“Some view immortality as a curse, I see it as a blessing. People tend to focus so much on the loss that they forget just how precious the time they have spent with them was. I live not for my own sake, but for the sake of those left behind. They drive me forward; I am their legacy, and they live through me.
The Manuscripts of Alexander Drakonov, The Clockmaker.
The weather within the Kevlar region has always left much to be desired, the westerly winds carry moisture from the Caralian sea, through the highlands that prevail the region. As such, rain is common, and you cannot traverse the dirt paths without getting your boots stuck in the mud. Luckily, that is not much of a problem for me as the streets of Hypervion, capital of the province, are paved. Instead, I have to worry about all kinds of filth that gets washed away by the downpour as I sprint through the city streets. Having said that, a more metaphorical storm cloud awaits my arrival at the shop.
The distinctive sound of bells greets me as I come face to face with a particularly angry old man, his head of un-groomed hair is white, scraggy, and dry. Were it not for the color of it and lighting of the apothecary’s shopping area I would not be surprised to see dandruff covering the surface of his scalp, his face old and wrinkled I cannot tell if it is because of age or simply because he frowns so much, I have never seen the old man happy in the two months I have been apprenticing under him. Though one must not be so foolish as to underestimate him, he might be over sixty years old, but he is pretty tough. As he steps closer to me, I am quick to cast my eyes down, where his long navy blue robes almost reach the floor, I catch a quick glimpse of the insignia the signifies his status as a mage.
“Master Volkov...”
“Alexander, you bumbling idiot how many times do I have to tell you to make haste when on an errand!” “Master I'm sorry, Berthold had run out of Swampleaf I had to search the entire market just to find enough to satisfy the recipe.” I lie, in turn he strikes me. An angry red blooms across my face, “do you take me for a fool, I know you were speaking to that little harlot down by the inn!” “I'm sorry master....” is all I can say to hopefully calm him, it would do me no favors to anger the old man even further. He is a magus, though not a particularly powerful one, he could still kill me with a thought, and nobody would bat an eye. Afterall, I am just an acolyte who doesn’t even know any magic, the empire would sooner frame me for being a heretic than punish the old geezer for anything he does to me.
“Return to your room this instance, and since you have so much free time on your hands, you might as well study the runic script for the mana bolt spell by the end of the week. It's about time you started learning some magic.”
“Yes, master” and with that I scamper off towards my room before he decides to worsen my punishment. I walk past the counter at the front of the store, down the hall to the left before ending at a very rundown door. With the turn of my squeaky, rusty handle I enter the only sanctum I have within the apothecary, though I'm not very eager to test out just how safe I am from the irritable alchemist behind that paper thin door.
I walk towards the chest that holds all my belongings and rummage through until I find a cloth and a new pair of clothes, taking off my boots and socks I begin undressing, soon I dry myself with the cloth and put on my new garments. I then place my old wet clothes over a line that run across the side of my room, where they immediately begin to drip water all over the floor. “Damn I'm gonna have to get a bucket,” I grumble, lest the moister seep into the wood and the floorboards start rotting.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
When all is done, I pull out the rickety chair out from under the table, careful not to place any weight on the back right leg, which is unfortunately shorter than the rest. It is here where my eyes run across the desk with its contents laid bare. A pen, two books, and a small candle in its holder. The books titled ‘Basics of the Art of Magica’ and ‘Alchemy for Beginners,’ respectively.
Opening the ‘Basics of the Art of Magica,’ and flipping past the introductory chapters I land at the page I'm looking for.
“One of the simplest spells an aspiring mage can hope to learn is the spell ‘mana bolt,’ given the fact that it is both easy to learn and very versatile it ends up becoming an essential spell for your combat composition. The spell will only be complete when the individual forms an orb, about the size of a fist, over their open palm with the modification that will allow it to be launched at speed relative to the speed of an arrow fired from a long bow. This does mean that the spell can be deadly depending on where it hits, and of course this is just the benchmark to having fully learned the spell, once you have grasped the basics it is up to you to edit it as you see fit. It is without saying tha....”
As I continue to read about the intricacies of the spell, it is not long before I reach the core of the chapter.
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Runic Script: Mana Bolt
“For the formation of its structure ‘Nauthiz’ the rune that symbolizes constraint will take center its modification is key to this spell, through it mana is captured and held in place this is followed by ‘Isa’ to keep the mana still and workable, moving on to ‘Eihwaz’ of transformation, in which we change the shape of the spell and a further ‘Eihwaz’ that will allows us to change the properties of the mana to those of ‘Uruz’ of strength which is then further modified by an ‘Eihwaz’ with a ‘Fehu’ of wealth attached to increase the strength of the construct. ‘Berkano’ for growth and a ‘Nauthiz’ to control the speed of the growth are next. Once an appropriate size has been reached ‘Isa’ will bring the growth to a stop, ‘Ingwaz’ to state your completion and ‘Sowilo’ will mark your success.”
“‘Hagalaz’ a rune that signifies hail will be the launching pad for the bolt, ‘Raido’ which means to travel and finally, 'Kenaz’ of torch to guide the spell towards its destination.”
“Mana Bolt: Nauthiz Isa Eihwaz-Eihwaz Uruz Eihwaz Fehu Berkano Nauthiz Isa Ingwaz Sowilo Hagalaz Raido Kenaz”
“Runic Script: ᚾ I ᛇ ᛇ ᚢ ᛇ ᛓ ᛒ ᚾ I ᛝ ᛋ ᚺ ᚱ “
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The difference between spoken Runes and written runes Is key to the different professions a mage can undertake, those who can use written runes might have potential to enter the magi craftsman's fields such as engraving or scroll manufacturing, while their spoken counterpart are more useful for combat. I don’t really possess the temperament for combat, someone as cowardly as me would probably get chewed up by a goblin on my first outing. Having said that it causes no harm to learn at least this spell, almost all magi; craftsman, combat mages and even scholars choose to learn the spell for self-defense and as practice for more complicated spells later down the line.
Getting up from my chair I move towards my old bed, the mattress having lost its comfort with age, and sit in a meditation pose. While an actual mage would not need to conduct such a ritual just to complete an easy spell like mana bolt; any aspiring mage would quickly find it to be much easier to learn and master new spell in such a way.
I cIear my mind and present my hand forward in a way in which my palm faces up towards the ceiling, an experienced mage would probably curse me for being dumb enough to cast a new spell in such a risky way, after all if I lose control mana bolt could possibly fall on my hand and do severe damage, on the other hand if I point my palm down it could fall on the floor, destroying it. The beating the old man would give me is not worth it at all.
I begin speaking the words of power as mana condenses into a visible form if only for an instance before it flickers out. “Of course,” I sigh, if it were that easy to do magic any random fool on the street would be casting mana bolts at a moment's notice, aside from the actual aptitude required to do the magic which only a tiny percent of the population actually has, you also need to grasp the more esoteric side of magic, and also practice the spell a lot too of course.
The motes of mana begin to gather again each and every one of them like a twinkling star in the night sky, I can never get used to how beautiful they really are, condensing right over my palm into a form not unlike a pearl, smaller than the nail on my pinky finger, its deep blue marine color shining brightly, a spectacle for the eyes. Just as quickly as it begins to form the orb fades away. I reach up to rub my eyes and a groan escapes my lips as the insidious migraine that accompanies mana over expenditure begins to set in, “this is gonna be a long week.”