Envy reflected, that the whole relationship between Familiars and their Magicians was far from a fair one. Sure, the bond gave them sapience and an opportunity to develop more exotic talents, but the Magician could learn much more from them than they got in turn. And they had far more to lose if the contract was annuled. True cooperation could not exist when one's existence as a true thinking being hung in the balance.
Ørjya floated in the opulent water chamber she had been confined to, stuck in a strange meditative pose as she channeled the power of the Sovereign Swarm through her frame. In another layer of reality, Ørjya rested in the gloomy cavern and let the anemone that served as her bed steady her place in the water. Perspective was innate to her kind and Envy had started to learn how to see the world as they did.
Leigh, immortal and fey-like creatures living in forests, mountains, and other places far removed from conventional civilization. Envy was surprised that her Mistress was from such an esteemed people and yet so utterly incurious about the world. She paid little attention to the true nature of the Swarm, all that interested her was the unique magic she sensed that she could learn from it. That was how casually she had dismissed a cataclysmic threat growing to all life in her world.
The first experiment had been with dividing her mind. She could fragment her own nature into pieces and hold active conversations between her various "selves", it had only taken her days to figure out and master that particular trick. Then had come experiments with dominating other minds and altering her own form. Serving Girls had been forced to get Ørjya treats or amuse her as she cast out her magic. Her organs had been enhanced with strange metallic and coral growths so that Ørjya did not have to use the lavatory.
But it was now that Envy grew truly afraid as her Mistress attempted a ritual to bridge the magic of Leigh and Swarm into something far more terrifying. One of the Serving Girls in the palace was kneeling on the ground, bound in mental chains where she could only scream in her mind while the horrible Witch did her work.
"If you think about it, you exist only as an extension of the throne. You are a servant in the palace, a being made to obey the orders from your betters. Your individuality has no value in that position, you are a cog, a single fish in a shoal. There is nothing there but the throne, nothing but servile submission and conformity. Your identity is a luxury that can be as easily stripped from you as the cook deboning a fish."
Envy felt power swell in the room as Ørjya spoke and with each syllable so delicately uttered yet with gathered contempt behind it. Her ritual was not focused with verse or a chant like one would expect, no she was lecturing the universe. Giving an order like one would expect from...a Sovereign to a vassal. She had repeated the words multiple times before, but as the magic started digging into the unfortunate Servant, the she-leigh added a few more sentences to cap it of.
"All in all you are nothing. And if you are nothing, not an individual at any rate. But merely an extension of throne, then you are extension of me. Which means are you me. So. Be. Of. Me."
Her final words caused a shift as if someone pulled a blanket over reality itself, on the one hand no physical change had actually found place. The Serving Girl was just dangling limply instead of kneeling like a tied knot on the floor, but Envy could see the change as clear as day. From a certain angle, one could see that the once-green eyes of the victim now looked almost violet in the light, and from another perspective, there were now two Ørjyas' in the room. The only difference between them being their clothing and their relative seating arrangements.
"Yessssss. It worked, didn't it? There is me."
"Me...me....me"
The original exclaimed and raised a fist in triumph while the new addition looked down at her hands and clenched them into fists. Envy couldn't help but quail as she sensed the perversion of the natural bond that made up the Swarm being replicated before her. Magic twisting one to be like the other as the two women started to chatter with their minds rather than their mouths.
First, the original opined.
"Well, it will be tiresome to try and do this kind of intense ritual for each individual inducted into our communion. Should we keep it exclusive to a select few?"
The second replied casually with a mental dismissal.
"Pffft, no we are two now and I am sure we can quickly streamline the process. Make the magic in me contagious and let it spread. We can both sense that it is in the nature of this "Swarm Magic" to spread and subvert. So let us only let it do what is natural, we could transform the city over night."
"Yes, yes. First the city and then the sea."
"And then the world my dear, we shouldn't be so petty as to just desire the sea."
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Tim the Necromancer was kneeling in a crypt and for what felt like the umpteenth regretted speccing as a Necromancer. When he had rist arrived in this magical world his Interface had told him to choose a class and a race. So, since he had just been on a kick of watching Overlord right before being transported he had decided to go for a Human Necromancer.
