The library was quiet in this time of year. Most mages in their year, occupying their section of said library, were often about some important business. Vocational placement, or in their respective workshops and related internships. This late in the evening, it was just Tyr and Alex by the looks of it.
And... It was awkward for both of them. At least she thought so...?
“What are you reading?” She asked. It had been eighteen and a half hours, and Tyr had not said a word to her since standing up, pulling her off him, and skulking away. He wasn't usually a talkative person to begin with, and didn't seem to be angry with her necessarily, but she was tired of getting nods, shrugs, and dull grunts in response to everything she said. Like he was giving her the cold shoulder but making no attempt to separate himself from her, it was a strange way to act. “Is it interesting?”
“Maximilian's Maxim on the Masculine Mind.” Tyr exhaled loudly, rubbing at the bridge of his nose and flicking his eyes up to meet her own. “And no, despite being a very well written thesis underlining the principles of psionic and psychic magic, he goes on rants every few chapters about how much he hates women. He has a whole other book dedicated to all the unfortunate events that have occurred throughout the eras, and how women were at fault for all of them. In fact, from a historian's standpoint, it's one of the most complete primers of world history in existence. I guess that's why it's still sold, if you can get through the drivel. His evidence being that if we ever have a female primus, the world would end.”
“Ah.” Alex nodded, she knew of Maximilian Bonaparte, a Varian archmage from an era passed that had become the foremost expert on all things psionic. Unfortunately, before his 'opus' could be completed, he'd been stoned to death. By a gang of angry middle-aged women, no less. Kerri Monte was still celebrated to this day by feminists everywhere, a polarizing figure of history who'd managed to earn herself innocence in the court system of the time by crying in front of a judge. Not very egalitarian of her, but Alex had never had much interest in gender related politics herself.
Psychic magic wasn't very useful, in any case. Reading minds was difficult, near impossible, and even an archmage would have a hard time of breaking the wards of a middle-school student let alone a trained mage. Long ago, it had mostly been replaced by the wider and more versatile school of divination. Opening one's mind to navigate the corridors of another was the psychic equivalent of translocation, too dangerous and not at all effective enough to make up for the risk. Most who tried ended up lobotomizing themselves, or the patient, making mind reading forbidden magic except in the most extreme cases. There with empaths who could do it better, with zero risk at all, as rare as they were. “When did you become interested in psychic magic?”
“I'm not. I can't think of anything more obtuse and contrived, except maybe this author.” Tyr said, putting the book down on the table and rubbing his tired eyes.
“Well, Maximilian was a pretty well known degenerate.” Alex nodded appreciatively, it was a good sign that Tyr wasn't about to awaken into one of the so-called 'involuntarily celibate'. Self named too, oddly enough. She hated those kinds of people, just go to a damn brothel and get it over with... A silver was not that hard to come by, and would get you a clean woman. Clean enough...
“That's not who I'm talking about.”
“Oh, then who?”
“Not really sure... Hey, you're good at magic, eh? Why don't you make me a spell that makes these thoughts go away?”
“...What thoughts?” She asked.
“There are eleven other consciousnesses in my head, and all of them want a different thing – rarely agreeing. I am studying psionic magic so as to invade my own mind and develop proper wards against them, not to look into anyone else's. I can already do that, and the magic of an empath is far more accurate and less prone to unfortunate accidents than the psychic or mentalist. The way of the psion looks a lot like a very uneducated attempt at furthering early kineticism, I have no need to move small objects with my mind.”
“Ah, that does make sense.” Alex mused, pondering the request. “I don't think any magic like that exists, though. If it did, insanity would not be so common among higher ranking mages. Schizophrenia, DID, BPD, things like that. The only alternatives are forbidden magic, or pharmaceuticals that won't work on you. I'm sorry, Tyr. But I'm also not an authority to speak on this.”
“I see.” Tyr replied in disappointment, finally closing the book and happy to be putting an end to his journey into psychic mysticism. Just as Dr. Maximilian had begun to extrapolate on the fact that all women were void born demons existing only to feed on the hopes and dreams of the 'more righteous gender'. Right after explaining how incredibly unfair it was to use his height as a standard for his marital eligibility or attractiveness... Tyr could at least agree with that, the fate of the man of small stature was a doom, a cursed existence. He thanked the stars that he'd been born tall, waddling about under the standard of 5'10'' must've been hell, he felt great pity for people like that.
