A summoner is born
Posted: Wed Jul 19, 2023 8:39 am
123 Glade 25th
Ivar stood alongside a group of other students at the College of Entropy one early morning. He’d recently proven that he could effectively use both Traversion and Scrivening on top of being able to mix them together. That was all that was required to request a second rune of magic.
He knew the risks, the inherent danger that came with every initiation. There was always a chance of failure, a risk of death. Yet, in his mind, those risks seemed far off and improbable. He regularly studied and interacted with men and women who had survived multiple initiations. This was an environment that bred a potent sense of survivorship bias.
He might not have risked taking on another magic had he already met Flora as an adult. Unfortunately, at this point in time, his life was decidedly devoid of the typical trappings that came with age. He had no girlfriend, no wife, no children to come home to. His parents were doing alright financially and he was sure someone would easily take his place as an information broker if he disappeared. It seemed only natural to keep taking on more and more magical power for the time being.
Ivar looked around at the other students. He noted the excited, nervous, and eager faces of the other students. Among the group, there were those, like himself, who were about to brave their second initiation. Most, however, were first-timers, fresh-faced and bright-eyed. He remembered how excited he’d been only to watch half the students before him drop dead. Their innocence was something he had lost along the way.
The member of faculty in charge of this round of initiations was a tall figure with a penetrating gaze. He gave Ivar a stern nod then motioned for him to come forward. It seemed as though Ivar was going to be first. The tall man raised his hand, his eyes locked onto Ivar's. There was moment of stillness, and then an black claw seeming comprised of aether extended from the instructor's finger, stretching out until it touched Ivar's chest. It tore through his shirt as it scratched the rune into Ivar’s body.
The sensation was immediate and overwhelming. Pain coursed through him, a blinding surge of raw energy that shook him to his core. He felt as if his chest was being torn apart, the black claw searing his flesh with a chilling, otherworldly cold. It felt like the very fabric of his being was being altered. He collapsed to his knees, his scream echoed throughout the hall. The world around him swam, his vision blurred by the tears that sprang to his eyes.
Ivar felt his strength waning, the pain threatening to drown him. But he held on, gritting his teeth against the onslaught. He had known it wouldn't be easy, had expected the pain. But knowing and experiencing were two different things.
“Sleep.”
Ivar wasn’t sure who’d said it, but moments later he’d passed out and fallen into the arms of the instructor who laid him down gently and moved onto the next student. The rest was up to Ivar.
It took a moment for Ivar to realize that he wasn’t in the room anymore. His screams died down, replaced by ragged breaths and he fought to stay focused. His vision started to clear, the pain slowly receding. He was on a platform in what he believed was a massive glass sphere floating in space. Just as he thought to examine his surroundings more closely, something spoke behind him.
He turned, only to see that there were four spirits floating on the platform several meters away from him. They seemingly had no form. They were little more than wisps of colored light. They inspected him in a way that he felt went beyond simply taking in his physique. After their brief examination, they floated back and Ivar heard another voice.
“Approach one of us. Prove your worth.”
Ivar looked at the spirits. One was pure blackness, one was green, one was red, another golden white. He took a great while contemplating what the differences between them were or if it even mattered to begin with. He was scared of most of them and found comfort in the one that glowed golden white. Surely such a heavenly looking spirit couldn’t do him harm, right? He walked towards it cautiously.
"There's a stench of wickedness on you, young mage," the spirit's voice resonated, echoing in the expanse around them.
Ivar paused, considering his response. "I wouldn't call it wickedness," he retorted, his voice steady, "I've made decisions, taken steps. All for a larger purpose."
"And what purpose justifies unscrupulous methods?" The spirit questioned, its eyes never leaving Ivar's.
"I do the right thing. Sometimes the ends justify the means," Ivar replied, meeting the spirit's gaze. "Tell me, spirit, if the only way to save a life meant to tread on the edges of the moral code, wouldn't you do it?"
The spirit seemed to consider his words. It finally said, "There might be redemption for you yet."
Their conversation continued, an ethereal push-and-pull of different perspectives. With every exchange, a bridge of understanding began to form, connecting their existences in a way Ivar had not anticipated.
"Look at it this way. What if a war could be averted by the assassination of a single tyrant? It's dark, it's murder, but it could save thousands."
"You play with dangerous ideals," the spirit responded, yet Ivar could feel a shift in its demeanor, a reluctant understanding, perhaps.
As the debate went on, the bridge between them solidified. They were two beings of different planes, different perspectives, yet, in this moment, they were tied together by a common thread of understanding. Despite their differences, they found common ground.
The spirit did not completely agree with him, it continued to challenge his views, its ancient wisdom hard to bend. But the bridge stood, connecting them.
