,” the young lady stepped forward, adorned in the white, arcane robes of the Puritanical’s own version of the Scholary called the Enlightenment Institute, “she has been so eager to meet you.”

The Princess, despite conversation flowing between the delegates and ministers, fixed her gaze on the Magister, it was obvious that she wanted something from him. After indulging the Empress and her officials with pleasantries, she finally decided to continue with her tour, “I am afraid that we will have to return to our inspection. Elenniom, why don’t you spend some time with our Land Holder…?”

“Oh, Your Highness,” Miles chimed in, “I have… official Scholary business to attend to and I will not be able to give Her Highness the attention deserved for a member of the imperial family.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Elenniom reassured, striding past her mother and standing next to Miles, “I will not be any trouble, and I may even be able to help in some way.”

“Then its settled,” the Empress rushed, “now Lavin,” she turned to the Minister of Defence, leading the party onward through the Scholary, “tell me about these new technologies that you were…”

“Thank the Gods she is gone,” Elenniom sighed once her mother was beyond earshot.

“I am sorry, Your Highness?”

“Call me Ele, “Your Highness” and “Elenniom” make my fur crawl.” Ele shuddered, “And, if you don’t mind, I would like to get as far away from my mother as possible.” a request that can be easily satisfied  for Miles’ Scholary business requires his attention at an archeologist site outside the city…
 
~~~

Entering the encampment outside an underground ruin, Miles found his personal contact to the Scholary, Professor Gerile, but as the middle aged Red walked up to the Magister, he immediately caught sight of Ele and dramatically changed his stance. He walked past Miles, went straight up to Ele and barked, “What on Progan do you think you are doing? The Enlightenment Institute has NO AUTHORITY BEING HERE!!!”

Shocked, unable to answer, the poor girl endured his paranoid rant before Miles stepped in and pulled him back, telling him slowly and clearly, “She is the Empress’ daughter!” In disbelief, his expression cleared but rather disconcertedly, “Ah,” he paused, “My apologies… Your Highness.”

“Should I still be alive by tomorrow,” Gerile whispered to Miles, “I will be sure to send Novera my findings, assuming you have my… spell.”

The Magister searched his bag and pulled out the Spell Jar, “Here it is. It’s seven units strong so you’re best off using it at a distance as a precaution.”

As the professor wondered off into the ruins, Ele finally perked up, “What was HIS problem?”

Miles turned to her and explained, “Your Institute has had a… troubled history with the Magisterial Scholary ever since we arrived here on Lestefell. The Institute has been trying to absorb the Scholary for decades with no success, and the tensions between the two are, as you witnessed, running pretty high.”

“Running pretty high” is an understatement. The Puritanical Faith, the Empire’s state religion, controls the Enlightenment Institute, and it is becoming increasing clear that the Faith has stunted progress on the continent for some time. When the Reds appeared, an entire Empire was brought to the bargaining table because they feared what the Reds with their great technological and magical capabilities might do if the Empire declared war on them. The Reds showed Lestefell that a broken, homeless race was still powerful enough to give an entire continent pause. It was a humiliating reality. It is this reality that has shaken the very foundations of the Faith, and by extension, the Empire’s trust in the Enlightenment Institute.

The pair followed the professor into the ruins, they came to a bare room which had nothing of any significance or value other than blocked pathway in front of them. The professor fixed the Spell Jar into the pathway and returned to Miles to ask, “Might you do the honours?”

The whole team of archeologists rushed behind Miles. The Magister raised a barrier in front of him and summoned a small fireball, which he threw at the Spell Jar, breaking its glass and releasing its power. The magic in the spell illuminated the debris before shifting and moulding it. The debris cleared and, as Miles lowered the barrier and raced into the pathway with the archeologists, watched as the magic repaired and restored the ruins to their former glory complete with braziers, pillars and beautifully crafted murals lining the all the walls of the room.

“Absolutely incredible!” Gerile marveled, “Just think what we could discover from these ruins, there is no telling how much history and knowledge might be locked away down here for us to find. A world once suspended in mystery will finally be brought to light!”

“The spell should have worked all the way through the ruins, all the rooms should now be restored as they were when they were built.” Miles informed him.

The professor turned back to the Land Holder, “Yes, thank you for restoring these ruins, and as promised; here is the… special object you requested from the Scholary as thanks.”

The professor walked up close to Miles and handed him a package from inside the professor’s robes, “If anyone but the Magister asked for this, they would have been immediately thrown out of the Scholary, and this was an exception we were not eager to make, but… we cannot deny you your birthright.”

The Magister took the package and secured it inside his jacket, “Thank you, Professor. Novera will be expecting your report, as you know.”

They both respectfully nodded their farewells before Miles turned to leave the ruins with a confused Ele following close behind.

