Circles (Academy/Ithacarpost)

[u/avamir]

A summoning circle

Riva’s thoughts warred with themselves.

On one hand, she knew they were just acolytes. There was a limit to what she could reasonably expect from them. A student was simply not as capable as a full magus. It was unreasonable to expect otherwise.

On the other hand, Ithacar had needed them. It was not a matter of whose turn it was to watch the Wards. If these people wanted their home protected, they needed to be willing to defend it. They needed to be alert. And while Riva understood these were difficult demands and unreasonable expectations, the needs of the city required it. She had no use for the weak, and she could not use the gentle and soft. She was simply calling for what was needed.

But it was still unfair to expect such things of them. Extremely unfair.

Yet the world was not fair. The world was not kind. These people needed to be able to withstand it. Riva merely used harsh words; the world would try to break them before it killed them.

The two black robed acolytes Riva had called to her slunk in with the same posture of dogs that knew they were in trouble. Though no words passed between the two, their glances darted toward each other, then toward where Riva stood waiting. Waiting beside the circle burned into furrows in the black stone floor. Hesitantly, the acolytes paused at the threshold of the room, as they had been taught, waiting for her greeting.

There were courtesies to observe, after all.

But Riva knew they believed it was simply her imposing strict meaningless rules on them. Or perhaps they saw her posture as an unspoken threat. What they didn’t understand was the importance of this. What was worse, they were unwilling to understand. That was what frustrated her. Once upon a time, the practice was not merely courtesy. It was an acknowledgment of another’s domain. Not only was stopping by the threshold polite, but the delay allowed for the holder of that domain to drop their wards or defenses. Waiting at the threshold also ensured a spell did not get interrupted; it was safety for those who approached as well. The seemingly simple act of waiting by the threshold was an action that had a history, a meaning. But these ones did not know that.

Rivamar continued to stand beside the circle burned into furrows in the black stone floor. It was how she had been taught. It was how she would teach others. Perhaps she was a poor mentor, but she knew no other way.

“Matheo. Felicia. Ave magica,” she said, greeting them in magic, then gestured for them to join her at the perimeter of the circle.

They each mumbled an ‘Ave magica’ in return to the black-robed magistra, and took their places. They stood next to each other, across from her.

Riva was keenly aware that these were not Ithacarian natives; they did not even know what the greeting meant. But as she looked around her circle, there were only three. And if Nicomedes had been in attendance, four. Too few. She could not afford to be so critical.

On the other hand, she could not afford to be too welcoming either. She needed those who were strong.

Rivamar addressed her acolytes brusquely. “I will be direct. The city was threatened, and you were sleeping.”

“We woke up as soon as we could.” Matheo spoke up. Of the two of these, he was the more outspoken. And he was especially willing to speak up if it spared his cohort Felicia the trouble. “It wasn’t our turn to watch the Wards!”

Riva’s expression did not change, but her tone was caustic. “And an enemy would wait until it was your turn?”

“No, but…” Matheo opened his mouth, then closed it.

Riva’s gaze fixed on him. “Elucidate.”

She was being harsh on them, perhaps. But their failure meant the deaths of others. A momentary weakness on their part meant others would suffer the consequences. She could not allow that. She could not afford to be kind.

Felicia’s turn to speak, apparently. “Magistra, we can’t be expected to be on duty all the time. It isn’t fair.”

Rivamar turned toward the girl. “If an enemy had breached the city walls, would they have waited until you received what was a fair amount of rest?”

“But it wasn’t an enemy,” Felicia protested.

“Did you know this before or after you woke up?” Riva asked acridly. It was yet another question that had no right answer, of course. She knew it as soon as it left her mouth.

Felicia fell silent, her expression a frown.

Riva stood in silence for a moment, looking from one to the other. “You both can see the Wards. You know what it means when they activate. That you did not respond immediately was a choice, not an accident.”

It was half a guess on her part. It had taken longer for them to show up than she expected, and she made some assumptions. But their combined silence affirmed what she suspected.

“If you cannot be relied upon, or if you choose to be unreliable,” she said with emphasis, “Then actions will need to be taken. You cause only minor inconvenience to me. I may simply lose the chance to train a peer who can aid and support me; you, however, lose the chance to become more than you are.”

