[centre][h1]The Newbie[/h1][/centre] [hr] The Runatorium of Bast was a spectacle to behold: The massive ebony black walls pillared to the heavens like an onyx mountain, with coloured glass windows blinking along its sunlit facade. Powers of nature and overnature crackled from behind the facade with thunderous booms and shivering zaps, accompanied with great light shows reflecting off of gray smoke coming out of mighty chimneys. The black citadel was the jewel of the Herring King’s domain, a centre of commerce, science, magic, divinity and – of course – weapons technology. And before the gilded rosewood gates that contrasted the black walls like a flower in a pile of coal, stood the young elf Yost, recently named Quickchisel. He maintained a slightly nervous shiver as the gatesman inspected a clay tablet of his. The purple and white robes of a Syllan Academy Revered Scholar could not imbue him with enough confidence to stand up to a four-hundred pound minotaur beastman – especially not one whose exposure to the written word seemed to agitate him immensely. “... An appointment, was it?” “Y-yes!” quivered the elf. “... Wiff the boss?” “O-or at least someone who can speak on his behalf!” The minotaur snorted out a cloud of dusty air and handed the tablet back. “Wait ‘ere.” Then he thundered off towards the gatehouse. Yost permitted himself a brief moment to hope, to pray that he had gotten in. Five minutes past wherein nothing happened. Behind him, the busy city of Oss, capital of the Herring King’s realm, swarmed with all manner of day-to-day nonsense that was all too common in big cities. Yost was a traveled scholar – he had been to Sylann, Arbor, Tricity, the City-States and the Dominion, but Oss had a different air about it from all of the others: The ocean spray left an ooze of salt and moisture wherever one went. Finally, the gates opened and the young elf hurried inside. As he entered the gates, a rumbling voice thundered: [h2][centre][i]Saluting: Yost Quickchisel, Revered Scholar of Sylann Academy.[/i][/centre][/h2] The oppressive greeting shrunk the elf, and it did not help that the long, exposed walkway after the gates overlooked an ocean of scholars below, sitting at workbenches and copying runes. Some cast glances up at the walkway to behold the elf, and Yost felt himself quickening the pace. At the end of the long walkway, the path split into five, each path ascending different staircases. In the middle of the crossroads was a receptionist sitting behind a desk and Yost approached her warily. “G-good afternoon. I’m here about the–” “About the job offer, yes? Archmage Draal is expecting you. Main staircase to the top.” “Uh–” “That’s the one right behind me.” The elf obeyed and shuffled up the main staircase with a mighty speed. The coloured glass windows gave the black halls a beautiful crimson tint. The mood resembled that of late twilight, only that Yost could find no nightly peace. Eventually, he reached the top of the stairs, where another pair of gilded rosewood doors greeted him. They opened by themselves on his appearance and inside he saw another elf, one considerably older, but hardly visibly so. He had his eyes of Yost from the moment the doors opened, but his face betrayed nothing but a wide smile and a welcoming gaze. “Ah, Master Quickchisel! Come in, come in. Oh, at last – to think we are finally able to meet.” Yost hurried inside and bowed deeply. “Archmage Augustus Draal, it is an honour to–” “Oh, please,” said the elder and hurried over, “just Gus is fine. In fact, you can call me Uncle Gus! That’s my nickname around these parts.” Yost was pulled back to a straight stance and mumbled, “Uncle Gus?” “Yup! Why, with all the courtly nonsense that is demanded of us poor folk chained to His Majesty’s royal council, I prefer to keep a familial profile amongst my lads, y’know. The boys, eh?” “The boys–” “So!” [i]Clap![/i] “you’re here about the letter we sent, right?” “Oh, yes! I–” started Yost and started to pull out his tablet, but fumbled the grip and instead sent it tumbling out of his pack and into the floor. It shattered into sand upon impact and Yost froze. “I am so–” Gus, however, merely chuckled and waved a hand. The tablet reassembled as if time had rewound and it floated to the hand of the Archmage, who proceeded to look it over and nod. “Yup, this is the letter. Glubina’s handwriting is unmistakable.” “Again, I am so sorr–” “Oh, posh!” said Gus with a dismissive wave. “No need to cry over shattered clay – especially not before a mage. Hah!” He then lobbed the tablet out of a nearby window and gestured over to a chair by a massive desk. “Come now, have a seat, son.” Yost did as told, conquering his nerves well enough to remember to toss out his cape before he sat down. Gus sat down opposite of him and maintained an open stance. “So, you wanna work for the Mages’ Guild, hmm?” “Yes! It has been my lifelong dream, way before I started at the Academy.” Gus nodded. “Mhm, mhm. Well, you received our letter for a reason. You have talent, son.” He conjured a parchment out of thin air and