~~~

On the way back to the city, Ele asked, “So… you’re a Magister?”

“Yeah. And?” Miles returned. “I have heard that you, or rather the Magisters, are revered for possessing immense magical power.” Ele mentioned, “Is there any truth to these tales?”

“No idea.” Miles replied.

“Really?” Ele glared.

“The stories of the Magisters have been long lost due to the loss of our homeland, the stories you have heard are a mix of badly recalled transcripts from memory and general misinterpretation or exaggeration through two decades of being written and rewritten several times over, sometimes not by the Reds. I do not completely believe the tales of the Magisters but, as those with some degree of intellect would tell you, anything is possible in our world.”

“But aren’t you living proof that those stories are true or false?” Ele pointed out. “I might be, if I cared to prove them.”

~~~

Back in the castle, after returning Ele to her mother, Miles walked through the corridor of Teleportal Panels and stepped onto the panel leading up to the Grey Scholar’s quarters. In a flash, Miles found himself in her lounge with the door to her study shut, meaning that she was inside, and to be delicate when entering; there would be no telling what she was usually up to in her quarters.

Miles walked up to the door and knocked. No answer. He carefully turned the nob on the door, listening closely for any sounds, and slowly opened the door. The Grey Scholar, Novera, was currently concentrating with all her energy on a particularly intricate creation spell, holding an area of space within a magic bubble while spinning a miniaturised version of a solar system. As he watched, she would occasionally use one paw to summon a miniaturised, accurately constructed planet and throw it inside the bubble, manipulating it into its correct position. After several minutes of spinning the solar system, she took her paw once again and summoned a small, compacted ball of fire, an authentic star, and threw it into the mix completing her work.
Novera, using all her power, magically rooted a permanence spell into the ground, magically drawing a glowing arcane circle on the floor, which would permanently hold the current magical construct within its bounds, allowing her to release her creation.

“Thank you for not disturbing me… this time.” Novera turned to him, a little exhausted from the trying spell, “I imagine after almost releasing a soul-eating abomination the first time you interrupted me that you would be cautious the next.”

“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” Miles whined, “and I did help you to contain that thing after it… got out.”
The scholar merely huffed, “Did you get your prize from the Scholary yet, nothing but the most powerful would do for our little “side project.””

Miles took out the package and showed it to Novera. Sensing the magic within, the Scholar tore the package open to reveal a glowing blue, diamond-shaped crystal, almost humming with magical power. “The Ethereal Stone, a completely unique object that went missing from the Enlightenment Institute some years ago,” she recalled, “not that those philistines would ever truly comprehend its beauty.”

Novera turned and walked behind her desk, she grabbed an elongated case and placed it on top of the desk, “The night my people launched their attack on yours, your mother gave me her staff within this case and told me to hold on to it until you came of age to claim it for yourself.”

She unlocked the case and continued, “Of course, you know that she would never part with such a prize so willingly, as did I, I knew that night was the night everything we knew would end, and I was fortunate to have this staff sent to your father’s cruiser ahead of me.”

Novera turned the case around and showed it to Miles, a light grey staff lay inside the case, adorned with cravings of arcane symbols. “Only a Magister can pick up this kind of weapon, and the Magister that touches this staff will be the only one able to wield until you willingly relieve yourself of it.” she explained, “There is only one way to know whether this will truly work for you. Take it!”

Cautiously, Miles touched the staff, wrapped his paw around it, drew it out of the case and held it beside him. The staff glistened with magic, which grew up his arm and enveloped his body before seemingly leeching into his very skin.

“Now, Miles!” Novera urged, handing him the crystal, “Place the Ethereal Stone on the top of the staff and it should be accepted.”

As instructed, Miles took the crystal and placed it on the tip of the staff, and after waiting a moment, the staff grew three claws, which curved round and gripped the crystal, holding it in place.

“And now we have lost the Ethereal Stone, never able to return it to our Puritanical friends.” Novera smirked, “What a shame.”

Now held by Miles’ staff, the Ethereal Stone will never be independent again; a Magister’s weapon absorbs a magical augment into its very fibres, and nothing can sever those inseparable bounds.