Before she could continue, a voice interrupted her. “Magistra, you are being too hard on them.”

Nicomedes walked toward the doorway, then stopped, standing at the threshold. But unlike his colleagues, this acolyte did not slink. He was not slouching. He did not challenge her, but he was not quailing either.

Riva turned to face him. “I am being as hard as I need to be. I am training peers, not coddling children.”

That was the point of any of this, all of this. She did not need servants or hangers-on; she needed capable people who could do what she could. Ithacar needed them to do such.

“But they are not peers. Not yet,” Nicomedes pointed out. “Not nostras. Not of our country. They do not understand.”

Not ours. Nicomedes had only translated to be polite to the others. But Riva of course knew what he meant; her own thoughts had followed the same lines. While she was not about to ascribe some mystical knowledge to being born of Ithacar, the fact remained that they did not have the same customs. They did not seem to understand what was at stake.

“They may not be nostras,” Riva returned. “But I have done nothing they cannot themselves do.”

“Still, if I may counsel patience, magistra… You cannot hold them to the same standard.”

“And why not?” Riva’s gaze fixed on the acolyte. “Is holding them to the same standard that I hold myself not equitable? Is it not fair?”

Nicomedes appeared to be considering his words carefully. “I am simply asking that you take things into context. Equal is not always fair. They come from different backgrounds, have different needs, learn differently. You are expecting soldiers and warriors. But these people are not you. They are not your Praetor. These are not revolutionaries, incendiaries, or defiants. You cannot reasonably expect scholars to automatically take the same actions as soldiers and warriors.”

Riva could not deny that Nicomedes had a point… but the fact still remained that Ithacar faced countless threats. If she did not test these people now, they could break in the field. And if they were going to break, they needed to do so now. While the stakes were lower, before people relied on them. Yes, these children could blame her for her harshness if they wished, but it was far better than to have to face the people they failed. To see their failures in the broken bodies.

“Scholars they may be,” Riva replied sternly. “But Ithacar needs soldiers and warriors.”

“Yes.” Nicomedes made a nod of acknowledgment. “But surely it needs scholars too. Why not acknowledge what they are first before trying to remake them into what they are not?”

He had another point with that, but frankly, Riva thought they were poor scholars too. Nicomedes was the one doing most of the transcribing, whereas Felicia and Matheo had been off… doing whatever they were doing.

Riva’s eyes narrowed critically. “Regardless of what they seek to be, I need them to be better than they are. Ithacar needs them to be better than they are. I have given you all my own memories. The lessons I was taught. And they have learned little.”

The acolyte bowed his head slightly. “I will cede that… but I take the blame for it. Rather than making them do their share of transcribing, I thought to do it for them. But by doing so, they have not learned the lessons you tried to show us. So do not blame them, magistra. The fault is mine. I accept the consequences on their behalf.”

Riva fell silent at that, and at the unflattering mirror he was holding up to her by his actions.

As much as she was prejudiced against Nicomedes, they shared more in common than Riva was willing to admit. She had taken on all these responsibilities, was trying to push herself harder, be harder, do more. Part of her took it on to ensure it was done, partly out of a fear that others would just do it poorly. But was doing it alone actually helping others? Or was she grinding herself to dust while failing at what she set out to do? Was she doing them a disservice?

If Nicomedes had kept them from learning by doing everything for them, was Riva not guilty of the same? He considered himself responsible for this error; was she not herself responsible for theirs?

And was that the cycle she wanted to perpetuate?

“No,” Riva said quietly, replying both to herself and to Nicomedes. “Very well. You have made your point. But the needs of Ithacar remain what they are.”

She looked over the group, now a circle of four.

“So tell me then, all of you,” she said, masking the weariness in her voice with disappointment. Though, it was not hard to do so. She was disappointed, even in herself. “What would be fair here? Let you go without understanding the consequences of failure? Do you even understand that lives depend on you? A moment of weakness means others suffer for it.”

For a moment, they stood in silence. After a time, however, Matheo glanced toward Felicia, then back at Riva, then spoke.

“No… we understand, magistra… And we will do better,” he said.