The spoke for seemingly hours. They spoke so long that they ran out of talking points and kept going round and round. His memory blurred at this point. He couldn’t recall what was said to finally end the conversation but he assumed he must have passed the test because his eyes opened and saw the ceiling of a familiar room. He reached a hand up and tried to grab the golden spirit that had been in front of him mere moments ago in his dream. Yes, he was alive.
He sat up painfully and turned his eyes to the fallen students. Their bodies were being carefully moved by attendants towards the section of the campus where the necromancers worked. Despite his weakness he felt a pang of sorrow for those who hadn't made it. He wondered if they’d chosen the wrong spirit or couldn’t prove their worth.
Turning his attention away from the grim scene, he noticed the other students. Some were still enveloped in deep sleep, oblivious to their surroundings. Perhaps they were conversing with spirits as he had done, or struggling with their own internal battles.
Struggling to his feet, Ivar steadied himself against a nearby table, his legs wobbling under his weight. The initiation had drained him, both physically and mentally, but he was determined to not let it show. With slow, measured steps, he made his way towards the front desk.
The instructor was at his desk, his face neutral as he looked up from his paperwork to acknowledge Ivar. "Congratulations. Ivar, right?" he said, his voice devoid of any particular emotion. Ivar nodded, accepting the lukewarm congratulations without comment.
The instructor rifled through a pile of papers on his desk. "There's not much else to say other than the hard work begins now."
He extended a piece of parchment towards Ivar, its surface filled with a list of neatly written course names. "These are the classes you'll be expected to attend for harnessing your new abilities. Make sure to follow the schedule. If you have conflicts then work with your teachers to make adjustments. Your new rune takes priority as it’s assumed you’re fairly far along with your studies of your other magic. You’re excused from all classes for a week, up to two if you need an extension," the instructor said, his gaze returning to his paperwork.
Ivar accepted the parchment, scanning the list of classes. It was a rather long list and he got a headache just thinking back to how much book work had gone into learning Traversion. “Thank you sir. I look forward to learning from you,” he said when he noticed the man’s name next to one of the classes.
He flipped the paper over and read a list of supplies that he was expected to bring to each class so he decided he’d have to go fetch those at some point… but not today. He groaned and shuffled his feet towards the door. He dreaded having to walk up so many stairs to his dorm room in this condition. He would’ve teleported but even thinking about using magic at the moment made him want to hurl.
Ivar stood alongside a group of other students at the College of Entropy one early morning. He’d recently proven that he could effectively use both Traversion and Scrivening on top of being able to mix them together. That was all that was required to request a second rune of magic.
He knew the risks, the inherent danger that came with every initiation. There was always a chance of failure, a risk of death. Yet, in his mind, those risks seemed far off and improbable. He regularly studied and interacted with men and women who had survived multiple initiations. This was an environment that bred a potent sense of survivorship bias.
He might not have risked taking on another magic had he already met Flora as an adult. Unfortunately, at this point in time, his life was decidedly devoid of the typical trappings that came with age. He had no girlfriend, no wife, no children to come home to. His parents were doing alright financially and he was sure someone would easily take his place as an information broker if he disappeared. It seemed only natural to keep taking on more and more magical power for the time being.
Ivar looked around at the other students. He noted the excited, nervous, and eager faces of the other students. Among the group, there were those, like himself, who were about to brave their second initiation. Most, however, were first-timers, fresh-faced and bright-eyed. He remembered how excited he’d been only to watch half the students before him drop dead. Their innocence was something he had lost along the way.
The member of faculty in charge of this round of initiations was a tall figure with a penetrating gaze. He gave Ivar a stern nod then motioned for him to come forward. It seemed as though Ivar was going to be first. The tall man raised his hand, his eyes locked onto Ivar's. There was moment of stillness, and then an black claw seeming comprised of aether extended from the instructor's finger, stretching out until it touched Ivar's chest. It tore through his shirt as it scratched the rune into Ivar’s body.
The sensation was immediate and overwhelming. Pain coursed through him, a blinding surge of raw energy that shook him to his core. He felt as if his chest was being torn apart, the black claw searing his flesh with a chilling, otherworldly cold. It felt like the very fabric of his being was being altered. He collapsed to his knees, his scream echoed throughout the hall. The world around him swam, his vision blurred by the tears that sprang to his eyes.
Ivar felt his strength waning, the pain threatening to drown him. But he held on, gritting his teeth against the onslaught. He had known it wouldn't be easy, had expected the pain. But knowing and experiencing were two different things.
“Sleep.”
Ivar wasn’t sure who’d said it, but moments later he’d passed out and fallen into the arms of the instructor who laid him down gently and moved onto the next student. The rest was up to Ivar.