“That concludes our little project, test the staff thoroughly to understand its capacity; that staff may add any number of units to manual spellcasting, so be sure to take adequate precautious.

“And be sure to be up early tomorrow morning for the Imperial Delegation’s Official Review,” she patronised, “I imagine sleeping through the meeting will prompt a rather uncharitable response by the Empress herself.”

* Authors Note - Feel free to comment  [:)
« Last Edit: January 14, 2013, 05:41:29 PM by Miles »

There are no Limitations to the Great Wonders of Magic.


Virmir

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Reply #4 on: January 15, 2013, 10:07:04 PM
Seems like a different take on some of the basic ideas behind CF. I like! A little too early to comment on the plot, but it seems like a good setup so far. I especially like the spell constructing at the beginning of this chapter. (And geez, that's some potent stuff. [;))

I do caution you because Miles is displaying some telltale Mary Sue-ish traits here-- namely being the last surviving member of a lost race, being in a respected position of power, (probably) a skillful mage, in possession of what appears to be a powerful artifact. Just be careful not to make him tooooo awesome, because those sorts of characters aren't that interesting to read about.

Looking forward to reading more!

[fox] Virmir


TheoWidener

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Reply #5 on: February 08, 2014, 03:33:48 AM
Hello. Sorry this took so long to write but it is finally done. Hope you enjoy.

Chapter One

Carefully, the young Magister manipulates the threads of magic on the Spellweaver; an articulate device used by magic wielders to create ready-to-use spells. Spellweavers make it possible for non-magic wielders to use magic, if restrictively, and magic wielders the opportunity to use spells they would not be able to cast manually. Only Scholars are trusted to Spellweave, those trained and disciplined to use magical energies, since the consequences of a none-magic wielder operating such a machine would be catastrophic; but non-magic wielders do not need to operate the machine to use woven spells.

When a Scholar weaves a spell, the Spellweaver displays a holographic imagine of the Arcane Core, shown as a set of webbed circles, between four Anchors, which act as supports to hold a spell in place. The Arcane Core is the “operating system” in which a spell can be “programmed” to do what the Scholar would want it to do, and once the spell has been woven, the Scholar will then need to empower it. Empowering spells requires raw magical energy, which can only be consolidated using a Rotational Device; a machine of linked rings that spin, collecting background magical energy, and distils it into its purest form, a dark red liquid called Soulium.

The Magister, satisfied with his new woven spell, walks over to his miniaturised version of the Scholary’s Rotational Device. He takes a Sealmouth Vial from his small store of containers and inserts it into the port of the machine. Soulium is both incredibly useful and incredibly dangerous, everything that is used to contain Soulium must be carefully cleaned, pressurised and sealed; a single stay atom could cause an explosion fifteen times more powerful than the Hydrogen Bomb. Needless to say, the Scholary continues to tirelessly agonise over the extreme caution necessary for operating and maintaining the Rotational Device. Thankfully, the Scholary does have safeguards and procedures in case of a leak, but not all of these precautions are reliable enough to stop all possible dangers associated with Soulium leaks and explosions; far better to avoid such incidences entirely.

Miles took the small Sealmouth Vial out of the machine and looked to find less than a drop of Soulium inside. Each Sealmouth Vial possesses small, finely printed measurements along the body of the vial, which measures Soulium by units. Most spells require only a few units of Soulium, but the spell Miles has woven requires seven units, making it more powerful than what most Scholars normally weave themselves.
Satisfied with the amount, Miles returns to the Spellweaver and inserts the vial of Soulium. Introducing Soulium to a woven spell causes the holographic imagine to collapse internally and compress into a ball of glowing energy; a form spells take once they have been empowered. The Magister turns a wheel on the side of the machine to lower the Anchors and slowly drag the ball of energy down into a Spell Jar, an enchanted container used to house spells once created. All that is required to cast a spell within a Spell Jar is to break its glass.