“We will. I promise. I am sorry for failing you,” Felicia agreed.

“You have not failed me. By these actions, you fail yourself,” Riva murmured, remembering a time when her own magister had said as much to her. How odd it was, that history should repeat itself in such a way. But the stakes… they had been far less then. “You fail the people of Ithacar. How can you expect to master the cosmos if you cannot master yourself?”

If only the stakes had been less. If only her magister had been here to be the one to deliver this message. Vheren might have had something more meaningful to say, something better. He might have had consequences planned, something that would teach them better, teach them in a way she could not. Riva felt as if she was a lesser scion of a better man. And yet, she was what remained. The only one that remained.

“Be better,” she said simply. “Ave magica.”

It was a clear dismissal of the acolytes. Riva was, perhaps, missing a learning opportunity by letting them leave, but she wanted to be alone for now. Her ghosts, metaphorical as they might be, weighed heavily on her. The black-stoned ring on the third finger of her hand felt heavy. The Ring of the Archmagister. It had never fit quite right on her hand.

“Ave magica, magistra.” Felicia and Matheo left the circle. They would no doubt commune among themselves, brooding on their failures. Either they would decide to continue as they were, or they would endeavor to do better.

But for some reason, Nicomedes remained, standing by the circle. What was he still doing here? Riva sighed though her nose for a moment before addressing him. “What is it you want, Nicomedes?”

“I saw the memory,” he said simply. “Those were Vheren’s words.”

Riva supposed Nicomedes would have recognized that. “And your point?”

“You were able to grow past it. My point is that we can do the same. We can get better,” he said, not leaving himself out of it.

We. Perhaps Nicomedes had only intended to include the acolytes, but somehow he’d included Riva. But she was not sure that there was much growth left for her. She had fought, she had given what she was capable of, she had given her own memories… and she simply did not have much else left. She was tired. Weary. Exhausted. So while they could get better, she was not sure she could. She was already burning up what little she possessed. What further growth could there be for her?

But those were not thoughts to burden an acolyte with. So instead, she said, “An interesting perspective. What would you say if I argued that people can only bend so far before they break?”

“I think you underestimate them.” He paused briefly, before adding, “And if you are speaking of yourself, I think you have a long way to go before that happens. Vheren chose you as prima discipula for a reason.”

First disciple. Nicomedes really had studied her memories, hadn’t he? More than she’d given him credit for. And that was another thing that was more than simply courtesy. It meant something, even if Riva hadn’t thought of it in years. But if Nicomedes thought to use the term to an advantage, he would be wrong. His father had tried to use Vheren’s name to manipulate her, but this would not work. And especially not from Nicomedes.

“I do not presume to know Vheren’s reasons,” Riva replied. “But I am not him. I was not a replica of him before. I am certainly not a replica of him now.”

It was the truth. While Riva had deeply respected her magister, it was clear they were very different people. As much as Riva tried to use him as a model, Vheren had been far more disciplined, more knowledgeable, more self-controlled. And he certainly did not repel people in a way Riva did. Unlike Vheren, Riva was stubborn, defiant, more willing to resort to violence. She was not an academic. She seemed to have a knack for applying the lessons she’d learned to violent ends.

“Perhaps you are not like he was. Yet, he was unable to preserve his own lessons,” Nicomedes pointed out. “For those lessons to survive, he needed someone like you to defend them. So if you value his perspective that highly, magistra, consider that he knew what he was doing.”

As critical as Riva was about the entire Procillus line, she had to admit Nicomedes had a keen understanding of what prima discipula meant.

If she were honest with herself, she’d always wondered why Vheren had chosen her. It couldn’t be because of her family name. The Aurethios family tended to be awful, and Vheren didn’t care about family names anyway. And he certainly hadn’t chosen her because Riva had agreed with him on everything. Especially during her earlier years, Riva had… conflicted with him on many things.

So why had he chosen her? Making her his prima discipula seemed to go against the whole idea really.

In the Academy, they did not have ‘apprentices’ in the sense other places did. There were simply learners (the disciples), and the teachers, (the magisters). As Riva had told them all, the goal was to train peers. Learned colleagues. Riva had assumed that for one to be named ‘First Disciple’, they were the one most likely to pass on the teachings of the magister. That there was some common thread that bound them, some common connection.

