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Writer's Guild / Re: Magistracy

« 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:)