“Don't worry.” She was chewing her lip in thought, considering if it was worth it. But what could be more worth it? Tyr would 'die', some day soon – that was what her father had said. She didn't want him to spend the rest of his dwindling time on Hjemland losing his mind. “I know someone who is. A mentalist, and the best one you're bound to find anywhere.”
–
Mentalism was a rather recent study of magic. 'Recent' as in recently approached in the modern era after centuries of abandonment.
It wasn't an official school, and might never be, but neither was blood magic – and that was powerful, not taught at the academy, however. It was a hybridization of the old and now defunct psychic school, blended with the very relevant warding class of magic. In this case, wards of the mind and mental projection, both of which were very real. Using the mind, and human will, to influence things. It was a bit messy, in its early stages. Borrowing mostly from the arcane, quite a lot from divination, enchantment and conjuration principles had their place.
A separation from traditional elemental magic, making the mind a weapon. It was a niche specialization. Like necromancy, it borrowed from other, older things. Leaving out the forbidden things like mind control and hypnosis outside of anything medically relevant.
A mentalist could incept illusions directly into the mind of an opponent, which was part of the illusion school of magic though more advanced and targeted in comparison. Easier when you were trying to influence one person in particular. Did many of the basic things kineticists could do, telekinesis and the like, but it was unique in its way – no vocalization or movements of the hands were necessary whatsoever. Essentially it could be boiled down into generating casting arrays directly in the brain rather than in the limbs, peeling the 'emotion' out of magic and testing the limits of logic.
Thus far, they hadn't managed to do much in the way of practical application – but the past weeks had seen some fantastic discoveries. Generating static electricity while completely immobile, a start.
It wasn't weak, though. Not in the slightest, and had far reaching applications, most of which lie in the study of the mind and its degradation over time. Garth was currently working with the healers to navigate all of the complications surrounding a cure for Alzheimer's. Telekinesis and mental backlash had its applications, but he was in it for the medical sciences, to ensure that nobody lost a loved one to that terrible disease.
They weren't making much progress, but it had to be possible to turn the psychic toward the medical for more than simple incapacitating the insane. Hell, if they came to an appropriate degree of understanding, the transiting of a living mind into an artificial body would become possible. That was the realm of anima and it was forbidden, but maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to do that without harming the original mind. A true traversal of the self, rather than a copy or slaved consciousness inside of a haemonculi puppet body. Trying to navigate around the recent controversy brought on by Hastur was difficult, however.
Garth felt the presences at the door to the office before they had come close enough to knock. That was a bonus to going this far into the study of the subconscious mind, he could detect things all around him with no need for a spell. At all times, but with it came headaches and bouts of fogginess in the mind. Like his consciousness was expanding with each repetition, to the point where he could see wards if he concentrated hard enough. Passive benefits of the school, the same way some prime elementalists of fire, for example, would become far more resistant to variations in temperature.
“My office hours are over.” Garth called out tiredly. “Come back in the morning, I'll be here at 7:30.”
Despite his insistent voice, buried enough in work as it was, the students entered anyways. Not students, it would seem. Garth only felt one mage, the other felt like a normal human, not a magic user at all. How odd that was, that he wouldn't feel like mana, much less a human...? The smell though, that was unforgettable. Spearmint layered with the scent of a newly pressed sheet of parchment, a very pleasant aroma, if not for the man it was attached to.
“I'm afraid I must insist, professor to professor's assistant.” Tyr smiled, Alex at his rear crossing her arms and looking disapprovingly at Garth. From blitzball captain to bespectacled academic, things really did change in a heartbeat. Granted, this was a school, and Garth had shown no interest in going pro despite the many offers he'd received. It was a testament to his character to turn down such insane salaries to accept the underwhelming paycheck of an educator.
He was a good man. Albeit one with a few less savory habits, such as loudly masturbating in the locker rooms before every game, despite no longer being a member of the team...
“W-w-w...” Garth twisted in a way that made her think his neck should creak, eyes wide and trembling. Stammering rapidly, the staccato of a snare drum, clearly terrified.
