In the letter she sent, Syma claimed to write to Professor Cynna on Mirus’s behalf. She explained he made intriguing discoveries on terra abyssa and the magical substrate that separates its from their realm. Not wanting his research forfeit to the mercy of a courier, Syma attempted to arrange a time and place for the two to meet. Cynna replied within days with a lengthy letter agreeing to a conference between the two. Their correspondence continued for a brief time, but eventually Syma needed to inform her master of the deception. When revealing their communication, Mirus erupted in a furor and threatened her apprenticeship. He personally took a quill and began to write to Cynna to apologize, but as he presided over the letters they shared, he grew agreeable and instead sent a final letter to confirm their date.
Despite its namesake, the University of Ravenspire doesn’t reside within the city of the same name, but rather about a day’s journey south. Consequently, while they waited for the day to arrive, he packed all his leatherbound journals along with all the miscellaneous supplies he might need to an actual journey into The Abyss. If Cynna revealed a crucial detail or facet of the realms that eluded him, he refused to wait the entire year.
As former student of the university and a court mage of lesser nobleman across Rodannia, Mirus used his experiences to pack his belongings efficiently in wooden trunks. Syma, however, never left the city in her life. She clumsily stuffed clothes, books, alchemical gear and ingredients into a hodgepodge and tried to force it into a single trunk. When the court mage checked her progress, a gentle smile arose on his lips at the expense of his apprentice. He took the time to teach how to make better use of space and to employ proper storage techniques for magical equipment. If alchemical ingredients are improperly stored, he explained, even a single bump on a rough road could cause a volatile reaction. Once satisfied with her work, he bid a couple of castle servants to take their things to the stable.
With the king’s permission, Mirus borrowed a pair of finely bred horses and a carriage for the trip from the regal stable. While many fine carriages with golden ornaments and intricate carvings on their sides waited in the courtyard, these were primarily used for nobles. Instead, the stablemaster provided a plain wooden carriage used by servants to run errands around the city on behalf of the castle. The carriage offered little luxury but provided more than enough storage space for the journey. Securing the trunks in the back with the help of the stablemaster, Mirus bid Syma to take refuge within the passenger compartment while he took the role of driver. His apprentice, however, refused the invitation and insisted she sit by him on the driver’s bench. After some dispute, he conceded.
Before they left, Mirus dressed himself in a heavy cloak whose hood obscured his face. In the few times they left the castle together to explore the rest of the city, he wore the same cloak. Underneath the shadow of the cloak, nobody could discern his face. As a precaution, however, whenever they traversed the city, usually to acquire some magical supplies, they used obscure back roads and underpopulated alleys to avoid crowds. He often permitted her to talk to the merchants and handle their transactions unless he knew the shop was sympathetic to his race. A few times, when he knew they would travel to a particularly prejudiced area, bid a member of the castle guard to escort them. Syma never saw any conflict arise because of his race, but she assigned this fact to his abundance of preparedness than any lack of actual bigotry.
Taking the reins his hands, he urged them from the stables to the castle gates. Once the guards confirmed his identity and reason for travel, they opened the large, ornate iron bars and the pair found themselves in the heart of the city. Their first few miles saw the various homes and estates only used by noblemen when the king bid them for a meeting. While stood unused by their owners, they weren’t left vacant as a full-time staff attended their maintenance. As the carriage passed, they saw the immaculate sprawling gardens filled with lush, verdant grasses, blooming buds of every color, and trees produce sweet, exotic fruits. At the center of their estates, buildings of stone and opulence unfurled a banner of the family crest to ostentatiously show the wealth they accrued over their generations.
