Ceremony, stipulated boredom.
The great dining hall was nearly a third full. Blue, white, red, and green robes speckled in random groups about the tables. I sat in the back slouching, trying my best to be as inconspicuous as possible. Like normal I sat alone, a large glass of posca in front of me.
The commencement ceremony was a half hour of introductions and worthless pomp. The professors came in, copious gold weave and badges on their robes. Each wore tall, square dark grey hats. I suppose it was important to impress the new batch of students by showing how gaudy and unfashionable mages could be. None of the mages I’d seen in Sapphire would be caught dead in such attire. Being pompous was a good way of finding oneself relieved of most of your possessions.
As annoying as the ceremony was, my decision to hold off on a third stein of drink was far worse. My happy aura rapidly faded with every minute. The Dean, Cassius Anthony, went over the basic rules. One hour after dark the gates were locked until morning, don’t steal or break property, obey the staff, yada, yada, yada… He then proceeded to regale us with the history of the Commoner’s Spire, the other worlder friendly version. Anything and everything he said was thus suspect. Sadly my history lessons that involved magic did not go into much detail about either the Commoner’s nor the Noble’s Spire.
What I did know was that the Noble’s Spire was older, and naturally better staffed and funded. Fortunately, our leaders had some wits about them when they opted to create a Spire for commoners. When you allow one group of individuals a monopoly over something, complacency inevitably sets in. Why innovate, improve, research new techniques when you had the market cornered? Far better to hunker down, and devote every copper not going straight into your purse towards crushing any rivals.
The Commoner’s Spire, in my opinion, was created mainly to prevent that from happening. A secondary consideration was probably to insure a large number of more disposable mages, both combat and otherwise. For about every four hundred citizens there was one mage. The noncombat mages manned the cities, either using their arcani to help with construction, farming, healing, or joining with groups to handle tasks. They were required to defend their settlements from monsters or enemy soldiers when called upon, but were not beholden to the army.
Combat mages, like me and Kevin, were destined to follow the garrisons on campaign. From what I’d read on past battles, most mages accompanied the archers or trebuchets. The more powerful the spell, the more time it took to cast, and the flashier. Thus most mages performed smaller attacks that had near the intensity of a trebuchet load. The more powerful, and unlucky, mages would attempt to pull off a successful large area of affect spell, on a patch of land far from the main army. These were incredibly effective and were known to end a battle, unfortunately, that was when they succeeded.
When casting such an immense spell, extreme focus was needed. Somewhat similar to how I had unsuccessfully attempted to form a square, there were oh so many things that could go wrong. When combined with hordes of desperate enemy soldiers doing their best to end you, your focus was certainly not where it was most needed. Occasionally the battle mage would be killed by the enemy attacks, but more often than not they would make a mistake in the heat of battle, causing the spell to backfire and do horrendous damage to themselves and anyone nearby. This meant that the troops protecting such a battle mage would be far away, and never keen to come too near to help.
Ugh, such a depressing thought, being protected by people who, even if they didn’t hate my guts, still wouldn’t be inclined to help me. Sometimes in life you just can’t win. I took a sip of my posca and prayed the Dean would finish before I fell asleep.
Somehow the old man kept talking, this time on the other worlders. He spoke proudly of how they were here to save our world. Everyone clapped and smiled, staring at the dozen plus other worlders gathered in a group near the middle of the room. No doubt gnashing their teeth behind those fake smiles.
Cassius went on to describe in great, terribly boring, detail the events of the second great calamity, and how the heroes had saved the democratic values of the Republic. There was almost a wave of involuntary shuddering. We were all thinking it, but no one dared vocalize our feelings, this was just something we had to play along with. I let my brain idle, clapping hollowly and cheering when the crowd did. My mind wandered to the actual events of those times, and what they wrought upon house Rimoude.
Even back then, our family was of commoner stock. Nothing wrong with that, a point of pride to a Rimoude just as much as the birthright of any noble. We knew who we were, and what we stood for. Then came the last push of the Dark Lord combined with a surge of monsters and the heroes’ liberation of the east. Like most others from Diamond, the Rimoudes did not like being told what to do, so when the Dark Lord demanded the city’s surrender, they fought, and unfortunately, won.
