Episode 1

Journals of an Academy Mage

Entry 1: 8th day of the month of Genuar, Spring of the year 1897 Ibx. 10th Era:

This is my first time journaling so please be patient with me. I do solemnly resolve to write these entries in the evening of most days, where I can.

My name is Enri Elsevier, and I am a student of magic and history at the Academie de Mevilles, the most prestigious university of the arcane arts in the world. Yes, I am most certainly proud of that. Two years ago from this very week, I enrolled at the Academy as a high ranking graduate from a Middle Learning Institution in the city of Ecreslory on the west coast of the Great Continent, Lapuer. Indeed, even my enrolment was a prestigious process, with a great deal of testing of its own accord. It has been truly worth every moment of examination. Over the course of these two years, I have been instructed in eight spells, and have privately studied three additional ones; advanced my knowledge of the history of magic and society across the 1900 year period since the first spell, and; developed the ability to read ‘The Original Tongue’, the language used in several magic systems and texts. But enough about the Academy, dear journal – let us speak of me.

Writing this journal, I am passing through the forested Levonic hills in the latter half of the 7 hour express train ride from the west coast to the east of Lapuer – that is to say between my home city of Ecreslory and the College town just beyond the sprawling metropolis of Mevilles. The midday sun passes through the antique windows in flashes as we pass by the rocky peaks, the granite cliffs, and the occasional pastoral village along the stretch between the cities of Mardiepoy and Signes, illuminating the empty carriage with clear light. This particular train is a fantastic combination of older and newer models rending the trip a personal favourite. The interior of the older model sports floral-cushioned seats and wooden facades with decadent engravings of hyacinths and was applied to the engine and exterior workings of the newer model, a sleek silver mono-rail.

When I arrive at the Academy, I will take my trunk to my apartment across town from the station. There, I trust I will find yellowed engineering drawing sheets pinned to the wall and a set of bone runes – the belongings of my room-mate, Pyotr Sakisov, who, resenting being late for anything, will have already arrived via airship from the small Kussite village of Viazh across the water. Viazh was the seat of House Sakisov, one of the smaller of the Kussite Great Houses.

[Editor’s Note: You see, Pyotr was Thelenic. His ancestry draws back to the Thielen, an alien (or to some, divine) people who arrived on Haestha in 82 Ibx. Now, the descendants of the Thielen constitute a third of the world’s population, spanning across the Thelenic continent and beyond.
Enri for his own part was of Alfic and Levonic descent. 22 years before writing the journal, he was born to Aose Elsevier, an Aeschi wizard, and Marie Elsevier-Nice a local Levonic politician. As a result, his skin is reported to have been somewhat blue and his hair silvery, though his eyes are as green as the hills of his mother’s home.]

Pyotr, evidently, studies Arcane Engineering, resulting in our room becoming something of a workshop. We’ve shared a dormitory ever since our enrolment at the university, and naturally our friendship has grown since then (although he calls it Stockhold syndrome).

When I get to our room, Pyotr will likely be absent, either out buying his textbooks or doing his readings near some fountain in the city. Indeed, by my arrival in the city, it will be early afternoon and I will have plenty of time to go about my tasks. Though certainly, there are another 2 days before classes officially start, so perhaps taking the time to settle in wouldn’t hurt.

Now to recount the subjects of my past studies in great detail–

Wait.

Entry 1 Addendum: 8th day of the month of Genuar, Spring of the year 1897 Ibx. 10th Era:

Apologies for the interruption dear reader but I’m afraid your education will simply have to wait! I have had the most remarkable evening! Allow me to recount for your entertainment…

“Excuse me? Enri?” I was interrupted, “May I join you?”

I looked up from my journalling to investigate the visitor to my cabin, which was empty until now. Standing in the door was a young woman with pale skin and silvery hair – Yosefin Aalder.