Miles pops the lid on the jar, which magically seals itself, before deactivating the Spellweaver and releasing the spell from the Anchors’ hold. Spellweavers are also used to modify spells contained within Spell Jars, or examine them to see their effects. Since only Scholars can weave spells, other than Miles, the Scholary makes a fortune selling spells to those able to pay for them, especially to aspiring adventurers who enjoy plundering the many mysteries scattered across the continent. Unfortunately, because the Scholary has only been operating on this continent for twenty years, it has not advanced beyond the bounds of the Reds’ one and only city.

Picking up the Spell Jar and adding it to his bag, Miles turns to walk out of his personal lab when he catches sight of the Spell Jar containing the first spell he ever cast manually; an iceball. When he cast it at the tender age of fourteen, Novera, the Grey Scholar, took a Spell Jar and trapped the iceball inside for Miles to keep as a memento of that day.

Of course, Miles did not really need a memento to remember that day. There was nothing quite like the sensation of holding a spell in one’s own paws, the feeling of magic and power flowing through your veins, the enrapturing whispers of the endless possibilities and infinite potential that can lead to the very power that every magic wielder dreams of one day possessing; the supreme power of the Gods themselves. His fascination in the limitlessness of magic drives him onward in developing his magical capabilities, though there is no magic inherently evil, Miles does recognise that senseless abuse of power can bring no small amount of suffering on their world.

The young fox walks out of his lab and finds himself within the lounge of his own personal quarters. Checking behind him, the fox watched as the reinforced door to his lab closed and displayed an arcane circle indicating that the door is impenetrably sealed; one can never be too careful. Turning forwards again, Miles heads to the left, past the lounge, towards his bedroom to grab his jacket. Within his bedroom are the typical pieces of bedroom furniture; a four-poster bed, chest of draws, two bedside tables, body length mirror, and a wardrobe, as well as a magically sealed cupboard built into the wall, which houses all of his more private possessions.

Unsealing by his approach, Miles whips open the cupboard, grabs his jacket, and slips it on. The jacket was specially made by the city’s master tailors for Miles’ twentieth birthday; he immediately liked it due to its obvious quality and lack of ostentatiousness. Complementing the jacket, he stitched some enchantments on the inside to provide some magical protection as well as slightly amplify his abilities. After adding his Magisterial Emblem, his badge of authority recognised by the Reds, to his jacket, Miles closed the wardrobe and left his bedroom. The fox quickly walks through the lounge and steps onto the Teleportal Panel sending him to the ground floor of the castle.

Appearing in the corridor of Teleportal Panels, all of which lead up to the various floors of the castle’s tower, Miles walks through to the end of the corridor and arrives in the throne room of the castle. Normally, Miles would hold court for an hour per day but has suspected court on urgent business. Making his way across the room to the double entrance doors to the front, Minister Jordan sees him and pipes up, “Milord!” across the hall.

“I am not holding court today, Jordan.” Miles dismisses, heading for the door, “It will have to wait until tomorrow.”

“But Milord,” Jordan cuts across the room to intercept Miles, stopping him momentarily, “the Empress’s Imperial Delegation has arrived…”

“Again,” Miles sharply moves past him, “it will have to wait until tomorrow. I’m busy.”

In a fit of frustration, Jordan shouts, “The Empress is with them!” which stops the Magister in his tracks, “What?”

“The Empress has come to visit Holins personally; she has gotten tired of the excuses you have used to avoid visiting the capital so she has come here to see you herself. She has also brought her daughter along with her.”

Miles cringes, “Not this again…”

“The Empress demands you visit her at the Scholary,” Jordan continues, “she is currently taking a tour of the facilities, she has taken a great interest in the Scholary’s work these last few years and she is willing to become a benefactor to fund our research. She is being entertained by Lavin and Tory at the moment, and Lavin ordered me to wait down here for you and to escort you to the Scholary, once I had caught you, so that you would make an appearance.”

“Lavin ordered?” Miles exclaimed, “I am the Land Holder of Holins. You’re meant to take orders from me, not Lavin!”

“You are also meant to be the King of Karlse, but that is not the case either. Better get used to possessing limited political power, Milord.” Jordan grabs Miles’ arm and gestures to the guards, “Escort me and our Land Holder to the Scholary immediately with all due haste, failing to have us arrive there as soon as possible is not an option.”