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He had not been alone in ending up there so he had at least not been the must unfortunate in his choice, there was that one enby catkin who had picked a class inspired by McGyver which came with a restriction on all conventional weaponry. But at least they could replicate plastic and toilet paper.
Being a Necromancer was not fun, first and foremost the magic system of this universe required a greater being to learn from. It wasn't necessarily like being a Warlock in that one had to have a bond to a greater power, but one had to have a basis to learn from. Even Wizards studied spellbooks containing magic learned from observing "natural casters." Necromancy could ironically not be learned from studying Death as a force, as undeath was an aberration of the concept. A meeting point between life and death.
Tim's interface did lead him to an appropriate "class-trainer" like one saw in MMO's. The Scion of Graves, a strange entity that apparently resided in a connecting point between graveyards. To be granted tutoring from the Scion of Graves Tim had to do a few basic quests involving animal sacrifices and making a miniature graveyard for them in the woods, but from there had started to learn.
Only to discover that being a Necromancer...sucked. First, it wasn't societally accepted. He had been run out of three towns by angry mobs and both Listig and his childhood friend Melissa had both left Tim, due to a combination of the danger and the next issue. Undead. Were. Gross.
Skeletons were creepy, zombies reeked, and the horrible maggots, fungi, and carrion that came with the undead made most undead creations really creepy to look at. Which all in all made it hard and uncomfortable for Tim to level his class, since he couldn't respec it into another class without some kind of "soul-purge". Whatever that was.
Tim had just passed "Adventurer Rank 10" and was as such kneeling before a gravestone in a crypt. His interface had told him that now that he had passed rank 10, he was eligible for new spells and needed to go to his class-trainer to receive his tutoring.
Note: Contact: Listig(Adventurer Rank 23) has entered into the same city as you. City: Argoush, in the Kingdom of Chilvale
Tim let the system notification pass through his mind without making it elaborate further as the knowledge of how to raise new undead and cast curses came flooding from the Scion of Graves. It would be nice to see an old friend even if they had not parted on the best of terms.
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Hans Reclis had never dreamed of being a powerful man, he had a natural bent for magic in his blood due to some distant ancestry and as such had picked up Sorcerery from studying local insects and fungi as they kept infesting his family barn. Instinct had guided him in casting those first few extermination spells, and while had gotten some tutoring by "proper Mages" since then. His specialization had been set since then.
Pest extermination was not glamorous, but it made him a big man in Hor. Someone who could save fields and storehouses from disasters, someone who could protect treasured family heirlooms from moths and rot. So being caught up in the games of gods and monsters had not been something he had ever envisioned.
Which was why he once again couldn't help but smile despite the dour company he kept as he and Michel the Woodsman stepped into the city of Argoush. They had been sworn companions, literally, since they had managed to flee Hor. His son Abel had died due to infected food, and the rest of his family had been saved for a price by three mysterious strangers who had guided their journey ever since.
First to a Dungeon, then northwest until they reached this very city. Both had grown immensely in power and skill ever since, but Michel was saddened as his family was for all intents and purposes "dead". The strangers had given them safety, but they did not remember who they were or even wandered this very world apparently. Such was the price for guaranteed safety from their sworn foe:
The Thrall-King. Now, the two of them were in the city where they would meet more companions that would join them. "A coward to be redeemed, and a man who holds the keys to it all yet does not know it yet."
Michel could sense their enemy coming, a lot of them. The threes whispered it and he had learned to hear and wield some of his power as well, drinking blood from his deceased son as was the custom of Chilvale had carried with it some of the power in the Thrall-King. In addition to him having been infected by it before and having been cured.
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"There is power in such things, twice-cursed by your foe you can now wield that curse like a blade if you let us show you how."
The puppets whispered to Michel as he looked down at the soil, sorrow still clinging to his heart.
"You who carry the blood of trees in your past, Ysandra's descendant you can avenge more than your son and home."
The Clown grimaced before reaching out to poke his shoulder.
"You will learn to wield the trees not just listen, to cut the Thrall's web not just sense it. Your future will be unhappy, but it will be better for the world."
The Tarot Reader held out her cards and the three asked in unison as Michel looked up from the ground and at them and he answered simply.
"I agree."