“Hello, Yosefin! Please, come in!” I made a space for her, mentally compelling my lizard familiar Carnelius to vacate the seat next to me.

Yosefin is, of course, my friend and peer. We had met in the compulsary first year course ‘Novice Magic’ and had since become good friends.

“Enri, always as official as possible,” she remarked, closing the compartment door and sitting down. “Do you honestly need to wear dress robes on the train?”

She wasn’t wrong. I had chosen to wear a black three piece suit and a lightweight vermillion mage’s robe with silver lining for my trip. After all, one never knows whom they might run into while travelling, espcecially on such a long journey.

I explained this to Yosefin.

“Besides,” I retorted, “you certainly aren’t in a position for judgment.”

As was her custom, Yosefin for her own part had chosen to wear a pale blue skirt that almost brushed the floor and a matching jacket. In her white-gloved hands she grasped a small leather briefcase which no doubt held the entirety of her possessions magically compressed into a pocket dimension. Her white shirt was pinned at the collar with an exquisite jade cameo of Eran Milies.

[Eran Milies was an icon of the Mevilles academic scene following his groundbeaking 1895 paper on the relationship between historic eras and atmospheric levels of ambient magic. A. E.]

“Yes, but I have an image to uphold, you… do not,” Yosefin replied. Somehow, she can be even more pretentious than I can.

[And for good reason too! Yosefin, though blessed with a genetic strain of divine albinism which turned her blood into the golden ichor blood of the Gods, was an Orc. Since their diaspora in the 629th year Ibx. following the second coming of the demigod known as ‘The Grey Prince of Storms’, the Orcs have been systematically oppressed and killed. Even in the modern era following the fall of the Empires, many racist prejudices carried on into the founding of new institutions. However, Yosefin’s father successfully came to be the first ever Orc council wizard of the Northern High Council, and as such expected his daughters to uphold a certain level of austerity, a task which they fulfil with pride. A. E.]

“Very well,” I conceded. “but tell me, what classes have you elected for this year then?”

“What, so you can go and tell Pyotr? I think not. That boy has caused enough trouble for me as it is. It’s a wonder he hasn’t dropped out of the college altogether!”

Of course she referred to the fact that Pyotr, being a ‘Romantic’ as he liked to call it, instantly fell for her in first year and changed his minor to Theory of Magic — agreeably the most difficult of subjects — just to be near to her. Fool. Evidently, Yosefin’s studies include Theory of Magic and Cosmic Magic — yet another difficult topic.

“Besides, I have no room for electives, I am dedicated to my studies in my third major — forensic law. And not simply because Pyotr continues to fail the admission exam,” She added with a hint of bitterness.

“Well I only asked out of interest. I intend to continue my own studies into a triple major myself, thank you very much.”

“Please, some of us understand the Original Tongue innately and can afford to pursue more worthy topics.”

“Yosefin, even you must know that in this day and age, inheritance does not get you far among the elite.”

Yosefin merely let out a chuckle at that. She turned to open her briefcase, clearly believing she had won the dialogue.

“In any case,” I said, changing tacks, “What business have you catching the train? Don’t you reside in some archmage manor in Mevilles city?”

“Yes, certainly I do, but I spent my summer under the tutelage of the retired archmage Wittol Niriask in the Wentefian hills. My father pulled some strings with the council to help me get a position as his lab assistant for a few months. Isn’t that wonderful?”

I grumbled a response in the affirmative, conceding defeat at last.

We sat in silence for some time, Yosefin studying her theory of magic textbooks, myself studying my constellation charts. Very important for soul magic.

At last, when the sun reached the 3/4 mark in the sky, we arrived at Academy station. The platform provided an exceptional view of the campus and the surrounding area, being built at the periphery and several stories above the rest of the college to suit the unusual height of the tracks, which sit upon a brick viaduct that declines slightly from the base of the Wentefian hills all the way to Mevilles proper.