While the Dark Lord abandoned his siege, the monsters did not, easily breaching the heavily damaged 3rd outer wall, then the 2nd wall, and finally the inner one. Most died fighting valiantly, until finally it was realized that there was no saving the city. The few thousand survivors left fled south down the Madens River, fighting every inch of the way. There was an old fishing/hunting spot just north of the estuary leading into the Mare Sea. Somehow they made it, shored up the defenses, and hunkered down. After a few years, the surge, Dark Lord, and Heroes all mercifully ended.
The new town was eventually named Adamas after a flimsy set of outer walls were successfully established. The city, and one blacksmith named Aurelius Rimoude, managed to survive and began to establish themselves. The now middle aged Rimoude found a wife from a haggler’s family and became widely known for his lodestone smithing. Perhaps not the best, but his lodestone armaments and weapons were top shelf.
Eventually he made his home outside the walls, beside a large oak tree. It was claimed that no axe, enchanted weapon, nor lodestone could even scratch the behemoth. Monsters dared not set foot within 200 ft of the tree, while no man dared settle near what they thought a cursed tree. Aurelius didn’t give a damn what others thought. The tree was on fertile land near an easily accessible lodestone node, with no annoying neighbors. He saw the tree as a tool to keep other townsfolk and monsters away, and so saw no boon in harming the landmark. In time, the tree became a symbol of the family, sturdy, strong, and on its own.
The town retained its independence up until the year, the year… Bah, I was never good with dates. It lasted around eight decades before they, the abominations, destroyed everyone and every last trace of the town. Only Aquinas Rimoude escaped, documenting the history of the town’s demise, and the only account of the abominations that I knew of.
My grandfather had read that old weathered tome to me many times. I always enjoyed hearing his old, thoughtful voice and the tales in that old journal. Typically I would be the first to sit by the fire, and the last to leave during these tales. Whenever Grandpa Theo left it out, I would thumb through it eagerly, admiring the hand drawn pictures. Like most other children under 8, I still lacked a name at that time, hence my grandfather just calling me Tome. It stuck, and when I actually survived to my 8th birthday, it became my official name.
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I smiled wistfully musing over those times. We had a few books, and the hamlet had a library, but that one had always been my favorite. My father warned me not to take too much stock in the journal, “People exaggerate son and there are already enough horrors without inventing more.” My siblings were of the same mind, leaving only me and my grandfather. A few years before he passed away he took a trip with me accompanying to Garnet. There he showed me the truth, and passed down some information not written in the journal.
There was another cacophony of applause followed by footsteps on the dais. The commencement ended and all of the professors were filing out, save two. A tall gaunt mage wearing spectacles with a gold chain that looped from them around his right ear walked over to the podium while an equally tall but moderate proportioned woman still sat in her chair. The top of the man’s head was balding, while his remaining brown hair was cropped low. Walking over to the prepared podium, he cleared his throat before speaking.
“My name is Laurentium George, uh, I will be your battle instructor. Uh, as you all know, uh, every citizen is expected to come to the defense of the Republic in times of need.”
Three. He spoke quickly and crisply, his uhs serving as only the briefest of pauses in thought.
“Since few of you are capable of magic, uh, today is only an introduction. Starting next week, uh, every two weeks, uh, each and every one of you are expected to meet with me for one on one sessions.”
Six.
“Uh, keep in mind, uh, even those of you planning on pursuing more peaceful professions with your respective arcane, better a little-known bard that can defend yourself as opposed to a yuge dead one.”
Eight. His voice was quite rhythmic, his face broke into a cheery grin that quickly infected his audience. A few even snickered at his quip. His eyes lit up and his grin spread upon the desired response. He lightly beat his fist on the podium.
“Now, uh, this won’t be a gnoll hunt, you will be severely tested in my classes, uh, no matter what your arcane, uh, earth, fire, water, or divine, uh, you must learn to defend yourself. The Em, Republic has given you much, and therefore you have a civic debt to repay. Uh, I know some of you won’t like hearing that, but as your foris magisters taught you, uh, do your duty, lest you find your ears boxed, or yourself in a box.”
Fourteen. All of us laughed. The saying wasn’t particularly funny, but it brought back fond memories of our survival schooling. Ah, Bryan Altol, he was a grand old foris magister. There were trying days, bruises and welts covering our bodies, blood pouring from wounds, exhaustion from constant spear and knife training, and yet tough as he was, Bryan Altol was never hated or feared. To this day I, and many others of his classes, considered him family.
