❧ i n b o x

[abheirrant]

—pposed to know when to start speaking? That wasn't a very thorough explanation on what I'm to do this, now was it? Hello? Hello? Are you listening to me? Are you even still ther— [beep]

Comments

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle does the same, hoping some swishy encouragement will help his own drink work faster.]

Most people have some capacity for magic, though only trained magicians cast or channel, as I do. Many must utilize glyphs like these, but they do have the ability to activate them, even if they know not how to write them. Magic itself as a convenience for daily life is fairly common though, especially among human populations.

[superposition]

[ Qubit nods, mentally taking note of the terminology. In general he's a stickler for calling things by their proper names, as demonstrated by his ongoing refusal to call eksth'alva anything else. ]

So you could take an ordinary teapot, paint it with the right glyph, and end up with a magical equivalent to this? [ Motioning at the kettle. ] That's interesting. I assumed you had to be a magician to do anything at all with it.

[abheirrant]

Oh no, not at all. Being a magician takes time and training, and most haven't the interest in such pursuits for what can ultimately be fickle work. An enchanter should have no trouble with employment, while an illusionist may have a much harder time making money. No one wants work from a mediocre illusionist. While someone may have the capacity to use magic, they might have a completely separate vocation, and instead utilize magic through glyphs like these as written by a glyphcrafter. For example:

[He takes that now-blank sheet from beneath his mug and draws three figures on it. While his illustrations of plants are precise and detailed, his humans could use some work.]

I told you about my uncles. Uncle Boris hadn't any magical ability [he taps on the figure on the far left, then moves to the one on the far right] while Uncle Benistad was a fabulously talented magician, completely capable -- if not better -- in multiple schools of magic. However, Uncle Benistad -- the schools in which he was gifted aside -- was also tragically lazy. Uncle Boris, while he could not activate even the most basic of glyphs, took a great interest in the craft and wrote many himself, and so if either of them needed magic that was out of his brother's purview, he would craft an appropriate glyph and let Benistad activate it. They both technically took part in the art of magic, even if one did no magic at all.

[He taps the central figure.]

My father, while not as talented as Benistad, had the capacity for magic, but no real interest in it. Uncle Boris crafted glyphs for him, as well: enchantments for his arrows, fire-starters, simple charms and the like. Anything he needed and could not buy from another glyphcrafter while out and about. He'd simply carry the glyphs with him and activate them as necessary, but no one would have called him a magician.

[superposition]

[ So you don't need any magical ability to write glyphs, only to activate them... yet activating glyphs doesn't count as "doing magic." It's like the difference between writing code and running it, apparently? Not a perfect analogy, but... well, he gets the gist. He'll have to ask about these "schools" of magic in a second, but first, context. ]

What did they do, by the way? Your father and uncles.

[abheirrant]

They were primarily hunters. My family have long lived in Bear Den, and just as long been not only its protectors, but the protectors of the entire region. Their work often took them farther than that, as they were called to deal with both beasts and aberrations alike. Each of the brothers was talented in a particular way, and they complemented one another's skills. They were excellent at what they did. Nigh unstoppable when they were together.

[Unlike him. He swirls the mug again, idly this time rather than purposefully.]

As such, our family isn't exactly unknown. Most people knew who I was, and what stock I came from, before I ever met them. It created a lot of expectation.

[superposition]

Ah, right. I remember.

[ Carlisle's mentioned some of that before. How he comes from a family of local heroes, and was expected to follow in their footsteps. How, through no fault of his own, he killed the very people he set out to protect.

That's verging a little close to personal territory, though, for both of them. Qubit drops the topic. ]

You've mentioned "schools" of magic a few times, what does that mean? Is it just how spells are categorized?

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle doesn't seem too bothered by casual conversation regarding his family, but he's happy to change the topic all the same.]

Yes, it is largely categorization. Most trained magicians specialize in one, maybe two schools. Only the most talented and ambitious would study further than that, as it takes years of intense study to master the many applications of even one school.

[He gets back to drawing on the paper before him, scrawling out a series of symbols. Give him a second, Qubit -- he wants to make sure these are legible.]