From the viewpoint of the station on the southwest periphery of College town, one could see the entire layout of the Academy – a small town enclosed by five Hills that form a ring which opens to the north. Indeed, the old name for the town, before the Empire turned into a college for mages, was Zhaireb’s enclosure, an old witch name that was carried on by the conquering Knights of Thelonius that settled here in the 1st Era. Now, in the 10th Era almost 900 years later, the campus is a site to behold. Charming brick houses and sandstone lecture halls sprung forth from the town square at the base of the Eastern Hill, with spires and wizard towers scattered throughout. On the other end of the main road bisecting the town was the College Hall, where lectures used to be held in the early days of the Academy. But the true beauty of Mevilles College was found in the 5 Hills and their respective courts.

First, the Eastern Hill, topped by the Pentacle Court, a collonaded marble building in the shape of a five pointed star, with small courtyards in each vertex and a larger central courtyard in which the Old Temple of Thelonius proper was preserved by the Church. Thelonius was a warrior who, after conquering much of the world by the end of the 1st Era, achieved apotheosis along with his companions, Ibex, the first mage, and Liud Kathan, a philosopher priest of the Sojer religion. For much of its history until the Empire’s interventions, Zhaireb was a monastery for the warrior-priests of Thelonius, and indeed the college is still technically an institution of the Church.

[Enri had to take a religion class in first year, which he found almost insufferable considering the Cloud Elves are ancestral worshippers, not god idolisers. A.E.]

Atop the North-Eastern Hill not far away is the Elegiad Court, a 4-story brick and masonry square building with a central Elm-shaded cobbled courtyard at its centre. The building is believed to have dated to the old witch settlement before the 1st Era, and has since been preserved the past 900 years by both its strong magical presence and the various custodians it finds itself under, the Temple, the Empire, the College, etc. Today, it acts as a good building for the instruction of certain types of soul magic, since it emits large amounts of ambient mana due to its rich history of use. Such a powerful emission allows students to practice their magical skills without having to wait for their mana pools to rejuvenate, which is a feature of many of the ancient buildings on campus.

Attached to the North-Eastern Hill by a long brick viaduct bridge spanning across the opening of Zhaireb’s enclosure is the North-Western Hill. Towering high above the rest of the Academy is the Library of Zahrie Court. [Zahrie being the name given to the college in the Levonic Renaissance of the 7th Era. A.E.] The Library is fashioned in a similar way to the wizard towers of old, which were inspired by the light-houses of the first mages: the primary structure is a tower gleaming white that rises above a flat rectangular building, with gardens stretching out across the surrounding hilltop; the tower’s golden roof reflects the light of the sun during the day to remind students of the Academy’s primary goal – the acquisition of knowledge. Within the Court’s walls, thousands of books occupy shelves that turn the lower floors into a dark labyrinth, while the tower itself holds many more books, several of them magical and powered by the direct sunlight they receive from the windows scattered along the height of the tower.

On the South-Eastern Hill is the Seidd Court, a tall circular tower of large grey bricks rife with arches. The enormous vaulted halls within the tower were specifically engineered for the movement of magical energies by the Imperial architects of the New College in 813 Ibex, and are typically used for the instruction of runic and spatial magic. Indeed, many of the halls fit magically into the space of a broom closet, so the tower has countless chambers and vestibules that the College employs for lessons and for student training.

Finally, the South-Western Hill houses the administrative centres of the campus, with the large cobbled Thouy Court at the centre acting as a town hall for the non-Academic administration, the smaller, rounder Melmann Court on the northern slopes of the Hill being the Academy’s head office, and the much smaller Limenal Court and adjoining Academy Station (where we were now disembarking) providing the primary thoroughfare in and out of the town via train and teleport spell. A small port on the adjacent Suveres River to the south of town welcome travellers of air and marine travel, and a tunnel leads them through the southern hill and into the town. Also on the Suveres is the Smithing Mill, where enchanting lessons are held.