“Oi.” Tyr sighed. That Tyr. Tyr Faeron, the White Wolf. A man that even Headmaster Lernin was scared of despite his claims otherwise. The one eyed bastard, Asmon's butcher, a man six and a half feet tall who had walked bold faced into Professor Kael Emberwind's class and dragged him out by his arm into a private sparring session at the beginning of a semester. It wasn't the figure he struck that cowed Garth, it was everything else. And the fact that he had unfortunately been quite smitten with Alex at one point, and aggressive in his unsuccessful pursuits – until finally she'd threatened to send Tyr after him. And here it was. The day of their reckoning. “Why do you hate me so much? I don't remember doing anything to you...?”
“I don't h-hate you.” Garth stammered. He was a well built man and a competent mage with wide shoulders and muscular limbs that stretched at his tweed jacket. Not normally so shaken by others, but this was something different. His confidence didn't extend to a person he could never hope to win in a fight against, someone immortal, and Garth despised violence in the first place outside of a controlled environment.
“He's afraid of you.” Alex answered in place of her old captain and one of the few people she'd call friend. After he'd stopped sending her flowers and waiting in the co-ed locker rooms for her to arrive when it was the girls turn, of course. Trying many times to kiss her when intoxicated at their mixers until she'd had the unfortunate pleasure of failing to avoid him. Beating him into the dirt and stomping on his head angrily, terrified herself that Tyr would find out. But he never did, everyone else was equally as horrified at the events that might unfold should he learn of it.
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“Really?” Tyr frowned, tilting his head. That was Alex's sign that it was 'her' Tyr inhabiting the body of her husband. However the phenomena worked. If Ragnar and Octavian both said it was 'normal', albeit overkill, it had to be – so she didn't spend more time thinking about it than she had to. It was Tyr, and that was all that mattered, one version of him or another, every single one of them knew her unlike so many of their fellow students. An inappropriate sort of happiness in such a revelation, but it was what it was, even when he changed he always treated her the same. “Why would you fear me?”
“Because he spent several months trying to convince me to have sex with him, and only stopped when I told him that I'd tell you about it. And that you were a very jealous person, might even kill him.” Alex laughed. “But don't worry, he's a good guy and I'm sure his intentions were pure.”
“A-Alexis!” Garth scooted his chair backwards until he was flat against the wall, eyes wide and fearful. His knobby necked secretary left the office without a word, rapidly marching through the door as if nothing in particular was happening, whistling all the while. “I swear I didn't mean to... You know, back then things were different!”
“Interesting.” Tyr brought his hand to his chin, cradling it and tapping a finger on his lips. “Why would I be angry about that? I'm not a jealous person, not in that way. Alex is her own woman and I told her that she could do as she pleased. I'm sure you would've made a better husband that I, though I am certain I would have been quite disappointed about it. Not enough to kill you, though, that level of possessiveness is nothing but toxic, don't you agree?”
“W-well... Sure.” Garth cleared his throat. If anything, Tyr was forthright, at least in his blunt and violent ways. In observation, if he'd wanted to, he'd have come sooner – he didn't seem like the procrastinating type in that regard. Considering that he made a habit of hunting down and 'eagling' people who truly angered him. This calm and gentle contemplation was a bit unexpected, like a man unfamiliar with common emotion or compulsions, cold as ever. “You're not angry?”
“Of course not.” Tyr shook his head again, grimacing at the weakness displayed by such a physically fit man. And a fairly celebrated mage. People said he'd be an archmage soon in his own right, pioneering a new field of study all by himself. He hadn't expected such a spineless wretch. Then again, perhaps it was good that Garth feared him. Fear was a powerful motivator when someone wanted to get something from another. Fear of retribution, recrimination, even an end to a business relationship – Tyr just didn't like using it – but he would make use of each and every weapon in his arsenal when it suited him. Now, more than ever, he needed help to the point where he was willing to ask for it. “I don't own her. It is unfortunate that you pursued her so avidly, but you had the good sense to stop when she insisted. No harm, no foul. I've met far worse than you, little man, trust me.”
“...Little?” Garth squinted up at Tyr. “Well, I suppose. Comparatively. What do you need?”
“Your help with a project.” Tyr replied, dropping a book on Garth's desk with a finality that ensured he understood how significant this project really was.
–
“I don't know about this, man.” Garth had managed to relax, somehow, and was in the process of trying to dissuade Tyr from this path. “It's not forbidden, per se, but this is serious stuff. It might not even be reversible, and it's pretty damn close to taboo. Close enough to get me suspended, we're not supposed to actively tamper with minds and that is exactly what this is. I can't do it. What you're suggesting is – in context – illegal. We are only permitted to use magic that can influence a living beings personality in the event that they are apostates sentenced to life imprisonment. And that's an old law, Amistad doesn't use servitor labor anymore and hasn't in two centuries. This is a magical lobotomy...”