glanced it over. “Runesmithing, arcane arts, chaos magic and even dabbles into astrology and greensinging! And top marks across the board. You really pack a punch, kid!” “O-oh, I’m just lucky I had good teachers.” “Nonsense – this is innate; destiny, even!” His finger landed on a specific section. “Yet anyone can get top grades in that squip. Glamour-savvy novices fill these halls like mould in a cellar. What got you our attention, son, was your affinity for the dark waters.” Yost nodded excitedly. “Oh y-yes, my academic assignment was about–” “–about the prospects and benefits of black water for use in flesh manipulation, yes!” The archmage stood up from his chair and circumvented the desk, ending up next to the young genius. “I take it you are quite familiar with the use of R’kava, then?” Yost nodded. “Certainly. My family comes from a small village that used to belong to an Octari tribe. They left copious amounts of dark water behind, and many of my friends and family are familiar with the stuff… In all manner of ways, good and bad.” A cut of sorrow sliced across the archmage’s face. “Oh my, yes. It is powerful magic… Unstable magic. It has neither beginning nor end, and in the wrong hands can mutate completely out of control, risking the lives of everyone around. Truly, the Changing One planned for its use to be a highly exclusive affair. Hence why we would be more than happy to offer you this lucrative chance to join our team.” Yost felt his chest overflow with butterflies. “I’d– I’d be honoured! What will I be working on?” “I’m glad you asked!” Gus flicked his wrist and his desk spewed forth light. A diagram showing a humanoid giant with six arms, four legs and an amalgam of jaws appears with a flash that sent Yost flinching. “The current efforts in the war against the Falgini are a losing battle, and His Majesty has commanded that the Mages’ Guild produce new weapons for the front lines. The order has lead to this: the Stone Man Project. These elite soldiers are the product of the mind of your soon-to-be-colleague, Ewon Xand.” “Oh my Gods, [i]the[/i] Ewon Xand? [i]The Sculptor of Sylann[/i]?” “The very same,” said Gus with a wink. “A true erudite within the study of the black waters. Flesh, stone, metal, blood – it does not matter what the substance is: In his hands, they become clay. But, His Majesty’s order has put pressure on the poor mage and he simply cannot keep up with demand. This is why we have specifically asked for you, my boy. What say you? Food and lodgings are included and we will offer a generous stipend of two thousand [i]shwoty[/i] a month.” “T-two thousand?!” “Oh-ho-hoh, can’t be having our esteemed magicians running around in rags, now can we? You start tomorrow at dawn.” “Y-yes, Uncle Gus!” [hr] The ebon walls of the Runatorium cast a mountainous shadow over the nearby city district as they blocked the dawn of the Black Sun. The chimneys had not yet begun to smoke, but a scent of sulphur still lingered about the place. Yost had hardly caught a wink of sleep, excited as he had been to start. Nonetheless he had managed to groom himself properly for his first day: his robes were well-kept and his hair had been combed into a slick-back style. He had even managed to stop by a physician’s house for a quick shave. He could not face the Sculptor as anything less than perfect. With his newly acquired medallion of the Mages’ Guild, he glided effortlessly through the gates, even enjoying respectful greetings by the guards. As he walked the walkway overlooking the now largely empty scriptorium below, he produced a map of light with a simple spell. A glowing blue line appeared on the ground before him, tracing a path out before him over to the receptionist desk, then a hard left up the left-most staircase. Yost followed the beam, offering a curt bow to the groggy receptionist who was sipping some sort of steaming liquid. The staircase took him to another small room, but the beam guided him effortlessly despite the nearly identical black facades and complete lack of signs. It was not uncommon for hubs of magic to maintain confusing layouts to dissuade and trap potential invaders. Labyrinthian hallways with few to no indications of position or direction would quickly have non-magical interlopers running in circles. Confident mages, on the other hand – well, there were other ways of dealing with them. The pathing spell cast by Yost had been provided to him by Gus, castable only by those in possession of a Mages’ Guild medallion. It was not an impossible spell to figure out by outsiders, but it combined elements of runesmithing and arcana, with the runes functioning as ciphers for the correct arcane spell. In many cases, such spells would carry very similar words of power to dangerous counter-spells targeted at the self, with imprecise incantations potentially costing the caster a hand or an eyeball. Still, the field of anti-magic was one highly valued at the Academy, and employers all around Galbar eagerly looked for magicians skilled in thwarting their peers. Yost had never been particularly