It took a moment for Ivar to realize that he wasn’t in the room anymore. His screams died down, replaced by ragged breaths and he fought to stay focused. His vision started to clear, the pain slowly receding. He was on a platform in what he believed was a massive glass sphere floating in space. Just as he thought to examine his surroundings more closely, something spoke behind him.
He turned, only to see that there were four spirits floating on the platform several meters away from him. They seemingly had no form. They were little more than wisps of colored light. They inspected him in a way that he felt went beyond simply taking in his physique. After their brief examination, they floated back and Ivar heard another voice.
“Approach one of us. Prove your worth.”
Ivar looked at the spirits. One was pure blackness, one was green, one was red, another golden white. He took a great while contemplating what the differences between them were or if it even mattered to begin with. He was scared of most of them and found comfort in the one that glowed golden white. Surely such a heavenly looking spirit couldn’t do him harm, right? He walked towards it cautiously.
"There's a stench of wickedness on you, young mage," the spirit's voice resonated, echoing in the expanse around them.
Ivar paused, considering his response. "I wouldn't call it wickedness," he retorted, his voice steady, "I've made decisions, taken steps. All for a larger purpose."
"And what purpose justifies unscrupulous methods?" The spirit questioned, its eyes never leaving Ivar's.
"I do the right thing. Sometimes the ends justify the means," Ivar replied, meeting the spirit's gaze. "Tell me, spirit, if the only way to save a life meant to tread on the edges of the moral code, wouldn't you do it?"
The spirit seemed to consider his words. It finally said, "There might be redemption for you yet."
Their conversation continued, an ethereal push-and-pull of different perspectives. With every exchange, a bridge of understanding began to form, connecting their existences in a way Ivar had not anticipated.
"Look at it this way. What if a war could be averted by the assassination of a single tyrant? It's dark, it's murder, but it could save thousands."
"You play with dangerous ideals," the spirit responded, yet Ivar could feel a shift in its demeanor, a reluctant understanding, perhaps.
As the debate went on, the bridge between them solidified. They were two beings of different planes, different perspectives, yet, in this moment, they were tied together by a common thread of understanding. Despite their differences, they found common ground.
The spirit did not completely agree with him, it continued to challenge his views, its ancient wisdom hard to bend. But the bridge stood, connecting them.
The spoke for seemingly hours. They spoke so long that they ran out of talking points and kept going round and round. His memory blurred at this point. He couldn’t recall what was said to finally end the conversation but he assumed he must have passed the test because his eyes opened and saw the ceiling of a familiar room. He reached a hand up and tried to grab the golden spirit that had been in front of him mere moments ago in his dream. Yes, he was alive.
He sat up painfully and turned his eyes to the fallen students. Their bodies were being carefully moved by attendants towards the section of the campus where the necromancers worked. Despite his weakness he felt a pang of sorrow for those who hadn't made it. He wondered if they’d chosen the wrong spirit or couldn’t prove their worth.
Turning his attention away from the grim scene, he noticed the other students. Some were still enveloped in deep sleep, oblivious to their surroundings. Perhaps they were conversing with spirits as he had done, or struggling with their own internal battles.
Struggling to his feet, Ivar steadied himself against a nearby table, his legs wobbling under his weight. The initiation had drained him, both physically and mentally, but he was determined to not let it show. With slow, measured steps, he made his way towards the front desk.
The instructor was at his desk, his face neutral as he looked up from his paperwork to acknowledge Ivar. "Congratulations. Ivar, right?" he said, his voice devoid of any particular emotion. Ivar nodded, accepting the lukewarm congratulations without comment.
The instructor rifled through a pile of papers on his desk. "There's not much else to say other than the hard work begins now."
He extended a piece of parchment towards Ivar, its surface filled with a list of neatly written course names. "These are the classes you'll be expected to attend for harnessing your new abilities. Make sure to follow the schedule. If you have conflicts then work with your teachers to make adjustments. Your new rune takes priority as it’s assumed you’re fairly far along with your studies of your other magic. You’re excused from all classes for a week, up to two if you need an extension," the instructor said, his gaze returning to his paperwork.
Ivar accepted the parchment, scanning the list of classes. It was a rather long list and he got a headache just thinking back to how much book work had gone into learning Traversion. “Thank you sir. I look forward to learning from you,” he said when he noticed the man’s name next to one of the classes.
He flipped the paper over and read a list of supplies that he was expected to bring to each class so he decided he’d have to go fetch those at some point… but not today. He groaned and shuffled his feet towards the door. He dreaded having to walk up so many stairs to his dorm room in this condition. He would’ve teleported but even thinking about using magic at the moment made him want to hurl.