~~~

Ever since the Reds arrived here on the continent of Lestefell, they have lived in Holins, a city the Reds built, before the ruling power of the continent, the Puritanical Empire, discovered them. Holins is situated on the southern-most point of the continent, in a region the Empire had no interest in before the Reds arrived, mainly due to the area being rather warm in comparison to the frosty climate across the rest of the continent.

When Holins was absorbed into the Empire, the result of the political compromise struck to avoid war, the Puritanical Emperor, Siliennest Braunhol, awarded Holins the status as a Holding, lands governed by a noble aristocratic family, in exchange for the Reds’ fealty. Lavin presided as the acting Land Holder until two years ago when Miles was finally old enough to take over, and for the past two years the Empress, Kenniesten Braunhol, has been trying to get the new Land Holder to visit the Empire’s capital of Tiberrien.

After refusing to attend every appointment, the Empress had finally had enough of Miles’ excuses and came to Holins herself with her daughter, who was once used as an “incentive” for Miles to visit the capital, a poorly conceived plan that obviously failed.

Once the Reds settled into their new role and status as a Holding, they discovered that the continent is home to two native races; the Puritanicals, or Whites as the Reds call them, and the Silvarians, also known as Silvers. Puritanicals and Silvarians have been at each other’s throats since the Empire conquered the eastern regions of the continent, the Silvarian homelands, bring with them many cultural doctrines, which were not welcome, including the Puritanical Faith.

Walking into the main hall of the Scholary, Holins’ seat of scientific and arcane learning, the young Land Holder found the Imperial Delegation stood in front of the Scholary’s enormous hundred foot Rotational Device, which spun over the heads of those in the main hall and stretched all the way to the top of the domed ceiling. The Empress, a tall and broad woman who towered over those surrounding her, appeared to be talking with Miles’ ministers, Lavin and Tory, before she noticed the Land Holder’s approach.
“Ah,” the Empress acknowledged him, interrupting the current conversation, “so nice that you finally decided to join us, Miles.”

“Your Highness,” he bowed gracefully, “it is a pleasure to have you in our humble city.”
“Yes, I am sure that is just as sincere as your enthusiasm for Imperial Oversight.” the Empress jibed, “Might I introduce my daughter, Princess Elenniom Braunhol,” the young lady stepped forward, adorned in the white, arcane robes of the Puritanical’s own version of the Scholary called the Enlightenment Institute, “she has been so eager to meet you.”

The Princess, despite conversation flowing between the delegates and ministers, fixed her gaze on the Magister, it was obvious that she wanted something from him. After indulging the Empress and her officials with pleasantries, she finally decided to continue with her tour, “I am afraid that we will have to return to our inspection. Elenniom, why don’t you spend some time with our Land Holder…?”

“Oh, Your Highness,” Miles chimed in, “I have… official Scholary business to attend to and I will not be able to give Her Highness the attention deserved for a member of the imperial family.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Elenniom reassured, striding past her mother and standing next to Miles, “I will not be any trouble, and I may even be able to help in some way.”

“Then its settled,” the Empress rushed, “now Lavin,” she turned to the Minister of Defence, leading the party onward through the Scholary, “tell me about these new technologies that you were…”

“Thank the Gods she is gone,” Elenniom sighed once her mother was beyond earshot.

“I am sorry, Your Highness?”

