Legend of Ransera

Sahfri stood before the chalkboard with her back turned to the lecture hall. She had answered the request of the Tower to provide a lecture on the subject of Necromancy, for which she was widely considered to be a master of the craft. She had put her affairs in order, ensured that her State matters were properly tended to and had informed her husband of her whereabouts. Savien had been loathe to be separated from his family in days of late and while she would never complain at being on the receiving end of his affections, she was glad to be able to step away from the palace. Things had been...stressful in days of late.

As Sahfri finished writing on the board, she ended the first part of her scrawling with her name. She was dressed in her customary black robes. The pale cast of her skin made her appear almost ghostly in the enchanted sconces of the lecture hall. On the stage was a travel altar upon which was the body of a deceased individual that had been preserved and readied for instruction. Sahfri had spent several days preparing for the lesson. As the lecture hall quieted with the final strokes of her chalk upon the board, she set the chalk down, dusting off her hands. She examined what she had written and upon finding no flaw she raised a hand, flicking her wrist dismissively. The doors to the hall closed at her silent command.

“Death,” She paused, recalling some of the first lessons she had received. “Is only the beginning.”

Turning, Sahfri folded her hands in front of her. Her silver hair fell down her shoulders and past her waist in a river of argent silk. Braided into the strands were black iron beads. She wore two silver wristlets and around her neck was a simple leather string from which hung three feathers. Two brown eagle feathers at the center of which hung a silver feather. She cast her gaze around the room. Mages of all three orders were present. From the alabaster robes of the White, the crimson robes of the Red and the dark robes of the Black, she looked upon all of them with a critical eye.

“Necromancy. Theandros Lexicon on Ur Studies tells us that the first necromancers were bone collectors dousing the remains of their dead in the blood of sacrifices, chanting incantations and drawing circles of power to recall the gifts of their ancestors.” There was a collective chuckle in the lecture hall. Sahfri narrowed her eyes, giving the offending students a withering look.

“You find the origin of Necromancy amusing?” One of her slender brows arched slowly. “Allow me elaborate.”

She turned to the chalkboard and stepped up to her first notations.

“They collected the bones of their ancestors or from foes vanquished in battle or better yet, the bones of those sacrificed to them. Willingly or not. Why?” Picking up the chalk, Sahfri scrawled a note in her elegant script.

“Know thyself. A master of their Art knows their tools. The fool knows nothing of them. It is imperative that as a practitioner of the Deathly Art you are knowledgeable of the materials you use. The more you know, the more you can draw out the truest potential of the object and the easier it is to manipulate them to your will.” She glanced back at the lecture hall before moving to her next note.

“Blood was used in these rituals. Blood is a foundation of the deathly art. Why? It contains within it the living essence of that which it comes from. Put simply, it contains aether and very concentrated amounts at that. Chanting and incantations were used in the drawing of circles of power. Recall, magic shifted following the Sundering of the World. Were the incantations necessary? Few know but arcane foci have always been integral to the work of mages. Incantations serve this fundamental purpose.” Sahfri set down her chalk and returned her attention to the hall.

“The wise mage remains skeptical. The moment you dismiss something as trivial is the moment you become a slave to your powers, not a master of them.” Her eyes settled on those who had chuckled. They shifted uncomfortably. Her point was made.

“Who can tell me what the primary branches of Necromancy are?”

Sahfri allowed herself a moment of pleasure as it was a Black Robe who answered her rather basic and easy question. Her steel grey eyes came to settle upon the student who spoke. With one elegant hand, she gestured for him to join her up on the stage.

“State your name, student. Then come to the stage.” She stepped up to the altar upon which rest the body of an elder human. The man had expired due to natural causes. His family had donated his remains to the Circle of Spells for the standard fees. Better that his corpse serve the purposes of furthering research than to be cremated and his ashes scattered to the winds.

“The rest of you, gather around.” As soon as the black robed student was across from her, Sahfri donned her gloves. She rolled up the sleeves of her robes, pinning them in place. She then placed a mask over her face and gestured for the young man to do the same. Picking up a scalpel, she began making scoring marks in the flesh of the corpse. From the manubrium down to the xiphoid process. Once she reached the bottom of the sternum, she expanded her scoring, creating a square pattern over the abdomen. The man was not overly large so Sahfri remained delicate with her cuts but ensured they were deep enough to be visible. Once Sahfri had outlined the man’s abdomen with her scoring, she extended the scalpel to the black robed student.

“Perform a dissection. I want his stomach removed with minimal damage.” Sahfri removed her gloves, observing the student as she continued her lecture.