Uncle Benistad, for example, fell into the latter crowd. He was primarily an evocationist, but enchanting and abjuration were other specialties of his. [Carlisle mutters to himself.] Though some would assume his main talent was in charming.

[superposition]

[ That gets a chuckle. ] Bit of a ladies' man, was he?

[abheirrant]

[That gets a smirk out of him, however subtle behind the mask.]

Let's just say he was a man of many interests, both professional and personal.

[Carlisle finishes his little drawings, seven sigils that apparently have some meaning to him.]

These are the seven primary schools. While there are others, they are outliers, their uses and teachings kept secret to but a few.

[He starts at the top of his page, pointing out the sigil there.]



Evocation, the art of conjuring, summoning, and manifestation.



Transfiguration, the art of changing, reshaping, and altering.



Abjuration, the art of warding. [That would be one of the ones etched on the door to Qubit's lab.]



Charming, the art of enchanting.



Illusion, the art of figments and deception.



Divination, the art of scrying.



Reparation, the art of mending and construction... as well as deconstruction. [That one appears on the door, as well.

He pauses there for any further questions.]

[superposition]

[ Qubit nods, recognizing the two from his door. It's an Abjuration Ward that targets Reparation magic, then? Or only the "deconstruction" subset? In any case, though, it's the little cloud icon that he points to first. ]

So what I do would be closest to Transfiguration, it sounds like. [ Actually, he's pretty sure Carlisle explicitly called it that the first time he saw it. Recalling something adjacent, though, he squints slightly. ] Didn't you also mention "golemancy" at some point? Is that one of the outliers?

[abheirrant]

Golemancy would be a specialization of transfiguration, with a little evocation mixed in, I assume. It was an educated guess rather than a certainty, but as you reshape part of other machines into something new, it seemed like a close approximation.

[Please don't make robots, Qubit. Carlisle is distinctly uncomfortable with the very idea.]

[superposition]

[ He's already made a Roomba, that's technically a robot! But yeah, having nerfed powers is literally the only thing stopping him. He can't help noticing Carlisle's discomfort on the subject, though, and pauses. ]

What would you consider a "golem," exactly? [ Before letting him answer, he elaborates- ] Because where I'm from, that word refers to a very specific kind of construct. I think the concepts must be similar, if that's what your word translates to, but...

[abheirrant]

A 'golem,' as I know it, is a constructed being, humanoid or otherwise. Golemancers tend to work with the former for whatever reason, summoning energies and ensnaring them within the framework to animate it. They are- they are not alive.

[Yes, obviously.]

[superposition]

Ah. [ Qubit sits back slightly, placing a hand on his chin. He thinks he gets it now - it's either the fact that they're animate without being alive (like Carlisle himself), or that the process sounds very similar to how Carlisle raises the dead. Probably both, maybe with a splash of uncanny valley as well.

After a moment's consideration, he decides he might as well provide his own context. Only fair. ]

That's actually not far off. In my world, it's a humanoid made of clay, animated by writing one of the names of God on a tablet inside its mouth. [ He waves one hand, vaguely gesturing at nothing. ] Or something similar - writing "TRUTH" on its forehead, et cetera - there's some variation in the literature. But that's the method they used in Prague, which is the only confirmed case.

[abheirrant]

Animated by invoking the name of a deity? An odd method, but the basic premise is similar, despite our very different worlds.

[And Qubit is correct in his assumption as to why Carlisle is uncomfortable with the very concept. The clergyman shudders.]

It is too akin to necromancy for my taste, bringing to life that which should not live. And there are tales of golemancers who have taken it that far, building constructs to house the remnants of their loved ones.

[superposition]

[ Qubit ponders that for a moment, taking a preliminary taste of his tea. (Needs a couple more minutes.) ]

I wish I could say I'm surprised. I can see how it'd be a tempting prospect. How they might think they're doing them a favor. [ He folds his arms, frowning darkly. ] An immortal life in an unbreakable body, and all they give up in exchange is their humanity. It's a textbook Faustian bargain.