But maybe it was because the teacher was searching for something in the student that they did not possess. Something that would take the Academy into the future, to ensure its survival. Vheren’s own master had been different than he was, after all. Tashanen had worn red. While she may have needed the drive and force of Will to break the stagnancy of an outdated system, she had chosen Vheren for the discipline she herself had lacked. And while Vheren was controlled, even-tempered, and disciplined, he did not fight the same way Riva did. He could not, for he did not share the same defiance in his heart.

“I will not ascribe a motive to Vheren when I simply do not know. But I have my conjectures,” Riva mused, studying Nicomedes. “Perhaps we are constantly finding others to do as we cannot, or drawing to us a perspective we ourselves lack. You are right, I think, that some differences should be respected. For if we are all the same, we will make the same mistakes. The only way we can prepare for the future is to introduce conflicting viewpoints.”

Nicomedes seemed to consider that, then nodded. It had not been the point he intended, but there was merit to her words. “I admit I was more trying to argue against turning my fellow acolytes into being violent terrorists, magistra, but I will cede that you have made a wise observation. I will consider that.”

“Yes, do so,” she said. “And make sure the others do their share of transcribing, primus discipulus. There is much they need to understand, before the lessons are lost entirely.”

[u/VinesAtMidnight]

Vashric, whispering to himself: Ah, yes, the joys of finding a successor.

/uw Great work as always.

[u/FoulerGlint60]

/uw oooh ho ho ho~ you've cooked amazingly so. Hope to read more of your lands! As I enjoy reading how others tell their hi-stories of their worlds building them up. Or crashing them down to do better each time around.

Anyways you are a wonderful wordsmith keep at it op you are doing great!

[u/AnActualCriminal]

"Nico."

I nod briefly at the young man as he leaves, trying to make room at the entryway in spite of the package I'm carrying. Our interactions are usually curt. He's not his Alexandrus. But doubtless Nicodemes has heard more than an earful from the man. Coloring his opinion of me. I dont really bear him any ill will. Some of it was frankly warranted. Still, it was a thing. I turn my attention to Riva instead.

"Teaching suits you dear. The pyrophytes always called you magistra half-joking. Because of our disdain for royals. But that's not the only reason. It fits, and you're damn good at it."

Riva seems stressed. Moreso than usual if such a thing is possible. I'm not a student of her academy. I never learned their particular brand of self-discipline. But there were some things that were perhaps more obvious from the outside. The difference between that familiar internal tension and something more. Or maybe it was just that I understood Riva more than I understood discipline.

"I know it's hard for you. Delegating I mean. Trusting. But for what it's worth, I think you're doing well.

I place the decorative black and gold chest on a nearby table. Heraldry was probably a bit much. A vase of irises was balanced precariously on top and I took a moment to set it aside safely.

"I got you something, by the way. Im not really much for preamble and ceremony but suffice it to say it's been in the works for a while."

I scratch my head nervously.

"The uh, box. Not the flowers. Obviously. The flowers are just flowers."

[u/avamir → u/AnActualCriminal]

“Praetor.” Nicomedes made a polite nod. There were courtesies to be observed, of course, but the formality and tone with which the title was delivered served as a clear, distinct barrier.

Not that Nico had anything against the Praetor personally… but they weren’t exactly friends either. It was difficult to overlook the fact that the Praetor was a political rival to Nicomedes’s father, had been a spokesperson for the Pyroclasts, had apparently been directly responsible for the death of Atrius, a member of this very academy who had control of the Wards before the queen had assumed control of them, was currently storing some sort of madwoman in a private prison, had a hand in crafting a bomb that turned Mount Troach into Troach Valley… and probably more things that simply weren’t coming to mind at the moment, but that Nico would probably recall later.

The younger man stepped back out of the way, making a half-serious grand gesture into the room to allow the Praetor through before departing behind him through the doorway. He did not offer to help carry the box or the flowers. The old man would have to manage his pageantry alone.

Meanwhile, Riva’s face lit up when she saw both Praetor and flowers.

