~ Several miles south of Imat ~
Two yellow orbs, blazing in the night, as the brow above them furrowed. Their owner, sickly of pallour, grumbled as his latest experiments failed. The woods he was standing in veiled his activities from the city, the mists swirling in an unnatural manner.
He had set that up months ago, after the failure to contain some of his zombies.
Now he scribbled and scratched, in a crusty vellum tome, observing the skull of his most recent failure.
"......Control runes seem fine.......No obvious flaws.........AHA!"
A sinister glee coloured his face, his failure identified. He laughed then, a wheezing cackle familiar to any who had strayed to close to a witches hut, or warlocks den.
The laugh of the truly malignant.
It was time to begin the hunt for a source with greater resonance.
Time to begin the seond phase.
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Jon was resting, Moro having given him a few days off once he had completed his first inscription. The ease at which he could produce a bolt of flame still amazed him. He had tried to light his fathers pipe, the same way his master had, but that ended with a coughing fit similar to those his sister had.
Still though, large or small, blue or green or even black, the sheer variety of it made his head spin. However, today was not the day for cheap thrills.
It was the 3 month anniversary of Maht's death. Many others had died in the attack, a few housewives, a guard, and a sailor on shore leave.
It is known, or at least custom, that the soul has 3 months in which to leave Feldor.
During this time, outside the confines of one's home, no grief can be shown.
For the time the spirit has left, they are only to see their friends, and family, living their lives, and moving on, so the spirit may do the same.
Master Moro had told Jon the truth, that while some spirits with regrets may linger that long, it was truly rare. However the tradition of not showing any grief was vital, as the spirits may see that grief, and try to clutch onto the life they lost.
This can end in any number of horrifying ways.
Jon plucked himself from his bed, and his musing. Today he could go out and meet with the families who lost people, and share their grief, as well as their stories and joy in the lives of their loved ones.
He set off from home, in a buoyant mood, however the earlier melancholy set in again as he approached the leatherworker's. Maht's family were traditionalists, and believed that they should stay in isolation so they could mourn their lost son during the three month window, when he still walked Feldor.
This would be the first time Jon would see them since his death.
Mahrk, Maht's father, opened the door, a look of grim determination on his long-weathered face. However, his visage softened when he saw Jon at the door, and before Jon knew what was happening he brought Jon into a swift and tight hug.
Though brief, Jon hugged his best friend's father back.
His family soon joined them, his mother wearing the traditional veil, while his younger sister wept openly. They walked together, to the square outside the Church of Mortus.
As we passed the street where Maht had died, Jon looked over to the alley where they had entered the street.
He did a double take, shocked at what he saw.
There was a mural on the alley wall, depicting the goblins being burned away by... well, by him.
Below it were thousands of flowers, and as he passed, another person stooped to lay another.
An old woman shambled past the mural, a dark shawl covering her head almost entirely, but as she passed, the flowers seemed to grow.......... stranger, for lack of a better word.
One took on a bone like pallour, while another's petals started flapping out of synch with each other, and so on.
Then, in the few moments Jon stopped tracking her, the crone seemingly vanished into the crowd.
'Well, that was strange' thought Jon, however he soon forgot the strange old woman, as the grieving procession made it's way to the district square.
The procession that had accumulated as they walked the streets finally arrived in the district square, which was fully occupied on one side by the temple of Mortus.
A stately follower of Mortus, garbed in purest white, with dark accents, emerged from the temple, and began the prayer.
Jon knew it by heart from Temple school, as every child was taught the prayers for marraige, birth and death, to Iphion, Zava and Mortus, respectively.
The congregation continued the prayer, for it's full five minute duration, and when it was done the thirty or so assembled mourners began to disperse, some heading for bars, while others no doubt wished to be alone in their grieving.
Jon continued to stand in the square, confused at something he had just witnessed. Just as the prayer ended, he saw a....... a spark maybe, above the fountain. A shimmer? A glow. Something.
Looking around, he realized no one esle had seen it.
After spending some time with Maht's family, telling them the story of his bravery and heroism in the attack, leaving out the final moments, to spare them that image.
Soon, it was time to return to the tower. As he rode the 'elevator' up, he wiped the last few tears from his eyes.
When Jon got there, he was pleasantly surprised to see Master Moro bumbling around, working as he sometimes did, without a care in the world. Jon decided that was an attitude he would like to cultivate.
"Oh Jon, come in, come in. I hope your friend grie-"
He suddenly paused, his eyes narrowing, and then widening a great deal, as though he had seen a terrible future.
"Say Jon.......... you didn't say the prayer along with everyone else, did you?"
Jon nodded hesitantly.
A nervous look crossed his face, before relaxing.
"It's.......... probably fine. Yeah. Definitely. Fine."
He continued mumbling, something about the substrata being very thin, and 'not technically illegal'.
A few minutes later, for which Jon became VERY tense, Master Moro relaxed once more.
"Well, nothing can be done right now, and it's 95% unlikely anything actually happened."
"For now, we'll continue on to educating you about the Echelon."
Jon smiled, his earlier worries temporarily forgotten. THIS was where real wizardry started.
"As we discussed, the Echelon is how we measure the difficulty of a spell. Cantrips, at least good ones, can go up to 5 or so icons, before they stop working, the mental strain being too much."
"The spells of the first Echelon can go up to 50."
Jon was struck dumb. He didn't even think he could remember that many icons, never mind trying to assemble them into a spell. It would take hours to cast anything!
Master Moro chuckled, and continued on.
"Don't worry, I had the same look on my face as you did when I was told. And the requirements only increase from there. However, there is a trick we discovered for holding spells partially completed, but that's for another time."
