Words like Plague (Solo)

by **Wrenmae** on June 28th, 2012, 3:12 am

Summer 03, 512 AV

“Overgiving is a consequence of magic, and magic alone. Just as the body builder risks tearing muscles or injuring his bones, and the scholar risks illness in pursuit of late studies, so does the mage suffer from overextension. Djed is inherent in all living beings, from the Nader Canoch word ‘backbone’. Magic, as we understand it, is the manipulation of that force into an application. Hypnotism transforms Djed into a manipulative parasite, burrowing into perceptions and changing them. Projection disconnects the astral body from the physical form, allowing for the invisible influence on the physical world. Flux uses currents of Djed along the human body in order to maximize and even surpass physical potential. Essentially, Djed is like clay. The form it takes is denoted by the experience of the caster.

Obviously, in order to achieve such phenomenal results, an equal amount of phenomenal risk must be assessed.”

Wrenmae closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose slowly before sitting back in his chair. The Wright library was quiet, moreso than he’d expected it to be in the afternoon. Students flitted like brightly colored birds between shelves. Sometimes they paused, withdrew a book, returned one, or just stared blankly down the corridor of embossed covers. Wrenmae let himself be distracted, the book at his fingertips already making his palms sweaty. The Dangers of Overgiving by Ronald Tremal. The letters were dark, almost black along the spine. The book was blue, faded fabric clinging to the cover where the letters extolled the dangers of its content in bold lettering. The pages were bent, an old book that had seen many hands. How many had peered within after their first accident, after they had strayed too far? How many voices were raised over the cover in defense of an assigned reading or thesis while pale hands trembled beneath the open cover? Wrenmae was alone at his table, his own digits drumming the tabletop nervously. He couldn’t read farther.

Zan, surprisingly, kept quiet. Ordinarily the Sarawanki were infamous for their lack of reflection, but Zan had been with Wrenmae a long time now. He knew the way the troubled mage struggled with his alternate selves, how much it wore on him. Perhaps he waited with anticipation of what would happen, or maybe he’d finally learned to hold himself back and redirect interest in times of mental duress. A student at a neighboring table ran a hand beneath her nose and sniffled, coughing lightly into her hand. It was in the times Wrenmae was not absorbed in his work that his influence became most clear. The Librarian held a hand to her forehead and frowned, wobbling on her feet and sitting down roughly. The Blight aggravated their conditions and dispositions, turning what might otherwise be nothing but a passing sneeze into something far worse.

He watched the girl across from him, chin resting on a hand he just watched. She sneezed again, glancing around the library before wiping her nose. It was already red. She might have picked up that little cold at the docks, an unexpected downpour. Maybe it had been on the book she picked up, corruption spreading along the pages, brought by other hands. In any case, she was within his aura of influence, an aura he could neither see nor measure. He tore his eyes away from her and back to the open pages. His breath was clear, his heartbeat elevated, but temperature normal. Wrenmae almost couldn’t remember the last time he’d been sick. Certainly not after Vayt.

by **Wrenmae** on June 28th, 2012, 3:13 am

Eleven years had taken their toll on the faux Alvadian, and his conscience only momentarily twanged, caught in sympathy for her suffering. But he could not feel sorry for everyone. The man who hooked his hand fishing off the docks in Alvadas that lost a finger to infection, the midwife whose gingivitis overtook her mouth and claimed her teeth…all of them. He couldn’t pity them anymore, much as he tried. His heart was heavy, so heavy. There was no memory of Sunberth, or rather, scattered days from which he never woke. Vayt was the least of his worries.