“We will begin with the Way of Remembering. Scholars denote that it is the field of Necromancy that has the oldest roots. The concept of taking the remains of the dead and transforming them into tools is something that is present in cultures across the world.” She set her gloves down then folded her hands together. “The difference is that a necromancer can awaken power within those remains. Where mere mundanes might simply view them as tokens or bits of bone used to scare off would-be invaders, a necromancer can actually awaken the aether inside of these objects.”

Sahfri observed Siorey curiously. She paced around the table as he performed his dissection with a slight frown touching her lips. Those grey eyes assessed the young man with a critical spark in them. When he was finished and the stomach was extended to her, she stepped up to examine it closely.

“Were this an arcane pathology class, I would have failed you.” Sahfri grasped the stomach with her bare hand. With her other she made a gesture prompting a wooden table to slide over from the wall and toward her until she could place the stomach at the center. “As it stands, this will suffice. Fortunately, we are not performing an animation born of reconstituted vitality which requires the utmost delicacy in extracting parts.”

Sahfri barely looked up as an inkwell from her nearby workstation floated over accompanied by a silver feathered dragonshard point pen. Uncorking the inkwell and dipping the pen into it, the ink inside swirled with a trace of aetheric shimmer.

“One thing you must always remember is that there will come a time, perhaps not today and perhaps not tomorrow, when your magic fails you.” She looked up to pin Siorey with a stare. “To rely purely on knowledge only of the Higher Mysteries is to be handicapped without them. What we do, the lives we lead, and the marvels we accomplish are only made possible through the union of the arcane with the lesser sciences.”

“Embrace your passion for the arcane arts but do not lose sight of reality. There are wonders out there both marvelous and terrible, that require a more mundane approach.” With that she began the work of writing a series of elegant symbols upon the wood of the table where the stomach rested.

“Who can tell me the meaning of Pictography?”

“You are, in part, correct.” Sahfri finished quickly drawing the symbols upon the surface of the table. With a clean white cloth, she wiped off the remaining spellwright’s ink from the tip of the pen.

“Pictography is the practice of drawing arcane glyphs given specific meaning through the wizard’s intent. A pictograph is a symbol that has been awakened to the presence of aether and given function to manipulate its flow. There are foundational concepts within the realm of pictography but the actual symbols themselves take shapes personal to the mage drawing them.” Sahfri held up her pen. “Aether. It is the fundamental substance that connects all things living, dead or otherwise. It does not matter whether it is a puff of air, a rock or the Dragon King himself, all things are comprised of aether.”

Dipping her pen into the well of ink, Sahfri began inscribing symbols upon the meat of the stomach. Elegant scripts that flowed from the controlled motion of her hand with the ease of a master who had written them thousands of times.

“Only a mage can draw a true pictograph, for only a mage either possesses the tools or ability to awaken a pictograph to aether and thus make the symbols magical. This facet of them is what enables all who study them to, with time, glean their meaning.” As she finished glyph upon the flesh of the stomach, Sahfri glanced up to stare at Siorey.

“Pictography is a facet of Scrivening but the two are not mutually exclusive. All world magic utilizes pictography.” Another student raised a hand. Sahfri nodded to the young woman.

“Tiana Dernau, my lady.” The red robed young woman did a small curtsey before speaking. “If all world magic utilizes pictography, why does Scrivening exist? What purpose does it serve?”

Sahfri studied the young woman for a moment, her head held high, and her stare unwavering.

“Why does a mathematician study algebra versus geometry? Why do we have potters versus sculptors? The difference is in how the skill is applied. You do not go to a weaponsmith to commission a suit of armor. You do not go to a baker and petition them to dictate the menu of a banquet.” Though her tone was matter of fact, the unrelenting scrutiny of her gaze saw the red robed young woman blush and step back. Sahfri returned her attention to the flesh of the stomach in front of her.

“An Artificer does not manipulate aether the way a Runesmith does. A Necromancer does not manipulate aether the way an Alchemist does. Different tools and methods yield different results. There are similarities in theories across the schools of world magic but how we implement those principles varies greatly.” Sahfri finished making the symbols needed from memory. She pulled back, wiping the tip of her pen with the cloth once more.

“The Way of Remembering.” She brought up a finger and pointed to the circle she had drawn around the stomach. “This is the Circle of Recalling. Its purpose is intended to recall the attributes most associated with the body part that you are seeking to awaken. The more familiar you are with the individual and intent behind your crafting, the more successfully you can key the Circle of Recalling to the specific item you wish to create.”

“What is the next step?” Sahfri looked out among the gathered students, awaiting an answer. Her eyes came to settle on Siorey almost expectantly.

Name: Siorey
XP: 15, can be used for magic.
Requested Lore: +10 Lore of your choosing. May not be used for secret knowledge.



Note(s): Sorry this fizzled out but I look forward to seeing Siorey pick up steam again!