What Tyr wanted to do was called the Noctis Labyrinth. It wasn't a spell, it was ritual magic, one that would separate his conscious and unconscious mind. Or in this case, minds, as in plural. Tyr was suffering from some kind of schizophrenic break and had more than one personality in his head. DPD, MID, DID, perhaps not schizophrenia specifically, Garth was experienced with them all but it was hard to diagnose offhand. The mind was a tricky thing and the diseases it was susceptible to were legion.
In any case, it was a ritual often used to force criminals to confess to crimes, as a mind without the anxieties common in the conscious mind usually couldn't lie. It wasn't that they couldn't, but when logic ruled the brain they'd almost always tell the truth regardless of censure because there was no emotion left to motivate them to do otherwise.
“You're asking me to turn you into a human golem, essentially.” Garth shook his head, deep in contemplation before continuing. That being done at all was bad, but to a primus? “I won't do this, even if you insist consent, or threaten my life. Ethically, morally, this is wrong. Incredibly wrong. There are other ways, therapies. Mind transiting rituals, stasis until we can work out a better solution. So many things better than this, you will become a monster ruled by your present conscious, the inconsistency being we don't actually know which side of your brain takes over – but it's bad no matter what the case. People do this, and they become cold and unthinking machines at worst, a vegetable at best. Mages who have done this in the past go on murderous rampages, almost universally. A man without fear, happiness, sadness, and all of the things that make us... He's not a man at all. He's an abomination, worse than any monster.”
Tyr laughed heartily at that, much to the chagrin of the two others in the room with him. “I'm already a monster. Look at me, look at all the things I've done. I walked into the periphery borderlands between Asmon and the cursed lands and I slaughtered over a thousand men. I killed them, dragged them out of their homes by their ankles and carved them up. Many of them ran when I approached, as soon as they saw magic, they fled, begging for their lives. I chased them down, and I picked them apart. Do you know why I did that, Garth? Do you?”
“I don't.” Garth replied softly. His legs were crossed, the warm festive sweater on his wide frame making him look a bit out of place in a professor's office, decorated with reindeer and wood sprites dancing under spruce trees. Alex had tried to convince Tyr to go to therapy many times, there were experts, and here they were. In front of an expert, a young – but a talented one, and Tyr wasn't listening to reason. “Will you tell me why?”
“Because it felt good at the time.” Tyr responded without hesitation. Not telling the whole truth, because he couldn't, but enough of it to set a standard and push this man into agreement without breaking his oath to Samson directly. “Their deaths served me in a way you couldn't possibly imagine. I learned to read people, taste their sins on my tongue like some kind of... Some kind of serpent. I smelled them, tracked them down. Bashed their heads in, burned them. Hung a few. All by myself, while a professor in this very academy enabled me to do so. I am going insane, but I think I've been on the brink for a very long time before I managed to notice the breaks in personality.”
“Mmm...” Garth nodded, jotting a few notes onto a tablet of neatly stacked papers. Old habits, this is why he'd gotten into this vocation in the first place, he cared about people and wanted to understand why they did the things they did. That included himself. What motivated a man, what made them who they were? These were the questions that kept him up at night. “We don't use that word here – Tyr. Mentally ill is far more appropriate. You may be ill, mentally, and you're not wrong to look for ways to overcome that obstacle, but do you know how common that is? Mental illness? You aren't alone. All of us are mentally ill in one way or another, normalizing it is an important step in moving forward. Erasing your emotions will not fix that, it'll make it worse. Think about it, tell me of a scenario where you wouldn't kill someone, even if you wanted to.”
Tyr didn't need long to answer that question. “If my friends told me not to.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't want them to hate or fear me. Because they are my friends.”
“Are they?”
“Are they what?”
“Your friends.” Garth smiled softly, communicating calm confidence, an easy man to talk to – an extrovert with a smooth voice and kind eyes. “Do you really believe in friends? If someone hurt them, would you be angry?”
“Yes.” Tyr nodded, to both questions.