“Call me Ele, “Your Highness” and “Elenniom” make my fur crawl.” Ele shuddered, “And, if you don’t mind, I would like to get as far away from my mother as possible.” a request that can be easily satisfied  for Miles’ Scholary business requires his attention at an archeologist site outside the city…
 
~~~

Entering the encampment outside an underground ruin, Miles found his personal contact to the Scholary, Professor Gerile, but as the middle aged Red walked up to the Magister, he immediately caught sight of Ele and dramatically changed his stance. He walked past Miles, went straight up to Ele and barked, “What on Progan do you think you are doing? The Enlightenment Institute has NO AUTHORITY BEING HERE!!!”

Shocked, unable to answer, the poor girl endured his paranoid rant before Miles stepped in and pulled him back, telling him slowly and clearly, “She is the Empress’ daughter!” In disbelief, his expression cleared but rather disconcertedly, “Ah,” he paused, “My apologies… Your Highness.”

“Should I still be alive by tomorrow,” Gerile whispered to Miles, “I will be sure to send Novera my findings, assuming you have my… spell.”

The Magister searched his bag and pulled out the Spell Jar, “Here it is. It’s seven units strong so you’re best off using it at a distance as a precaution.”

As the professor wondered off into the ruins, Ele finally perked up, “What was HIS problem?”

Miles turned to her and explained, “Your Institute has had a… troubled history with the Magisterial Scholary ever since we arrived here on Lestefell. The Institute has been trying to absorb the Scholary for decades with no success, and the tensions between the two are, as you witnessed, running pretty high.”

“Running pretty high” is an understatement. The Puritanical Faith, the Empire’s state religion, controls the Enlightenment Institute, and it is becoming increasing clear that the Faith has stunted progress on the continent for some time. When the Reds appeared, an entire Empire was brought to the bargaining table because they feared what the Reds with their great technological and magical capabilities might do if the Empire declared war on them. The Reds showed Lestefell that a broken, homeless race was still powerful enough to give an entire continent pause. It was a humiliating reality. It is this reality that has shaken the very foundations of the Faith, and by extension, the Empire’s trust in the Enlightenment Institute.

The pair followed the professor into the ruins, they came to a bare room which had nothing of any significance or value other than blocked pathway in front of them. The professor fixed the Spell Jar into the pathway and returned to Miles to ask, “Might you do the honours?”

The whole team of archeologists rushed behind Miles. The Magister raised a barrier in front of him and summoned a small fireball, which he threw at the Spell Jar, breaking its glass and releasing its power. The magic in the spell illuminated the debris before shifting and moulding it. The debris cleared and, as Miles lowered the barrier and raced into the pathway with the archeologists, watched as the magic repaired and restored the ruins to their former glory complete with braziers, pillars and beautifully crafted murals lining the all the walls of the room.

“Absolutely incredible!” Gerile marveled, “Just think what we could discover from these ruins, there is no telling how much history and knowledge might be locked away down here for us to find. A world once suspended in mystery will finally be brought to light!”

“The spell should have worked all the way through the ruins, all the rooms should now be restored as they were when they were built.” Miles informed him.

The professor turned back to the Land Holder, “Yes, thank you for restoring these ruins, and as promised; here is the… special object you requested from the Scholary as thanks.”

The professor walked up close to Miles and handed him a package from inside the professor’s robes, “If anyone but the Magister asked for this, they would have been immediately thrown out of the Scholary, and this was an exception we were not eager to make, but… we cannot deny you your birthright.”

The Magister took the package and secured it inside his jacket, “Thank you, Professor. Novera will be expecting your report, as you know.”

They both respectfully nodded their farewells before Miles turned to leave the ruins with a confused Ele following close behind.

~~~

On the way back to the city, Ele asked, “So… you’re a Magister?”

“Yeah. And?” Miles returned. “I have heard that you, or rather the Magisters, are revered for possessing immense magical power.” Ele mentioned, “Is there any truth to these tales?”

“No idea.” Miles replied.

“Really?” Ele glared.

“The stories of the Magisters have been long lost due to the loss of our homeland, the stories you have heard are a mix of badly recalled transcripts from memory and general misinterpretation or exaggeration through two decades of being written and rewritten several times over, sometimes not by the Reds. I do not completely believe the tales of the Magisters but, as those with some degree of intellect would tell you, anything is possible in our world.”