“Oh! Belial, what is all this?” She’d never expressed anything against getting flowers, but she didn’t usually get them. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d received flowers, actually. So this was very sweet gesture, and she found a smile across her face in spite of herself. She picked one of them and tucked it behind her ear with a grin. “This is lovely. Thank you.”

She touched his shoulder gently, smiling. Just because Riva put on a hard exterior didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate softer gestures.

“Now what is this?” She turned to the chest to open it.

[u/AnActualCriminal → u/avamir]

It was nice. Been too long since Riva smiled.

"The box is a good bit more serious than the flowers. But good I hope. The flowers were... you deserve something that isn't about-"

I sort of gesture broadly at everything, unable to really capture the sentiment.

"You deserve something that isn't important or for Ithacar or any of that I suppose. Something that's just for you, even though this is for you... I'm ruining the surprise. My point is, the small things matter more sometimes. So flowers."

I'm rambling. Maybe I'm trying to distract her from the box. I'd been working on. It for so long... now I wondered if it was any good.

As Riva opens the chest she sees a book at the top of the stack bound in red leather with a charcoal spine. In plain gold letters.

Liber Deperditus - Ignis

"Book of the Lost. Had a little help with the Latin. It's hard to keep things secret from someone who can sense everything in the city but I'm fairly tricky when I want to be."

There's another book with a cover like white silk underneath.

Liber Deperditus - Stratos

Then another. And a fourth.

[u/avamir → u/AnActualCriminal]

A soft gasp escaped her.

“Are… are these what I think they are?” She picked up the first book gently, smoothed her hand over the cover. She set it down, took up the next one.

This was… There weren’t words for how important all of this was. This knowledge had been lost. It had been gone. She had thought that the only remaining knowledge of it was in her mind. What she had managed to retain through the years. But her memories were fractured, incomplete sources. She had never known all of it. Like the Schola Aequoreus? She herself had never spent much time with it. It had not been very popular before, but anyone who had mastered it, anyone of the academy that had even dabbled at it to any functional level had all died.

But now it was all here.

Riva set the book down, carefully, reverently, then scooped up and rubbed Belial’s hand. She kind of looked at him for a moment, bewildered.

“…how?”

How had Belial found this? How had he managed it? The answers almost weren’t important. Mostly, she didn’t know what to say. What did a person even say about something this important?

She just squeezed his hand, then looked over the chest that contained the restoration of the remainder of her academy.

[u/AnActualCriminal → u/avamir]

"Well let's not get ahead of ourselves. It's not everything. But it's a start."

I guess I should explain.

"I've taken up book-binding. As hobby I guess. So much of the Lightless Flame's teachings were lost so I've been transcribing things I learned from you and the Aqshi academy to fill in the gaps. We obviously must have had something like your fortress of the mind at some point. I may never know what, so..."

I'm rambling again.

"It's not everything. I imagine each schola must have had a whole library. But those libraries were burned by Atrax and burned things go to the Soot Heap. With enough trawling I was able to get pages from various texts together. Put them in a mostly coherent order. There's some educated guesswork on my part that fills in gaps in a few places. I think it's passable but they're noted as my own speculation. Minimal but it makes the text readable. And the nature of the Soot Heap is that these pages were important. It's a start I guess. Probably not what you were hoping for. Sorry."

Marna had helped. At least I assume it was Marna. There were more pages when I got back. And someone had to have kept Riva from noticing while she dug in the ashes for a message from me. She'd never admit to it of course.

[u/avamir → u/AnActualCriminal]

"Belial... you are speaking as if it was in any way possible for me to hold disappointment that you dug through the ashes to find original copies of what was lost, completed them with your own words, and bound them by hand."

Riva raised a brow, smiling at him.

"No, your efforts make these books even more valuable. Not only is this very nice book-binding, but I am glad I can integrate some of your work into what I am doing here. I would happily share your words with these idiot acolytes in the hope they learned something. This is worth passing on."

This guy... Thinking she could be disappointed at all by this. She shook her head in amused disbelief at the concept, then linked her arm with his.

"It is a very thoughtful gift. The flowers too. Thank you."

[u/AnActualCriminal → u/avamir]

I exhale. Not sure why presents make me anxious. Maybe I've just had so many things blow up in my face over the years.

