14th of Sifdras - 2nd Ivora

  My first day starts with an alchemy class led by Professor Greenborrow, who is an infernai with a light blue skin tone, purple hair, and adorably small horns poking through. They wear a light apron over a navy colored turtle neck sweater with the sleeves rolled up. Cira is especially excited about this class as she has heard amazing things about them and wants to follow in their footsteps to fulfill her dream. I can’t help but smile at Cira’s excitement. Even during the lecture on how to follow a recipe, her note taking is enthusiastic. I thought for sure she would break a nib from writing too hard!

  After the lecture, the Prof. has us get into groups for a practical application. I am even more grateful for Cira as each group has to have someone familiar with the tools. Though technically I am “familiar” with these tools, my multiple epiphanies during the lecture tells me that there are some wide gaps in my understanding. While I mostly paid attention to my mother’s instruction in the alchemical sciences, I was not particularly fond of them. Especially in the most recent years since the Darkened Veil; since the twin birds appeared.

  Even though Cira clearly has more experience in this than I do, for some reason she begs me, of all people, to lead our group of four; Cira, myself, Munsa, who I was surprised to find in this class, and a panthara girl by the name of Natsumi. Cira is fidgeting with the amulet around her neck while she asks, eyes downcast. How can I say no to her earnest request? I heave a sigh as I look over the instructions which is a simple recipe for a brewed potion I have never heard of called a Potion of the Deft Ear.

  After telling the group the assignment and showing them the recipe, I assign tasks such as getting ingredients, materials, and tools. Interestingly, at the end no one has the same potion in the group. Cira’s is, of course, perfect as noted in the recipe by the final result of a clear potion with pieces of soot and salts floating in it. Even though the rest of us all used the same ingredients, each of our processes were different, resulting in some, well, interesting concoctions.

  Munsa’s was still a dark, muddy color and Cira tells her that she likely didn’t boil it for long enough. Natsumi’s potion is more of a viscous gel than a liquid. I suspect that the heat was maybe too high on her portable burner. My own potion is also the wrong color, but instead of being opaque like Munsa’s, mine has turned a bright, translucent green. This is a shocking result to me and the sentiment must be plain on my face as Cira tires to console me. During this time Professor Greenborrow has come to review our potions.

  It is as I suspected with Natumi’s potion and likewise, Cira is correct about Munsa’s. The professor gives accolades to Cira’s potion, which is perfect, as expected. They pause at mine, a critical, searching expression on their face as they hold it up to the light.

  “Interesting…” They muse before taking a swig.

  My eyes bulge and I’m not the only one with this reaction of trepidation.

  “Professor! I did it wrong. Isn’t that dangerous?!” I plead as they click their tongue, tasting the green concoction. What came out of their mouth next was completely unintelligible and my heart drops. All I that goes through my mind is how I will be punished for poisoning a professor on my first day.

  Cira responds in the same smooth sounds that Prof. Greenborrow had spoken and her shock melts into a broad smile. Turning to me, Cira speaks using words I can understand. “Serea, you are amazing!”

  I gesture wildly, denying her praise that I clearly do not deserve. “It’s not—“

  “I agree, Miss Dawnspire.” The professor intones, calmly interrupting my hysteria. “What Miss Crowfoot has made is a Potion of the Deft Tongue.”

  I blink. All thought escaping me.

  “While it is not exactly the assignment, you get full marks on this exercise.” They give me a thumbs up before moving on to the next group.

  Cira and I spend all of our lunch break in the Great Hall going over what I did wrong, or maybe what I did right with the potion I made. We go over each step in the process carefully, trying to find the thing that made our potions differ. The only thing we can find is that I added an extra stir when adding the salts. She questions why I did this and all I can come up with in response is it is just a habit I learned from my mother. Unfortunately, this only reinforces her false assumptions that I actually know what I’m doing.

  After lunch, I head to one of the smaller, adjacent buildings to the massive main building that was our home for all of one week. The room I find myself in is a half a bowl-shape, with a long desk and blackboard on the low side and rows of desks stepping up in a half-circle on the opposing side. The desks are stacked five wide on each of the four levels and by my estimation three-four scribes could likely fit at each desk. To fit so many in one space, it reminds me more of one of those stages where plays and dramas are performed than a classroom.

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  Nevertheless, I know I am in the right place when I see a few scribes practicing gestures with words from a dusty old tome in the direct middle of the second row. I pass them by quickly and quietly, only daring to focus on them indirectly from the corner of my eye, ears keen for the words I can’t understand. I situate myself on the third row of desks just to the left of where they practice and collaborate on what the other is doing wrong.

  The threads act confused when they say the foreign words, their gestures clumsy and strange. I stay my hand to try and help them since I found out from trying to do so with Cira will only cause another mishap. Still, I watch intently as the threads bounce from one scribe to the other as they both attempt the same spell, fingers stiff as nails trying to tack at the mana to manifest it. I cringe inwardly. Maybe also outwardly. Was I ever this poor at weaving? If I had been, I cannot recall it.