“Men, you will need to find ways to compensate for your lack in finesse and control, uh, Ladies, you will equally need to be creative in adding more power and explosiveness. Uh, each of you individually will have deficient points that will also be corrected through your one on one sessions with me, uh, now, uh, do your best and train hard. Make sure to schedule time with me by the end of the week, lest you want the Vice Dean, uh, making time with you!”
Nineteen. His final point was said in a cheery manner, barely any mages weren’t smiling. Had Agrippina made the same remark, most of us would be shaking in our boots. This instructor was interesting, I’d almost forgotten that such people still existed. Instructor George then beckoned the seated woman.
He sat down and watched along with the crowd as she took the podium. She brushed back her long, silver hair, her face middle-aged. Her breasts were quite prominent, even through her loose-fitting robe. Deep-set blue eyes peered more into, than at, her audience.
“I am instructor Delilah Silvanus, head of the divine arcane department. Before all of you head off to your respective classes, we need to cover the basics. Yesterday, the last of you received your tattoos. If you didn’t receive one, or if the physical tattoo becomes damaged, speak to me or another instructor immediately. The tattoos allow you use of your arcane until you’re proficient enough to warrant an etching. No matter how confident you feel, please do not ask for an etching unless you’ve used your arcane for at least six months. Premature etching will typically result in your death, or if you’re fortunate, merely a crippling of your soul.”
Gods above, damn you Agrippina! I didn’t need to guess as to why the Vice Dean had neglected to mention this fact.
“Please also think carefully about which spells you want etched, and your soul has only so much space. While you have plenty of time to decide, decide wisely. We encourage our students to include at least one long range and one defensive spell in addition to whatever you want to master. Etching a spell will vastly reduce the casting and time requirements, but your soul only has so much space, and cannot be guaranteed to expand.”
Well, at least the vice dean hadn’t lied about this point. Considering I only knew how to pull and manipulate water, I needed to learn a lot more about the spells open to me before this became an issue.
“Today you will be issued your wands or staves, for those wanting to fight from a great distance, or desiring more power, the staff should be your choice. Wands are more easily concealed and carried, but are poorer in terms of power and distance. Choose carefully, you are only allotted one free stave or wand, should you change your mind you will have to pay yourself. In addition, do not use your arcane without a staff or wand. There are some things in this world that can’t be healed.”
Gah, Shimokamu!!! Another valuable insight that was delivered too late. Ah! I did my best to think positively, this was not a good time to lose my calm. Well, hopefully whatever harm was done, it wouldn’t be too late to transition to a staff.
“Also, never, NEVER, cast spells once your SP is deleted. Besides physically harming yourselves, it will damage your soul. Done too often, not even the greatest of healers will be able to help you.”
What the flying… Agrippina you lying, dirty piece of orc shit… My fists clenched hard atop the table. If not for the fact that most everyone, the abominations, nature, and even the Gods wanted me dead… If not for all the nonsense people like the figures in black, the sheriff, and Kevin using me and being more burdens than help… If not for the fact that life itself was somehow conspiring against me… If not for every last one of these details I would’ve screamed out in rage. Shaking a little too noticeably, I steeled my nerves, my thoughts still a maelstrom of anger and resentment.
Gods help me, I would kill someone before this day was up.
--------------------------------------------------
“Look closely Tome, what do you see?”
“Grandfather, he’s just a hoity toity noble.”
“I tell you, boy, they’re mostly amongst them.”
Tome listened attentively, but his face betrayed his disbelief.
“Look again Tome, like I told you. Trace it top to bottom, then the opposite.
Tome sighed heavily, turning to the noble in an attempt to humor me. His eyes narrowed and proceeded to mark the contours top to bottom, then bottom to t… Tome froze, he had seen it. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, tried looking away and back, but no matter what he did, the image would not change. Shakily, he turned to look at me.
My old, sturdy hand alighted on his shoulder to steel him, “They’re real, my boy, don’t you ever doubt that. They play with peoples’ minds and hearts.”
“What do we do, Grandpa?”
Sighing, I looked carefully at my grandson. He was still too young to be told that this was a war we could never win. There were too many of them, in too powerful of positions. Our family trying to rid the world of them was the same as us trying to move the ocean, one bucketful at a time. He and I were the last, the rest of the family refusing to believe in fairy tales and legends.
I gripped his shoulder tighter and muttered to him what my own father had imparted to me at his age, “One corpse at a time, my boy, one day at a time...”
-Theodore Rimoude I, just before the mysterious disappearance of the noble Gaius Caldi.