Beyond these sprawling miniature palaces of luxury, they found themselves amid a network of shops suitable for its pretentious neighbors. Along these streets, gold and silver smiths meticulously weighed their preferred metals, bankers wrote contracts and managed currencies, and esteemed merchants sold exclusive goods. Syma recognized several buildings as traders of the arcane, offering rare spell books and unique alchemical ingredients used in her education. Many others, however, she never earned the opportunity to explore. An inkling of curiosity pulled at her mind when they passed a seamstress promising coats sewn from unicorn pelts and a great interest arose within her mind when they strode by a merchant who claimed to own a quill that would perform dictations; however, the urgency of their quest remained fixed. Perhaps after they succeeded, she could persuade Mirus to join her in celebratory shopping.
Outside of these shops, a wall divided them from the rest of Ravenspire. Standing far higher than any other building besides the castle itself, it separated the affluent from the common. Great wooden doors permitted commerce between these parts of the city, but any traffic through its gate required a brief inspection from the city guard. After considerable time of waiting in a line of wagons and carriages, they arrived at the door and Mirus gave his salutations to the guards. They looked at him suspiciously and took an abnormally long time to inspect their meager cargo, but they finally relented and released them.
The rest of the city sprawled in front of them. A complex web of cobble stone and dirt roads tracing between clusters of buildings, the nicest among them may be called modest and worse called hovels. Unlike the stone and brickwork in the section they just left, nearly every dwelling was furnished from either wooden planks or whole logs with only a brick chimney to offer any permanence to their simplicity. Those who could afford them used nails to fashion their homes, but the rest smeared dried mud and clay. Although the pair could faintly smell the stench at the gate, once they rode onto these dirt roads, an odorous invasion of rot and waste overcame their nostrils.
Mirus maintained a vigilant composure. He grew up among these slums and understood the few guards in this part of the city only existed to keep order. They intervened in riots or other acts of civil insurrection, but they offered no resolution for theft, assault, or even murder. Instead, civilians often formed communities of mutual protection, which in the worst cases produced marauding gangs who exploited their power and in the best cases angry mobs who’d freely lynch a person, either innocent or guilty, to bring about a sense of justice. On most days, the court mage would err on the side of tardiness and make the detour through the elven neighborhoods. While not necessarily safer than the rest of the city, his skin tone might spare them. The delays of traffic and their detainment at the gate, however, compelled him into a more direct route through a portion of the city he only knew from maps and rumor.
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Beggars multiplied on the streets. They wore torn rags which barely covered dirt caked skin. The men aggressively offered their cups while women passively sat on the side of the road with a child pressed against their bodies. The decrepit shacks on either side of the street housed large families who fought for room inside their small refuges. Pathetic gardens grew outside their door, hosting wilted plants that struggled to grow anything beyond brown leaves because of the inhospitable soil. Those who worked busied themselves with weaving baskets or spinning cloth to make a modest means. They traversed this rough terrain with little dispute until they arrived at the outer edge of RavenspireAs they approached a gate to depart, a band of three men stopped the carriage. Wearing heavy gambesons, two drew daggers and the third revealed a bow with an arrow on the string.
“Well look at this, boys. I recognize these carriages anywhere. They’re used by our dear old king, which means you two are probably just his groveling servants,” the apparent leader spoke to his lackeys. He then turned to the pair. “Hand over the reins. We don’t want to hurt you. Your lives are irreplaceable, but the castle has fifty carriages exactly like this one. Besides, whatever cargo you’re hauling is worth more in the hands of those who’ll spend the coin instead of resting in the coffers of those who can afford to sit on gold.”
“I’m afraid we can’t,” Mirus replied. “We’re on urgent business and we advise you to move out of the way.”
The archer drew back his arrow and aimed it at the court mage. The leader spoke, “Oh, don’t misplace your loyalty. Just because you work in luxury doesn’t mean you can forget about the dirty roads that birthed you. This is not a request. Get out of the carriage.”
To Syma’s surprise, Mirus rose from the bench and tied the reins to the console. He instructed his apprentice to disembark from the vehicle. She tried to protest, but he cut her argument short with a few words so stiff and certain she didn’t attempt to defy his order. Rather, she complied wordlessly and reluctantly by jumping down onto the ground. The elf quickly joined her and intentionally stood between her and bandits, taking an assuming stance. In reply, the archer slackened his string and pointed the arrow to the ground. The other two outlaws sighed a breathe of relief and thanked the pair for their cooperation.