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle inhales the steam of his again, and while Qubit's needs another couple of minutes, his is already working: he can feel some semblance of heat seeping into his limbs, the tension ever-present in his shoulders relenting as his troubling thoughts are obscured by a veil of mild intoxication. He opens his eyes, the glow of them unfocused as they land on Qubit.]

'Faustian bargain'?

[superposition]

[ Ah, right. Earth-specific cultural reference. Sorry if he's fuzzy on the specifics, it's been a while since he thought about Faust. ]

A deal with the Devil. Faust is a literary figure, he's, ah... a scholar who sells his soul to a demon in exchange for knowledge, or power, or earthly pleasures, something like that. Worldly benefits at the price of eternal damnation.

[abheirrant]

[The reference is utterly lost on him, but forsaking one's morals for temporary pleasures of the flesh isn't exactly a foreign concept.]

I see. Such bargains are best left to serve as cautionary tales. Forbidden arts and accursed deals poison everything around those who partake in them: the land, the people, and themselves.

[superposition]

Hmph. Don't I know it.

[ There's some room for nuance, obviously (who forbade it? how do you define "accursed"? qui bono?), but that's a bit out of scope. He's more thinking of the literal devil-dealing and the literal poisoning of land and people that he's witnessed - technically two separate events, but with the same instigator - but that's a bit off topic.

In context, they're talking about "cheating death," but that brings to mind someone equally unpleasant. A man who cheated death by having no soul to sell. Less Faust, more Mephistopheles.

The sweet scent of Carlisle's tea provides a convenient distraction. But... it's odd, now that he notices it, that he can smell it this strongly without feeling any effects. He looks back to Carlisle, pointing generally at the teacup. ]

What was the glyph you used on that?

[abheirrant]

[He inhales deeply, letting himself relax just a bit more.]

I often enchanted tea at home, using specific brews for various reasons: a sleep aid, a pain reliever when my body failed me, and the like. I was disappointed to discover that while I could make a suitable tea from it, the sap here that so affected others, relieving them of their mental burdens if only for a time, did nothing at all for me. No substance does any longer. I have not had a good drink in so long.

[Said like a fellow who definitely drank. Possibly a lot.]

And so I devised this glyph. Charming, reparation, minor transfiguration. It has been altered to no longer affect the living, but instead target... well.

[The unliving. He's still reluctant to refer to himself as such.]

[superposition]

Hm. Where I'm from, they call that "self-medicating."

[ He does his best not to let that sound judgmental, though. Carlisle clearly didn't have a lot of alternatives. Physician, heal thyself, isn't that the turn of phrase?

Anyway, after another moment's consideration, he decides "eh, to hell with it" and pulls over the little sap jar. ] May I?

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle gives a little wave, a 'be my guest' sort of gesture. While he collected enough sap for plenty of brews, he figures he'll have to find a new way to self-medicate eventually. Being awake all the time with his thoughts, feeling his energy coursing through him at all times as it keeps his bones animated — it's utterly maddening, and sometimes, he needs a break.

Another deep inhale. Ahh, that's much better. The glow of his eyes is definitely unfocused now, albeit as vibrant as ever.]

Cisth, I miss liquor more than I thought I would. There are many... [another gesture as he searches for an appropriate word] commodities of my former self that I miss, but that one, I may miss most of all.

[superposition]

[ Qubit opens it up and stirs a dollop of the stuff into his own tea. It's hardly fair if only one of them gets to indulge. ]

Mm. I'm more a beer man, myself.

[ Actually, his own relationship with alcohol is remarkably healthy. Everything in moderation. He knows his tolerance, he knows when he's had enough - and he dislikes the feeling of drunkenness, of his mind turning dull and sluggish and stupid, enough that it's a powerful deterrant in itself. But he still enjoys a good beer now and again. (Enough to have strong opinions on what qualifies as a good beer.)

He finally takes a proper sip, closing his eyes for a moment as the warmth of it leaches into him. Substance abuse is another downer topic, unfortunately, but... ]

Have you ever heard of Oktoberfest?

[abheirrant]

[If there was ever a fellow to abuse substances both magical and not, it was this fellow.]

I assume it was a party of some sort.