I smiled at the sight of the Academy, stepping onto the wooden station platform with my trunk in one hand and my briefcase in the other. Carnelius perched on my shoulder, his amber scales shining in the afternoon sun. He sent a stream of positive emotions via our soul bond, clearly as pleased to be back as I was.

Yosefin and I made our way down the South-Western Hill before parting ways, since my apartment is over at the foot of the North-Eastern Hill, and hers is closer to the College Hall.

It took me all of half an hour to make my way across the campus, with a brief interlude to purchase a pastry in town square. Even 4 days out from the beginning of classes, the College town was already bustling with activity: vendors and shopkeeps set up their stores for the new influx of students; students and teachers meandered the tight cobbled streets purchasing their academic and magical supplies for the year and reacquainting with old friends; parents farwelled their children who were to begin their journey in the mystic arts; and the archmages of the College board walked among the crowds to greet the new arrivals.

Finally, I arrived at my apartment, a room in one of many terraces built during the Imperial renovation. With my hands full, I instructed Carnelius to fish my keys out of my waistcoat and unlock the door. He did so with the urgency of a soldier, but with the dexterity of any lizard carrying keys. At last the old wooden door opened to a dusty wooden interior, the floating dust lit in beams by a window in the ceiling, still uncleaned since its vacancy at the end of the previous academic year. The other rooms down the hall where yet unoccupied, and I doubt they will be until later in the week. Nonetheless, I made my way up the old staircase in the hallway and through the doorway on the first landing in the second story.

The room which I have shared with Pyotr the past 2 years remained the same way I had left it last year – all thanks to the ward against dust that I had cast before departing for the winter. It was a fairly spatious studio apartment of two rooms in an open plan — one antechamber with our magical supplies and one room which Pyotr and I shared.

The antechamber was a spectacular sight, rich wooden floorboards and sunsoaked floral wallpaper with gaslamps on the walls. The floor still had our casting circle we’d carved out of the floorboards at the start of second year. Certainly, the apartment was only a rental, but we could always cover it with a rug, and it was worth the trouble — the circle made it far easier to practice magic, channeling ambient energy into a focal point to charge spells better.

In the corner of the room was a six foot tall bronze figure, Pyotr’s automaton. Pyotr had started magically and mechanically constructing it in first year, and had devoted his time to it since, sprinting home after classes to make adjustments or add a new enchantment. Eugeny, as he called it, towered over both of us, and quite frankly dominated the room. Pyotr claims that all that is left is to provide an energy source, but without a magically constructed mind (a purely theoretical phenomenon at present) it would only follow simple instructions. In any case, it was Pyotr’s pride and joy, and he wouldn’t dare take it back to Kussia lest it becomes damaged along the journey.

Opposite Eugeny was a glass tank full of red sand and rocks. At the sight of his tank, Carnelius leapt onto the floorboards and scampered over, emitting a happy little squeal.

For my own part, I carried my luggage up the step through the wide archway that led to the bedroom. Here, a long, full bookcase separates my space from Pyotr’s, and large windows that look into the street below let in the afternoon sun.

Dropping my cases, I spotted a letter on my desk (an exquisite work of mahogany craftsmanship). It read:

Dear Enri,

welcome back to Mevilles Academy, I trust your train ride was as peaceful as always. You’ve likely arrived to our apartment at the strike of the day’s 19th hour. If I am correct, you owe me dinner. You can expect to find me praying in the Pentacle Court — come meet me and we shall find a place to dine.

Regards, Pyotr

[See attached. A.E.]

Rolling my eyes, I glanced at the grandfather clock in the antechamber. Naturally, the hour had just turned 19. I suspect the rascal enchanted the letter to say whatever the time was, but in any case I set down my things and prepared to leave for the evening.