  They stop, thankfully as the classroom fills up and Professor Moonshadow enters the room. She is a tall human clad in a corseted, long sleeved black dress down to her ankles from which protrude jet black, heeled boots. The dark pigment is a stark contrast to her rather pale skin I notice as she takes off a pointed black hat with a white and gold ribbon around the brim and a lightly, tinkling bell attached. She sets it on the long desk at the low side of the room, flicking her dark auburn hair carefully so she doesn’t knock the square framed spectacles from off her face.

  She introduces herself and the general premise of this Basic Magic Studies course in an unenthusiastic but confident voice. My heart echoes with anticipation when she explains that this is a primer course for understanding the most common methods of spell casting, not necessarily the use and/or application of such methods as that would be nigh impossible to grade. She does expect us all, instead, to be able to identify different casting methods as well as articulate the theory of them. In addition to this, she expects us to know what is Arcanum, or magical tools that aide in spell casting, and how to use at least one. The professor drones on that this will be a topic of the Mock Exams at the end of the term.

  I feel my face scrunch at this news. Of course there would be exams. This is a school after all. For some reason, this idea of measuring our progress never really occurred to me. Once again, I feel a weight of all the ideas I previously had about studying here shift into a more realistic representation. It is only slightly daunting as other scribes around me are also groaning at the dreaded phrase “this will be on your exam”.

  The lecture likewise, has me flustered as even the terms she is using are completely new to me. Nothing is explained in the simplistic terms of different colored thread or types of knots to be woven. Nothing about the lattice of the weave to enhance your will upon the raw mana to manifest it. Instead she talks about such unknown things like words of power, spell grammary, mental imagery, and somatic gestures. The lecture concludes with Prof. Moonshadow telling us to read up on the sections in our text about incantation before class next week.

  15th of Sifdras - 3rd Emder

  Today’s main class for me is Relic Studies with Professor Lighthammer. He has a kindly face with a mop of light brown hair and well trimmed beard, which is only overshadowed on his face by an overly large set of slightly tinted glasses. He wears a leather apron over a dark brown knit vest and tie with a white undershirt rolled up to the sleeves. It reminds me keenly of the staff member with wild red hair who delivered letters to us at the 5th floor dormitory.

  Speaking of the dormitory, I find that Vesa is in this class with me and we greet each other warmly with a hug before finding our seats at separate workbenches that line the room in rows. It is rather comforting to have someone I know in class as I felt the absence of a friend in Professor Moonshadow’s class yesterday. Maybe I’ll get lucky for my other two classes and find someone I know in those, too.

  The lecture is really interesting as it focuses on schematics and intention, something that I wish my Magic Studies class had touched on yesterday. But I was unaware that this class also has a practical application of actually making relics. Having never made anything magical other than misfortune, it is extremely difficult to think of what, exactly, I should make. Especially from the perspective of what I can make that will not potentially backfire and try to kill me.

  Yeah, something safe. Maybe earth-based. That seems safe. I think as I pick up a piece of yew branch from a miscellaneous bin of materials we are to choose from. I am the last person left to choose their piece and Prof. Lighthammer approaches me while the other students begin working at their own desks.

  “Thinking of what to make?” His gruff voice is not unkind and I nod emphatically. “Then don’t think. Just pick one and get to know it. There is no deadline for this assignment today. In fact, it is rather a term-long endeavor meant to be a way to help you through the process of imbuing.”

  “Imbuing?” I ask, having never heard the term before.

  “It is the term we use for imposing our will on an object through mana.” He informs me without descent or judgment. “It is the first principle needed to understand how Arcanum is made.”

  I nod, starting to understand. “What are the other principles?”

  He gives a chuckle, “Let’s walk before we run, shall we?” He gestures at the piles of materials in front of us which are separated into metal bins on the long table in the back of the room.

  I let his words sink in for a moment as I bite my lip in contemplation, but I catch myself, shake my head, and close my eyes. I feel for instead of see that ever-present thrum of aether that permeates the air and reach out where it directs me. My hand connects with the pieces in one of the bins and I get a sense for what they are. Not what they look like, but what they are made of. My hand connects with something smooth and a warm tingle travels up and through my arm. I snatch it up and open my eyes to see what I pulled out of the bin. It is a smooth ovular stone and seems like one good for skipping on the beach.

  I smile at the thought as I look up at Prof. Lighthammer whose usually stoic face has a brow raised. Adjusting his glasses and schooling his face he gives me a nod before wandering off to assist other students. “Excellent.”

  Perplexed by his reaction, but equally satisfied with the praise, I take the stone back to my desk and start outlining my intentions for this little project.