Irrandor Castle: within the Castle’s Keep
Claire pushed Lurian along the expansive corridors of the third floor. As they traveled in silence, she could not help but feel the uncertainty that hung in the air. Lurian’s bleak predictions for the future that awaited him had stripped bare the facade, dampening the spark growing between them.
There was also whatever possessed her to act so wantonly the other night. It was like a sudden, irresistible surge of instincts, demanding she claim Lurian as her own. Remembering how quickly she lost control had frightened her, and she didn’t know what to do.
As if sensing her discomfort with the quiet, Lurian spoke: “I wonder how long old Master Can'tarrous will have me wait this time?”
“...At least half a glass; there’s no way that man gets here before the fourth noon hour,” she replied softly, a bit of her previous warmth creeping back into her tone.
Lurian let out an amused huff. “He’s probably still lost in the town market, trying to find a good deal on bottle root.”
Claire chuckled, feeling the beginnings of a smile return to her face as she pushed him into the Master’s study, coming to a stop before the old elf’s desk. Much like the man himself, the large study was a cluttered mess, smelling of old ink and aged parchment; an odd assortment of baubles—clearly of a more arcane nature—were scattered throughout.
Tentatively, she moved to Lurian’s side. “Do you want me to wait with you?”
He nodded, boldly taking her hand in his. “Please do,” he said, his eyes searching hers as he asked, “You know—I likely have most of the day free tomorrow. If you like, we could spend the day together?”
A sudden spark of joy bloomed within her chest at his words. ‘Maybe all is not so dire,’ she dared to wonder.
“I’d like that,” she said, feigning calm as she held in her surging excitement. “Maybe we could take this rare chance to go see Nanna and Melkie? It’s been so long since you visited; I’m sure she misses you.”
“I would love to,” Lurian replied. “I’ve missed her; it has been too long. I wonder how they’re doing...”
“Probably still—”
“Good afternoon, you pair! How are we all doing this fine day?” greeted a boisterous voice coming from the study’s entrance.
Surprised, Claire forcefully freed her hand from Lurian’s own, their heads snapping to the origin of the voice. At the chamber’s door, a tall, thin ‘ven stepped in. His wheat-brown hair was a mess, and his dark purple full-length robes were disheveled and in desperate need of a wash.
Given the manner in which the man presented himself, one might find it hard to believe that the boisterous, unkempt elf before them was one of—if not the—finest masters of the arcane in the south-east province.
“Good day, Master Can'tarrous,” the pair greeted in unison. The ven’s energy was contagious, making it hard for the pair’s mood to remain so subdued.
“Good, good, good,” he repeated, shuffling in.
The lame ven absentmindedly rubbed his chin as he hobbled in, heavily leaning on his stave, easing his prominent limp. Claire, thinking it rude, had never asked the man what transpired to have left him lame. She reasoned the injury must be extensive—and of a magical nature—given the ease at which a mage of his means could gain access to a skilled healer.
Finally, after a long wait, Master Can’tarrous took his seat behind his large mahogany desk. “Now where were we?” he asked, making a futile attempt to clean up his desk before giving up and returning his attention to his guests. “Ah yes, the lesson...”
He looked up, his eyes suddenly going wide when he noticed Lurian’s wheel-bound state. “Oh, Lurian—my boy, what happened?” he asked. “I hope nothing is permanent. Now that would be a right shame—wouldn’t it? It would be a true waste of talent, why—” This chapter is updated first at novelping(.)com.
“No, no—Master,” Lurian interrupted, “I am simply recovering from injuries that I suffered during yesterday’s bouts. I assure you, I will make a full recovery within a day or two.”
The mage frowned. “That Torvous again?” Lurian nodded. “That brute. He knows you are yet unawakened and that you can’t bounce back like the rest of us.” He shook his head. “Huh, that man is truly unworthy of his role. What a mere human grunt is doing as master at arms to a true elven lord like lord Ven'nirous, I will never know. But I tell ya what, Lurian, there’s no—”
“The lesson—Master Can'tarrous,” Lurian interjected, not wanting to indulge one of Master Can'tarrous’s long rants.
Claire had to hold in a chuckle. By all accounts, the man was brilliant, but he had a bad habit of getting lost in his musings during his lessons. She’d had infrequent dealings with the older elf, but had not witnessed him ramble as much as Lurian described. Claire had long suspected it was merely a means to get a rise out of his pupil, but had no way of knowing for certain, so she kept her suspicions to herself.
“Ah yes, the lesson... Well, I’ve been informed about your early participation in the trials of the tower… Given that, there’s little left that I can teach you in the short time we have left. Why—if I had known, I would have started teaching you the finer intricacies of tower magic and how it differs from more conventional spellcraft—a few months back.”
“I wasn’t aware there was much of a difference,” stated a frowning Lurian.
The master’s face instantly lit up. “Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, my boy. You see, the spell work that is practiced by us—more common, non-tower awakened magi—is a far more flexible, but less refined, expression of spellcraft. As you well know, with normal spells you use an incantation, or you can print a magic formula with mana into the air in the form of a runed magic circle, or any combination of the two.”
He paused. “I suppose, there is also ritual magic, better known as sacrificial magic, but that’s a whole different matter. Why—”
To Claire’s disappointment, as soon as Lurian noticed the older mage was about to descend the rabbit hole, he interjected: “So, tower magic doesn’t use incantations or magic circles?”