Before departing, I lit some candles and procured my wand at the edge of the casting circle. Taking a deep breath, I began chanting in the Original Tongue, focussing ambient mana in the room into a focal point within the circle. Slowly, the concentrated mana began to take a corporeal form: a shadowy simulcrum of myself staring back at me. Whisps of dark smoke rose out from his shoulders and head, and with his eyes fluttering open, two motes of blue light shone forth.

This was my Astral Avatar, a physical manifestation of my soul energies — the product of a spell which I had begun learning in preparation for this year’s classes. So far I could only manifest one, and instruct the simplest of tasks, but later he would be able to perform more complex, intelligent behaviour, like attending class… For now, his task was to unpack my belongings while I was out. Certainly, it was a high energy spell that cost a lot of the day’s mana pool, especially for simple chores, but it was good practice. Besides, I didn’t expect to have to use much magic today.

So, with my Astral self beginning his task, I gathered up Carnelius from his tank (to his dismay) and set off for the Pentacle Court.

Being a devout follower of the Thelonic faith, Pyotr often spent his weekends in the Pentacle Courts praying. House Sakisov was the only Great House of Kuss — or any of the Thielen — that worshipped Thelonius, but if anything it only solidified their faith.

Evening was settling in among the thoroughfares of the village as I arrived in town square. Students rendezvous-ed for dinner and restaurants began lighting braziers and gas-lamps for their guests. Someone played an old jazz tune on a trumpet just by the fountain with the equestrian statue of Saint Porgy.

From the edge of town square at the base of the Eastern Hill, I looked up at the climb ahead of me. Being the heighest hill, and with the oriental influence of the rising sun, it held the most power of all the hills, a suitable position for the Temple. It also meant, however, that the trail up the Hill via the stairs cut into the red rock of the cliff was a difficult climb. “I don’t know why Pyotr bothers,” I thought to myself, passing through the Primary Arch in the eastern corner of town square.

Passing through the main vestibules of the Pentacle and into the central courtyard, I once again could view the spectacular architecture of the Old Temple. The building was cylindrical in design, made entirely of glass and supported by 5 buttresses that arch to a point at the centre above the second story of the tower. Though I only had a view of the western facade, I knew that stained glass encircled the building with depictions of the feats of Thelonius during his corporeal lifetime.

Moving to a stone bench outside the Temple to wait for Pyotr, I surveyed the rest of the central court. Temple clerks ambulated about the open space, some appearing to be in deep theological conversation on divine truth. The holy knights in training had already lit the braziers about the place, and where now training with swords in an empty space on the mossy cobblestones.

I watched them intently. The knights sparred in pairs, and whenever one managed to break the other’s guard, the loser would recite a passage from the Vafesh, the holy text of Thelonius. Technically, the knights were also students at the academy, but they received a separate education, learning holy invocation magic and the art of martial combat. They had, however, been required to attend ‘Novice Magic’ in first year, considering their education in the mystic arts.

As I scanned the crowd of the young women and men sparring, my eyes landed upon whom I had inadvertantly been searching for: Estoban Albador. He was dressed in his usual flowing white shirt and the traditional floral vest of the Pastriero culture from which he so proudly descended. His long blond hair was tied in a top knot so as not to distract him by touching his strong, handsome face…

I had met Estoban by chance at the academy library in the autumn of last year. His gentle curiosity and genuine attentive attitude drew me to him rather quickly. Utterly enamored by his passion for his culture and faith, I spent hours of my spare time researching Thelonism, despite having revoked all religion just months before, following a heretical fit of madness post-examination. Certainly, it was all for the sake of my academic and mystic pursuits, Estoban had merely sparked an interest.

In the evening sky, two birds of prey danced across the sky, obscuring the stars in their southbound return from the daily hunt. One of the preists noticed this and, pointing upwards, proclaimed, “If you want divine truth brothers, look then to the stars. I do declare this a poor omen tonight, surely we—“

Before he could finish, a deafening crack reverberated throughout the courtyard.

Everybody ducked, except for the astute priest, who dropped to the ground in a pool of vestment staining blood.