“But aren’t you living proof that those stories are true or false?” Ele pointed out. “I might be, if I cared to prove them.”

~~~

Back in the castle, after returning Ele to her mother, Miles walked through the corridor of Teleportal Panels and stepped onto the panel leading up to the Grey Scholar’s quarters. In a flash, Miles found himself in her lounge with the door to her study shut, meaning that she was inside, and to be delicate when entering; there would be no telling what she was usually up to in her quarters.

Miles walked up to the door and knocked. No answer. He carefully turned the nob on the door, listening closely for any sounds, and slowly opened the door. The Grey Scholar, Novera, was currently concentrating with all her energy on a particularly intricate creation spell, holding an area of space within a magic bubble while spinning a miniaturised version of solar panel. As he watched, she would occasionally use one paw to summon a miniaturised, accurately constructed planet and throw it inside the bubble, manipulating it into its correct position. After several minutes of spinning the solar system, she took her paw once again and summoned a small, compacted ball of fire, an authentic star, and threw it into the mix completing her work.
Novera, using all her power, magically rooted a permanence spell into the ground, magically drawing a glowing arcane circle on the floor, which would permanently hold the current magical construct within its bounds, allowing her to release her creation.

“Thank you for not disturbing me… this time.” Novera turned to him, a little exhausted from the trying spell, “I imagine after almost releasing a soul-eating abomination the first time you interrupted me that you would be cautious the next.”

“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” Miles whined, “and I did help you to contain that thing after it… got out.”
The scholar merely huffed, “Did you get your prize from the Scholary yet, nothing but the most powerful would do for our little “side project.””

Miles took out the package and showed it to Novera. Sensing the magic within, the Scholar tore the package open to reveal a glowing blue, diamond-shaped crystal, almost humming with magical power. “The Ethereal Stone, a completely unique object that went missing from the Enlightenment Institute some years ago,” she recalled, “not that those philistines would ever truly comprehend its beauty.”

Novera turned and walked behind her desk, she grabbed an elongated case and placed it on top of the desk, “The night my people launched their attack on yours, your mother gave me her staff within this case and told me to hold on to it until you came of age to claim it for yourself.”

She unlocked the case and continued, “Of course, you know that she would never part with such a prize so willingly, as did I, I knew that night was the night everything we knew would end, and I was fortunate to have this staff sent to your father’s cruiser ahead of me.”

Novera turned the case around and showed it to Miles, a light grey staff lay inside the case, adorned with cravings of arcane symbols. “Only a Magister can pick up this kind of weapon, and the Magister that touches this staff will be the only one able to wield until you willingly relieve yourself of it.” she explained, “There is only one way to know whether this will truly work for you. Take it!”

Cautiously, Miles touched the staff, wrapped his paw around it, drew it out of the case and held it beside him. The staff glistened with magic, which grew up his arm and enveloped his body before seemingly leeching into his very skin.

“Now, Miles!” Novera urged, handing him the crystal, “Place the Ethereal Stone on the top of the staff and it should be accepted.”

As instructed, Miles took the crystal and placed it on the tip of the staff, and after waiting a moment, the staff grew three claws, which curved round and gripped the crystal, holding it in place.

“And now we have lost the Ethereal Stone, never able to return it to our Puritanical friends.” Novera smirked, “What a shame.”

Now held by Miles’ staff, the Ethereal Stone will never be independent again; a Magister’s weapon absorbs a magical augment into its very fibres, and nothing can sever those inseparable bounds.

“That concludes our little project, test the staff thoroughly to understand its capacity; that staff may add any number of units to manual spellcasting, so be sure to take adequate precautious.

“And be sure to be up early tomorrow morning for the Imperial Delegation’s Official Review,” she patronised, “I imagine sleeping through the meeting will prompt a rather uncharitable response by the Empress herself.”


* Authors Note - Feel free to comment  [:)

Pretty long post..Glad you shared it.. I am really very excited to read your other posts..Nice story:)
« Last Edit: February 09, 2014, 09:21:38 AM by TheoWidener »