“Oh—no, it all happens internally,” he said, bouncing in his seat. “You see, when you awaken, it is your spirit that comes alive. Like a half-extinguished fire that’s given new liquid fuel to burn, it ignites, giving you access to your innate mana pool. The size of which is dependent on your natural talent and the environment you grew up in. It is all rather fascinating; why it—”
He was about to start again, but this time, he caught the frustrated look Lurian shot his way, and restrained himself.
Looking stifled, he lightly coughed. “Anyway, as you should already be aware, when you awaken in the Tower, it is different. The towers, located on the weak points in the fabric of our Plane, are used as a gateway to the ‘Vet-tho’harna’, or ‘World that will be’—if you prefer common. It is hotly debated whether the weak points are there because of the towers, or the towers form there because of the weak points, but I digress. There, on the other side, you will be much closer to the Faiths. Allowing them to take a far more active role in the awakening process.”
The ven leaned forward; his face brightening with eager excitement. “It is then that you are judged. And, if found worthy, which almost everyone is. I think there are only two cases in recorded history that an aspirant has been found wanting. Anyway, if worthy, the Faiths make an offer or bid for your patronage. If multiple Faiths show an interest, which, to my knowledge, is quite common, you, the aspirant, get to choose from amongst the offered bids.”
He raised a finger. “Then your chosen divine sponsor uses their power to force your awakening, and in the process gives you what was promised. They also infuse a spirit seed within the depths of your spirit. This gives structure to your spirit, allowing for better, controlled growth—as you accumulate Noui.”
“What’s Noui?” Claire blurted, no longer able to hold back, after being ensnared by the topic.
The Master's brows rose in surprise; thankfully unbothered by the interruption. “It is the name of the invisible ethereal substance that makes up your spirit and fuels its growth. It is the essence of creation and the closest thing there is to divinity. There are theories, but that’s all they are: theories. No one truly knows; maybe the Faiths do, but that’s neither here nor there... As far as we can tell, it’s a natural by-product of sentient life, and is released upon death. I won’t get into it; I can see that Lurian here does not appreciate me going off topic.”
He chuckled, throwing a cheeky wink Claire’s way. “Once the spirit seed has sufficient growth from accumulating enough Noui, it is possible to mount permanent spells into your spirit, becoming almost instinctive to use. You just will it, and it happens. No incantations. No magic circles. Just a thought and boom,” he enthusiastically exclaimed, his eyes alight with childish glee as his hands mimed an explosion.
“Of course, there’s a lot more to it than that. You can’t just unleash spell after spell. There is nuance to every Power. Oh, yes, in case I haven’t mentioned it, Powers is the most commonly used name for a mounted spell. And Powers, with the help of your divine sponsor, can be improved upon and do some pretty ridiculous things with enough Noui investment.”
“Oh, you become a conduit for their power,” Can'tarrous said with detached nonchalance. “It allows them to act more freely upon this plane. They also take a tithe from the Noui you generate and collect. The amount is stipulated with the bid upon you agreeing to their patronage. It is usually 10-30%, depending on which Faith and how greedy they are.”
Looking amused he sighed. “I’m afraid, as a naturally awakened, I have never experienced the tower and all its wonders—so I can offer you little knowledge in that regard. But!” he said with excitement, “The best and most accomplished individuals that came out of the towers all relied on a combination of the different methods of casting. So don’t think that just because you are destined for the tower, you should forget all I have taught you. I dare say that they will become more important if you want to reach for true greatness in such arts.”
The man pulled up his long sleeve and reached for a blue palm-sized stone—kept to the right of his desk. “With that said, here, you can begin your spell practice.” He tossed the blue stone to Lurian.
His gaze then drifted to Claire, and he smiled—as if sensing her eagerness for all things magic. ”Claire, sweetheart, you might as well join in at this stage. From the little that Til’ven has shared, you still have a long way to go, and I might as well teach you a trick or two while you’re here.”
Claire beamed, overjoyed at the chance to practice under the direct tutelage of such an accomplished Master mage. She knew many would kill for such a chance, and here she was, getting free lessons for simply being in the ‘ven’s proximity.
He chuckled. “Now, before we begin, any questions to start us off?”
. . . . .
The lesson went on until the evening. Leaving both Claire and Lurian drained by the experience. The latter half of the lesson was just repetitive spell formation and release. A mentally galling task, made all the harder with pokes and prods from Master Can'tarrous, as he ensured they could still complete their spell formations under the duress of distraction.
Lurian saw no marked improvement, but Claire—having never had formal training in the art- gained much from the little tips and tricks imparted by the experienced mage. Her happiness at her growth brought a smile to the solemn Lurian, as the pair left for their evening meal...
And the sleep that followed...
“True wisdom is rarely the result of a hasty acquisition of facts, or a natural product of fleeting youth; rather, it is the quiet harvest of a life fully lived, tempered by both triumph and sorrow. It is forged in that quiet crucible, a crucible of lived experience and deep reflection. Unlike mere knowledge, which accumulates through study, true wisdom emerges when we embrace our failures, listen with genuine empathy, and learn to navigate the profound uncertainties of life with grace, humility, and enduring patience. Ultimately, it’s not about knowing the answers, but asking the right questions...”
— A wise man’s thoughts on the nature of wisdom