interested in anti-magic. To him, magic was the physical and spiritual manifestation of potential, virtually infinite in scope and possibilities. He had seen with his own eyes on multiple occasions how R’kava could help people: The dying were brought back to life; the limbless could walk again; blindness and deafness became mere temporary afflictions. Of course, the dark waters could take, too, and took quite often. In the presence of such pools, the foolish and uninitiated were famous for speaking the final words: “Did it work?” Yost was confident that he would maintain his mastery of the dark waters. He had done so all his life, and in the apprenticeship of Master Xand himself, he would be in better hands than ever. The light eventually brought him to a large mahogany door, barely visible against the black walls. Upon his arrival, the frame of the door lit up with faint blue light and the doors opened slowly. The room inside was cylindrical, a great circle lit by a beam of light shining through a single hole in the very top of the ceiling. The beam centered on a small island of scroll-covered desks, besieged by a number of small sitting pillows and, in the very iris of the room – Yost could hardly believe it – a spawning pool. His footsteps echoed loudly against the domed ceiling as he entered. “H-hello?” he called. There was a [i]clunk![/i] followed by a muttering groan. Yost blinked and stopped in his tracks. It was easy to catch that something was moving underneath the shadows of the tables, but against the singular beam of light, it was harder to make out what. Eventually a form emerged, humanoid at first but then clearly growing into an increasing number of feet as it approached. As it entered into the light, Yost saw that it was indeed an octari in the flesh: Nearly two metres tall, the tentacled creature towered above the young elf, multiple appendages probing the air in Yost’s direction inquisitively. A boney hand reached up and massaged the back of his tentacled hair. “Oof, that table gave me a rude awakening. Sorry you had to see that.” Yost blinked. “A-are you alright, Master Xand?” The octari offered a small sigh. “Would that Vak’thuum had given me the strength to evolve out of the need to sleep, but alas. Until then, these all-nighters will continue to prey on me like the mites in my mattress. Oh, but where are my manners…” The opposite hand, equally boney, reached out. “Ewon Xand, principal investigator of the Stone Men project.” Yost grabbed his hand eagerly. “I-it’s a huge honour, Master Xand – or, or should I say Sczar Xa–” “Oh, there’s no need,” replied Xand with an almost venomous politeness. Yost shut up instantly. The octari seemed to make an effort to smile. “Considering that we will be working very closely together on this project, you may just call me Ewon. There are those that call me Ewe, too, if you prefer single syllables.” Yost nodded slowly. “O-okay, then, uhm… Ewon.” There was a second of silence. “I-I am Yost, by the way. Of Hollowbeck.” “Hollowbeck, huh? Would that be the name that your tribe gave to Thuu’zoj, the Folly of Sczar Thuu?” Yost blinked sheepishly. “That, that is what the elders surmise, at least.” The octari nodded. “So I wasn’t mistaken. Good. It is not often that I am lucky enough to encounter someone who have been in direct contact with my people and their remnants. There are not that many of us in this world, so I grasp at any straw of familiarity I can.” The octari squeezed Yost’s hand again. “I am truly glad to have you here.” Yost smiled. The pair then took a tour around the room, beginning with the desks. “Here’s your desk. You’ll have to forgive the mess.” A quick wave of a hand sent all the scrolls, tablets and books floating from this desk to another. “I forget how much space I tend to take up when I work alone.” “O-oh, it’s, it’s no matter, really.” Another hand wave saw a comfortable pillow fluff itself up and situate itself snugly against the desk. “Please let me know if you find your pillow uncomfortable. The house physician has contacts in the Tailor’s Guild that can fashion you whatever pillow, chair or seat you need for a comfortable workspace.” “I-I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Ewon winked. “Alright, but let me know. Now this–” he patted a small bookcase, “–is your case. You may store whatever literature you would like in it. If you find that you need more space, let me know and I’ll give word to Uncle Gus.” “Aha, so you call him that too, huh?” Ewon shrugged. “He seems to prefer the laid-back tone.” The pair then turned to the bubbling black pool in the centre of the room. “And here – the star of the show.” Yost’s eyes were wide as saucers. “A genuine spawning pool. I haven’t seen one since the Black Swamp back in my home village.” Ewon smiled proudly. “Oh yes. I made it myself, I’ll have you know. Take a look around the rim.” The edge of the pool gleamed faintly with strings of runes, magical incantations forming an array around the dark well. The octari waved his hand over the waters and the pair watched it foam over