Suddenly, the window depicting Thelonius’ apotheosis shattered. Standing in the god’s place was a masked mage in dark robes. From within the temple, screams ensued.

The figure raised their arms to cast a spell, and the magical energies present in the courtyard went eerily silent, seemingly dispelled from existence.

“Followers of Thelonius, I am Augustus Xirfire, Wizard of Mysticism. Listen carefully and you may escape with your lives,” the mage said, his voice deep and cold. “My associates and I only seek one thing. Allow us passage out of the Temple and we shall let you live.”

“You murdered Brother Ischi and you will pay with your blood!” A priestess cried out, lifting her staff as if to cast a spell. She called out an incantation in rage, pointing the end of the staff at Augustus. The other priests leant back in anticipation. Except…

No magical effect surfaced, and the usual ripples in the aether were unfelt by all. The wizard’s antimagic field had separated the mystic and physical realms, preventing all spellcasting!

“As you can see,” the Wizard Xirfire chuckled, “your knowledge of magic is fruitless here. Carry out my request and only Brother Ischi will have lost his life today.”

As he said this, the perpetrators of the Six masked figures in suits stepped out from the main vestibule, blocking the entrance. Their masks were painted black ceramic, effigies of weeping elves. More notable where the items they were holding. Revolvers, shiny and new — and pointed right at the clergy.

At this point, Xirfire stepped upon shattered glass and out of the temple. Following him were two more masked figures, carrying between them a large bronze disc.

Overhead, an airship obscured the moonlight that had only now begun to illuminate the space. It was unmarked and appeared to be magically airborne – therefore flying out of the range of the antimagic field.

Finally, I came to my senses. Having never seen a person’s death before, I had been bolted to my seat in fear. Now, as the gunmen began to put the disc into a large bag with hooks, I realised what was going on.

An antimagic field! I thought. This is my specialty! Perhaps I can attempt to counteract it…

I began to search the surrounding astra for a weakness in the field, but to no avail. The wizard had centred the field upon the temple at a radius that seemed to extend beyond the temple walls. Augustus Xirfire was a capable adversary for certain. I continued to reach out for an edge to tug on.

Suddenly, one of the student knights, Julia Theron, was upon the wizard, raising her sword in a flash of iron before

BANG

Julia collapsed on the cobblestone, her blade tarnished only by her own blood.

From the corner of the sacred court, a revolver smoldered, now quickly recocked, unafraid to fire once more.

Augustus Xirfire shook his head, “tut tut, such a shame,” he sighed. “No matter, now is the time for our departure.”

And with a flourish, the airship which now flew above us, unnoticed by our shocked attentions, dropped a rope-ladder down into the courtyard, and the wizard and his followers began to ascend the climb.

            Meanwhile, my endeavour to reconnect the astral plane to the courtyard remained fruitless.

The gunmen finished preparing the disc, strapping the hooks up to a cable connected to the airship.

Xirfire and most of his companions were now almost upon the airship. Only two remained, and the disc was now entirely secured.

            The clergy and students could only watch in terror. Many of the people within the temple had now rushed out to see what was going on. My eyes found Pyotr in the crowd, and seeing the fear in his eyes broke something in me.

            In an act of madness, I allowed a tendril of my soul to lash out into the far reaches of the antimagic field, and with all my mystic power, I pulled the astra back into alignment – a dangerous maneuver for any wizard to perform, let alone a student mage.

            Clearly noticing the change in atmospheric energy, Estoban, who had until now been standing in a defensive stance with his blade, bellowed a word of power.

            The lowest gunman, who was at this point most of the way up the rope-ladder, let out a yelp of pain as the flesh of his bared ankle was branded with holy fire in the shape of the sacred Thelonic symbol: an apotropaic eye.

            With the sight of the retreating airship, my legs buckled beneath me and I collapsed upon the cobbled floor.