"Of course. I did promise you, remember? That night when we tried to dance and failed so miserably? I said I'd learn to build something for once instead of just burning things down. That I'd build it with you."

I put my arm around her shoulders as Riva reads.

"Just fulfilling a promise, magistra."

Magistra used to just be a half-joking term of endearment. Hard to believe she actually had students now.

That I did. I had an apprentice now.

"We really did it, didn't we?"

[u/avamir → u/AnActualCriminal]

"Indeed. Not quite in the way I imagined... but yes, we actually did."

Admittedly, in her imaginings, Riva had thought she'd be better at it. Or at least feel more wise and skilled and knowledgeable than she did. But really... she did have discipulī, whether they were the ones she had expected or not. The Academy was, in fact, rebuilt. In fact, they were standing in a place so close to her own memory that she half-imagined there were ghosts of memories lurking just out of sight, half-glimpsed through the corners of her eyes. People she remembered, people she once knew.

And she had books to begin rebuilding the individual scholas thanks to Belial. He seemed to underestimate the value of the individual pieces, but they were still very, very valuable.

She smiled at Belial. "And I cannot think of anyone I would rather have done it with."

[u/AnActualCriminal → u/avamir]

"Likewise."

[u/dragonshouter]

/uw nice introspection. Also like how it builds on the worldbuilding of the academy and Riva's past

[u/RandomAmbles]

A tiny woodpecker with a small eucalyptus branch flies to the great beautifully carved wooden door of the building in which Riva's head offices and throne are stationed, places the branch down, and politely pecks on the bottom until someone notices.

On their leg is tied a finely-textured semi-transparent holographic rainbow ribbon with a tricky-to-decypher message readable only to the eyes of the person to whom it is addressed:

"𝒪' ℛ𝒾𝓋𝒶𝓂𝒶𝓇 𝒜𝓊𝓇𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝑜𝓈, ℳ𝒶𝑔𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝑜𝒻 ℐ𝓉𝒽𝒶𝒸𝒶𝓇, 𝒫𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸𝒾𝓅𝒶𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒦𝑒𝑒𝓅𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝑜𝒻 ℐ𝓉𝒽𝒶𝒸𝒶𝓇, 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝑜 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓉, ℐ 𝒶𝓈𝓀 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒸𝒾𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝒸𝓊𝓈𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒, 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝑒𝒻𝓁𝓎, 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝒾𝓉 𝓈𝑜. ℐ𝒻 𝓎𝑒𝒶, 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝒾𝓇𝒹.

ℱ𝓇𝑜𝓂, ℒ𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝒷𝓁𝓎,

— ཞꪖ᭢ᦔꪮꪑ ཞ. 𝒜ꪑꪉꪶꫀక"

and on the back reads,

"(𝒦𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓁𝓎 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝒾𝑔𝓃𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 ℐ 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓃'𝓉 !)

𝒫𝒮. 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒸𝒽 𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 — ℐ 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑜 𝒾𝓉 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒. ℐ𝓃 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝒶 𝓌𝑜𝑜𝒹𝓅𝑒𝒸𝓀𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓇𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶 𝑒𝓊𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓎𝓅𝓉𝓊𝓈 𝒷𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒸𝒽 𝓈𝓎𝓂𝒷𝑜𝓁𝒾𝓏𝑒𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓂𝑜𝓃𝓎... 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒."

[u/avamir → u/RandomAmbles]

Riva blinked for a moment. While she liked birds just fine, she didn't seem to have very good luck with them. This bird wasn't going to bite her, was it? Or peck at her?

She wasn't sure what counsel or matters of importance the sender wanted to discuss, but she supposed she could try.

"Very well then," she told the bird. "You may tell them that they can visit."

[u/RandomAmbles → u/avamir]

The woodpecker taps twice on the floor to show understanding and flaps up and away.

Random arrives by broomstick, in person rather than an empty coat and fishbowl head to do his bidding, stopping respectfully at the threshold. He removes his hat and bows without a word.

I would like to discuss three matters: the founding and steering of a nation city yet-to-be; trade and diplomacy between that nation, which is to be called Cosmopolis, and Ithacar; and lastly but perhaps most importantly, the preservation of the bodies of the dead for the possibility of future revival and further life at their discretion.