in a mirrored movement. “Through years of taming, training and testing, I have calibrated the R’kava in this well to spawn warriors for His Majesty’s war effort. A decade of relentless pursuits of knowledge, searching for every written and oral account of Octari shamans, combined with the vast and expansive knowledge of the Arcane, the Runic and the Astral provided by the Mages’ Guild, have all culminated in this [i]magnum opus[/i].” He knelt down and seemed to caress the black soup, which almost seemed to return the gesture affectionately. Ewon rose back up and cleared his throat. “Forgive me – it’s not a common occurrence that I get to show off my darling to someone who… Well, someone who cares.” Yost gleamed like an evangelised child. “Cares?! Ewon, this is bigger than anything I could have imagined! When do we start? Can we start now?!” Ewon grinned from eye to eye. “Hah! I knew we’d get along! Alright, since you are so eager, I say we take her for a test just so you can see how she works.” The pair continued the tour over to the walls. Quickly, Yost realised that there were in fact multiple entrances to the room, five in total, but only the main door had been decorated to match the aristocratic theme of the Runatorium. The other four doors were worn and beaten, resembling the gates of a besieged castle. Ewon walked over to one of the gates and gave it a knock. “Ready!” The gates swung open quickly and there was a small yelp followed by a tumble and a smack. As Yost looked down, he felt his smile begin to fade. At his feet was a small, starved goblin, chained and dressed in what could hardly even be called a loincloth. He lifted his head and looked at Ewon. “Wh-what am I missing?” The octari blinked. “O-oh! My bad, sorry. Instructions! So, we’ll be taking turns in–” “N-no, no. I-I mean, what is the goblin for?” Ewon furrowed what little brow he had. “For… For the test run. We could get a furfolk instead, if you’d like.” The whimper at his feet seemed to intensify the feeling twisting around Yost’s guts. “Could… Could you explain to me what the test run entails?” Ewon’s face frowned with understanding. “Oh, now I see…” A boney hand once again scratched at his neck. “Shoot. Uhm, this… This didn’t go quite as I had in mind. Look, I’m very sorry, son – I thought Gus had given you the details on the project.” “Wh-what details?” “Well… You know how R’kava works, right? The waters are alive and, well, the batch that seemed to produce the highest quality soldiers just so happened to have a bit of an… Appetite, so to speak.” The octari deflated a bit as he beheld Yost’s expression. “Look, I don’t like it either. I really wish there was another way, but… You know as well as me that when His Majesty wants something, he gets it. With this project, we have funding: You got your job; we get stipends to spend on research. We can help people, Yost!” “But these…” The elf looked down into the goblin’s mortified eyes. “... These are people.” A boney hand settled on his shoulder. “Not people, Yost – convicts, prisoners of war. I made sure this project would not put any innocents at risk. I trust Gus to keep his word on that.” Yost’s head shifted right to peer into the concerned eyes of Ewon. “We’re turning the scum of the streets into loyal soldiers which will keep the people of Oss safe and sound and let our troops hang back from the front. If that isn’t a good cause, I don’t know what is.” Yost swallowed. His mind was a storm, and it was hardly stilled by the grip about his shoulder and the prisoner at his feet. This was wrong. He knew the R’kava gave and could as easily take away, but this sort of exchange – a life for a life; a soul for a soldier – how could he justify that? Even in the name of science, of research and magic, it was insane. It was filthy. It was immoral. It was… It was… Eventually, he took a deep breath. He held it for a moment before sighing softly. He then cleared his throat and said, “You, uhm… You said you had instructions?” [hider=Summary!] The young elf Yost has just graduated from the Sylann Academy with a specialisation in R’kava, the manipulation of the soupy dark waters of Vak’thuum (see link on his disc tab). This has gotten him a job offer at the Runatorium of Bast, a magical factory in the Herring King’s capital of Oss in the Sibling Kingdoms in the southwestern Iris Sea (island group in the centre sea on the map). He gets a job on the Stone Men project, which produces super soldiers for the Herring King’s war against the rival Falgini. On his first day, he meets his mentor and idol, Ewon Xand, an octari who has created a spawning pool in the Runatorium which he uses to produce the super soldiers. The two hit it off and Ewon takes Yost for a test run, but the mood sours when Yost realises that super soldiers are produced by feeding mortals to the pool. Ewon explains that they only use criminals and POWs and that no innocent soul would ever be sacrificed. Yost is skeptical, but his curiosity gets the better of him and the post ends with his wanting to do his part for the war effort. [/hider]