“Then you're not a sociopath, that's for sure. Sociopathy is solitary and deceitful, and I don't think that you're lying to me now. It also doesn't often translate to going on rampages, sociopaths lack the necessary motivation to pursue that path. Most are liars, but they're more pacifistic if anything. You might be a narcissist, or suffering from any number of infirmities – but that's a good sign.”
“I don't understand what you're getting at...”
“Your root.” Garth pointed his pen first at Tyr, and then at Alex. “Imagine losing the root that makes you who you are. Your kinship, the way you attach to people. Whether it's toxic or not, it's not necessarily a bad thing to be motivated by social bonds. Humans are social animals, we are all looking for a place to belong, it's instinctual – and it's normal. Do you want to lose that, these bonds?”
“I do not.”
“See? And like I said, mental illness is very common. I'll help you, because I care about both of you – and we'll come up with a better solution. If I were to perform the Noctis, you'd no longer have the capacity to care about anything – but it's inconsistent at best. No good can come of it.”
“Common. And that makes killing all of those people okay?” Tyr asked. “What kind of ass pulling is that? A convenient excuse, that's all. I do not excuse my behavior, I accept it for what it is. How can your way be healthier than mine?”
“No.” Garth shook his head slowly. He was so calm, so empathetic in tone, a very warm man beneath the public swagger he'd so frequently adopted in the past. “Excuses are excuses. Everyone has one, and they're all worthless. But I believe that justification is perfectly valid. You killed criminals, bandits and rapists, slavers, etcetera. You said it yourself that they were about foul business. You could feel it, right? Do you really think that makes you a monster? You're contradicting yourself here, many would say a primus has more right to make that distinction than any known body of law. I'd argue against that, personally, but I've never been a proponent of giving murderers and thieves a pass from the noose. Justice is justice, leverage it how you please, it's for the courts to decide if you had the authority to do so, not me.”
“Nothing gave me the authority to butcher them, wanton. Not even my primacy.” Tyr replied softly. By Garth's approximation, he seemed to be experiencing some sort of equivalent to remorse. Not regret, they were different. Regret was wishing you could take it all back, remorse was realizing that you did something wrong and taking responsibility. And Tyr's way of reflecting that was almost like a child that had been scolded but still didn't know any better, just emulating a taught lesson they didn't understand.
Odd, and very unexpected given Tyr's character. If not remorse, then a close approximate in needing to be validated in his violence despite being aware, and that was something Garth couldn't empathize with – but he could try. He was arguing, but he wanted someone to tell him that he'd done a good thing for perhaps the first time in his life. “They begged for their lives, you know? Not all of them were so dark, but I fed on that. Broke and killed them, deaf to their pleas for mercy.”
“You are a primus.” Garth repeated. “Who bears more authority among living humans than yourself? Is there a heavier burden known to man?”
“I don't care about being primus and haven't for a long time.” Tyr snarled angrily, Garth observed that he had a nice voice himself even when he was angry. Someone he could speak to all day, even be friends with, as incompatible as their personalities were. How strange, more notes to jot down – Tyr the psychopath with the natural charisma necessary to attract so many people to his side. “My whole life I've been so worried about that, above all other things, desperately clutching to it as some kind of valid reason to exist. Wishing I would discover my aspect, never doing so, and continuing to abuse my position anyways. And I loved that authority, I guess I still do. I can do whatever I want and people will just excuse it as some divine mandate. In any case, I see what you're doing and I don't like it. Either agree to do what I've asked or refuse and I'll do the ritual myself. Believe me when I say that I'd be much better off if you did – along with the world. I know this.”
But he wouldn't, and Tyr would always remember that. Garth refused, as did Alex, Astrid, Sigi, Brenn, Tythas, Magnus, and Micah. Lernin, and Kael, too. All refused.
“Then this, and what happens next, is on your conscience – not mine.”
–
“That's progress.” Garth smiled after their fourth consecutive 'session'. Just therapy, Tyr would entertain them for a little while, unsure if it was actually helping. “You're admitting you have a conscience.”
“He does.” Tyr said. “I'm quite sure that I do not.”
“Hmm...” Garth nodded... Again... He was always nodding, bobbing his head up and down like a chicken searching for a worm – and always smiling while he did it. Tyr wanted to rip that pen out of his hand and shove it up his ass.
Garth's ass... Not his ass... Garth's ass. As in, Tyr didn't want to...
Nevermind.