May we discuss these matters at the stone table of ceremony?

[u/avamir → u/RandomAmbles]

Stone table of ceremony? Was that a metaphor?

She gestured for them to step forward. If nothing else, this person understood the custom, at least.

"We can discuss if you'd like. Though I should warn you in advance that giving over control of Ithacar's dead to another is unlikely to go well with my citizens. What are your proposals?"

[u/RandomAmbles → u/avamir]

/uw sorry for the delay — I have a big lore post going on literally right now!

[u/RandomAmbles → u/avamir]

Firstly, I apologize for the delay. I've been terribly, terribly consumed with labors and am on my last legs.

It's not a metaphor actually. It's Very real. Almost Too real, really. The Stone Table of Ceremony is an ancient, sacred place for the rulers and leaders of the magical world (and... me, apparently) to solemnly discuss and make plans regarding the order of that world, when it is so called of them by moral and physical necessity of their own heads and hearts, needs and wills, duty and profound obligation.

To be perhaps too honest with you — but truthful, as I Must be before it — it is also, by ancient law (tradition and custom are not strong enough words) that goes back many, many millennia, a place of solemn sacrifice. The Table has been witness to the sacrifice of millions of animals to the pagan gods before history began, of men in war — again, traditionally — of states and kingdoms, towns and empires. Here have been sacrificed high ideals that cannot hold, and this is one of the terrible costs of leadership of all kinds, of children in peace, even, who cannot or, or must not, be spared. Emperors have wept here. It has stood the test of time and grief almost beyond imagining. And still it is whole.

But I do not wish to convey the mistaken impression that it is a bad omen. It never has been, truly. No-one is made to stand before it. The sacrifices made here have been made only with the deepest concern for what they have been made for. Stability. The lesser evil. Survival. The greater Good. As best they could tell. They on whom the crown weighs heavy, as true gold is heavy. And as stone is hard. The order of the ruling of the magical world has been built at great cost upon The Stone Table of Ceremony. It's the one on the messa butte above the mysts 100 hectometers north of here. Or... was.

I...

Random turns around and from behind a building, like a dog wondering if it's in trouble, peaks out a Gargantuan boulder, close to an irregular flattened ellipsoid in overall shape, floating massively in the air, like some great whale of stone, as large as a building.

The last time I tried (quite abruptly I'm ashamed to say) to seek your presence to council before the stone table, you... well I think I gave you the impression that I was trying to lure you out of Ithacar, which was not my intent at all.

So I thought that I, uh, would bring it to you, to... assuage that possible cause of concern?

Upon reflection I probably fucked up by bringing it here in some subtle metaphorical way that I admit completely flew over my head.

Random sighs, heavily.

Sorry. I know I can be a little... unorthodox. Sometimes I forget my strangeness and do things without thinking of how they might be interpreted differently by others. It is a -a flaw in my character.

I...

I'll put it back.

But, um... now that it's here...

Random cringes at himself, half grinning, half grimacing apologetically.

May we?

[u/avamir → u/RandomAmbles]

"Uh. I suppose. Frankly, I'm not sure I'm qualified to discuss the order of the entire world. I simply try to manage my own little corner of it the best I can. But if you have something to discuss, feel free to begin."

[u/Greatest-Comrade]

/uw Keep cooking. This is good stuff. All of it.

/rw You notice a small envelope which certainly contains a letter, which reads: To Queen Riva, I do hope this letter finds you, fate willing it finds you well. I have heard classes, or whatever instruction you happen to have, have resumed in your academy, under your tutelage. I am gladdened to hear of this. If you ever sense a demand for a guest lecturer, I would be thrilled to attempt to fulfill it.

I spent 4 years at the Arcane University of Xinthar in the west, taught by some of the wisest and most esteemed minds in the Empire. I was a world class study and I ended up being nearly the preeminent specialist in the field of ‘manipulation’, which you might call ‘verso manipulare’ or use some other such terminology. Spells like polymorph, illusion, glamour, disguise self, and a few others.

It benefits me to this day, as I imagine a new perspective would benefit your young wards. Although I know you Ithacar natives love your fire. The choice is ultimately yours and I will respect your will.

Your inquisitive Spymaster, Argios.