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"I'm not actually even allowed to teach you spells of the first Echelon, because while you technically could learn them, the Lyceum holds that right. However I am going to begin teaching you enchantment, so that you will have some kind of leg up."
"Leg up, master?" Jon asked, his eyebrows raised.
"The Lyceum is a very competitive place Jon, and while I have no doubt you'll do well there, most of the other children will be Imperator's families, or noblemen's children from the capital."
"They will likely have been trained in magic from a younger age than you, aand many will have already reached the first Echelon, taught by tutors with special dispensation."
"While I can't give you that, I can give you the two other things I promised you. The first is a unique Eldrak word which I discovered after years of delving into old ruins. It deals with gravitar, the downward force. Are you familiar with it?"
Jon was. He had read of the theory of the downward force in Tekram's Mundane Teachings, one of his favourite books a few years ago.
"So the theory is true? There really IS a constant downward force? It's called gravitar?"
"That's the nearest translation to Ralian that I could make. So far, I have been able to incorporate it into a first and second echelon spell, replacing some aspects, making the spells significantly stronger."
"However, I have found the most success in using it in enchanting, which is the art of imbuing spells into permanent items. Can you guess what I've used it for?"
Jon thought for a moment, before almost hitting himself over the head. It was obvious.
"Your........ 'elevator', Master Moro."
He gave Jon vexed look.
"Don't say it like that Jon. The word will catch on. I can feel it."
"If you say so, Master."
Moro coughed into his sleeve, and then continued.
"Yes, my elevator. The icons upon it have been delicately crafted to raise or lower the amount that the counterweight is affected by this gravitar. However, it's still a bit early for you to try messing around with new icons. Grab one of the ashen wands from the bin."
Jon began to get up, before he was stopped by Master Moro, who leaned forward with an eyebrow raised as he spoke.
"Ask yourself, apprentice. Do you need to go over there?"
For the second time in as many minutes, Jon felt like hitting himself across the forehead.
Though he hadn't inscribed any of his other chosen cantrips yet, he had practised the puppet hand spell almost religiously, after seeing Master Moro pluck a book from the wall with almost contemptuous ease.
'Okay.' Jon thought, 'First Menas for control, then Impetar for force, sheathe my hand in my other, cross that hands fingers.....'
"Menas-Impetar!"
The spell which blazed in Jon's mind was a 5 sigil cantrip, the maximum a cantrip could be. The mind sigil for control, the force sigil for what the hand would be made of, 'coating' his hand with aether, the seperation sigil to seperate his actual hand and the force-construct and the linking sigil so it would mirror what his actual hand did.
A ghostly blue hand reached from his own, and sailed across the 'classroom' to daintily grasp a plain ash wand from the jar, or 'bin' holding several, and returned it quickly to Jon's actual hand, before Jon let the spell go and the cantrip winked out of existence.
"Okay, now look at the bottom of the wand."
Jon examined the bottom of the wand, seeing a flat metal cap.
"This is where enchantments are usually inscribed, for wands at the very least. It's far easier than inscribing the side, and needing to include instructions for aiming out the end of the wand. Now, use this scriber, and carve the sigil for light."
After a couple of false starts, Jon eventually got the scriber onto his hand. It was a strange glove like apparatus, with various knobs and levers, and it only covered two fingers and the thumb.
The sigil for light was rather simple, however it seemed it wasn't going to be that easy.
"Usually, we would first carve a circle, and then add in a geometric stabilizer, however the cylindrical nature of the wand should be good enough for this. Just make sure you remember to include the circle normally."
"A useful beginner stabilizer is a three by three grid, after which you should carve the circular part of the light sigil around the central square, and the diagonal lines at a forty-five degree angle out to the edge. Then add an 'away' sigil. I trust you remember it. This sends the spell to the tip of the wand, rather than out the back."
It took several tries, but Jon eventually succeeded and now there was a passable carving of the light sigil, and a 'stabilizer' on the wand's end.
"Finally, you need to decide if you want to just use this wand on the go, or give it charges which are stored for later. With early spells, this makes little difference, but trust me when I say that a wand with a charged high-aether spell can save your life in the right circumstances."
"How do the charges work, Master?"
"I suppose for teaching purposes we may as well give this wand charges. Given that Light is a simple cantrip, and doesn't require much aether, I'd say you could maybe add as many as twelve charges, but ash wood isn't the best for aether storage. Perhaps three. Inscribe three circles onto the wood, parallel to the length of the wand, and then push aether into them. Then add lines connecting them to each other, and finally the enchantment."
Jon struggled for a few moments, releasing raw Aether from the Weave was fairly hard work, but eventually he managed to do so.
He only filled one of the circles, but a faint blue glow could be seen from inside the ring. He looked up at Master Moro expectantly, who was hovering over his shoulder.
"Now, simply break the circle, using a nail, or what have you."
After the edge of the circle broke, the blue glow in the circle spread to the outside of the ring, gathered together into a single point, and raced along the carved line to the carved spell.
When it reached the spell, it flooded the sigils, the three by three grid letting the aether flow evenly throughout. When it was complete, a small glow began at the tip, and slowly grew brighter, until a marble sized ball of light was covering the end of the wand.
"Congratulations Jon, you've officially joined the ranks of enchanters across Feldor."
Jon smiled, and then frowned as the end of the wand started sparking and the light withered and died. The wand continued to spark.
Master Moro picked it up and hurled it out the window.
Jon winced as a loud boom echoed through his ears, and even with his eyes closed he could see a blaze of white light.
Master Moro lit his pipe thoughtfully.
"We're going to have to explain that one."