Beneath his cloak, Mirus placed his hand on his spell book, creating a flow of magical energy between it and his body. As the bandits approached the vehicle, the court mage whispered an incantation under his breath and gestured towards the archer with his free hand. A spark of flame erupted near the archer’s hand, quickly burning through the string, and immediately snapping the bow to pieces with a large crack. The arrow on the string hopped uselessly to the ground as large splinters of wood embedded themselves into the archer’s arm and hand. His yelp of pain broke the illusion of submission and the other two bandits took a combative position.
Before they struck, two simultaneous balls of fire erupted in each of the remaining bandits’ faces. The elf found that if fire spells struck their target, they could produce a prodigious amount of damage, but even near misses dazzled his opponents and often intimidated them into a retreat. Intentionally aiming just beyond their bodies, the spell didn’t strike, but left the outlaws disoriented. They staggered backwards away from the carriage and looked at the cloaked figure in disbelief. He lowered his hood, revealing his visage
“My name is Mirus Meratus,” he announced in official tone loud enough to arouse the neighborhood. “I am the court mage of King Justinian II, the Lion of the West, the Defender of Sacred Fires, and Ruler of Rodannia and all states therein. I am on official, regal business and will not tolerate delays. Consider this your only warning. Clear my path and I will not pursue further punishment. If you continue to hinder my journey, I will not hesitate to show the full display of power at the king’s disposal.”
The bandits paused, a sense of fear across their faces, until their leader alone spoke, “I will not be intimidated by an elf.”
Without further word, he lunged towards Mirus with his dagger. As he raised his arm to strike, the mage summoned a ward which stretched across his arm like a shield of light embossed with arcane symbols and complex geometric forms. The dagger struck the ward with a clang. As soon as the ward dissipated into nothingness, another incantation escaped the mage’s lips and a whirlpool of flames erupted between them, sending embers and sparks in arrays of dancing light. With a flick of his wrist, the whirlpool spun towards the outlaw.
Dodging the attack, a motion of the fingers seized the flames and let quickly die before they caused any unintended harm. Predicting another fiery attack, the bandit took a defensive stance as his eyes darted in every direction, preparing for any further flash of flame. Instead, a burning sensation overtook his hand. Looking down, he saw his dagger glowed red, and he released the painful metal into the dirt and held his hand to his chest. The elf expected the fight to end, but the outlaw charged him again without a weapon.
A ward, however, produced the same effect as punching a brick wall. A mangled crack of bones and a flurry of swears echoed through the road. The bandit gasped as his lackeys gawked. The archer still held the remains of a bow, but the other dropped his weapon. The mage produced a ball of flames within his palm and made an unnecessary step in their direction. The final threat proved adequate, and the outlaws fled. The onlookers on the streets, mostly beggars, stood dumbfounded. Mirus did not engage them further, but dissipated the flames on his palms, and secured his hood over his head again and instructed Syma to board the carriage again.
“That was incredible!” she exploded.
“I generally dislike fighting, but self-defense often necessitates it,” Mirus corrected.
“Why haven’t you taught me anything like that?”
“You are my apprentice to become a court mage. Your primary responsibilities will be research and acting as an advisor to whichever noble employs you. Defense belongs to the spell blades, battle mages, and adventurers. Although, in honesty, it takes little imagination to apply the spells I’ve already taught you to defend yourself.”
“True, but at least tell me how to use that trick to heat up the metal.”
Mirus considered her request and agreed. As they talked, they rode through the rest of Ravenspire free of harassment until they left and met the many sparsely populated, sloping hills of the Rodannian countryside. True to his estimate, they arrived at the university in about a day’s time. They checked into a nearby inn and prepared for their meeting with Cynna in hopes that she might hold the key to traveling to The Abyss.