He leafed absently through the introductory chapter to Overgiving, seeing the words but not reading their meaning. Auristics was the first chapter presented, overgiving most common in the personal magics rather than the world magics. The book postulated it was because World Magic often acted through an intermediary, a charger stone for alchemy or the shapes drawn in Summoning and Glyphing. In any case, the body was an imperfect conduit for releasing Djed. Often, most of it went unreleased, or released without form. A pure mage would be any being able to channel Djed without risk of overgiving. Simply put, there would be no uncontrolled or excess Djed to damage the body from the lash-back of casting. Simple expulsions of magic followed by exhaustion and a need to recover. Regrettably, the sentient races of Mizahar had shown no such paragon among their ranks. None could truly harness a perfect control over their Djed. Even among the longer living races, the patience necessary to cultivate such control was lost on the necessity of magic in day to day activities. Never in moderation, always sudden, cataclysmic, and unexpected.
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by **Wrenmae** on June 28th, 2012, 3:15 am

Wrenmae closed his eyes, rubbed them, tuned out the coughing and sneezing around him. He wasn’t here to research Auristics overgiving, and turned past the pages of testimonials, observations, and conclusions. Another few chapters till he reached Hypnotism. The title itself bored into him, seeming to seep out of its page confine and slink toward his fingertips. Wrenmae withdrew his hands from the book sharply, but due to the age and use, it remained open to the page.

He didn’t look at it directly, averting his eyes to stare down the aisles of books, remembering the way the night had warped the shelves and sent the sea creeping around its alcoves. Rubbing his eyes, Wrenmae pushed himself away from the desk and stood up, turning to go.

“Not very scholarly of you there,” Zan piped up, churning in the mage’s stomach, “If you’re gonna drag us out to this exhaustively boring place, at least don’t waste our time.”

Wrenmae frowned, glancing furtively back over his shoulder at the open pages, sighed, and sat down again. This wasn’t what he really wanted to be doing, but it probably was what he should be doing. There was a part of him that felt he could fix himself, or be fixed, if only he didn’t accept the damages done to his own mind. If he read the pages beneath him, would that not set into reality what had happened? What hope was there of change then? It was an illogical fear, of course, but one that had dogged him since he began looking for a book on Overgiving, half hoping one had never been written.

But here it lay.

by **Wrenmae** on June 28th, 2012, 3:17 am

Perhaps most interesting about the manuscript was that the author, Tremel, was not a mage. Or, at least, he claimed he wasn’t. Instead the author had tackled magic from the perspective of a historian. A brief summary of his story was in the back of the book, referenced along with his other experiences in the contents beforehand, but best clarified after the appendix. Second son of a merchant, Tremel had been slated into a life of furs and silks. His first experience of magic was personal, as his brother was a survivor of a leecher attack. Wrenmae didn’t know what Leeching was, so he had to read the chapter on it. The details were horrifying. Tremel had only interviewed two documented leechers, and both had only agreed to recount their stories if he agreed to use pseudonyms for the names. Arguably, it could all be a fabrication, but if there was any truth to it…Wrenmae never wanted to meet a leecher. That sort of magic, feeding off the Djed from another person, poisoning oneself in order to do it. Absolutely terrifying.

The brother was not one of the interviewed. Regrettably he was hung as a mage in Sunberth four years after the incident. Tremel detailed how his brother had toyed with personal magic thereafter, delving into one of the more damning disciplines, Hypnotism, which eventually led to his undoing. During this time, Tremel had begun to take notes on his brother and the various experiences of trading life in a journal. It was supposed to precede this book as more of a personal account rather than an informational piece, but the librarian did not have it, nor knew its whereabouts. After the hanging, Tremel traveled to both Sahova and Zeltiva in order to document the effects of overgiving and the marks personal magic left on the body and mind. Zeltiva proved to be more open to his forays than Sahova, and so a lot of the information had been compiled from visiting mages or teachers, all long since passed…or perhaps just returned to Sahova.

The accounts were taken as they were told, sometimes experienced. It was the kind of story that seemed too coincidental, too well planned. Was a God playing with fate…or perhaps was the story embellished? In the end, it wasn’t so important. The book was a resource of Overgiving side effects and signs…the damage done to the body and soul through magic. If only this book had been available back in Alvadas, perhaps he would have never stolen the book on Hypnotism at all.

Sickeningly he wondered how Alric’s mind was, and if he’d gotten his letter.

Inevitably his eyes were drawn back to the page, the word spilling out beneath the header as if written with his own damning hand. He felt sick, his stomach churned and sweat beaded his forehead. It was his mind, of course. He couldn’t get sick anymore. His own body rebelled against him.

But he put his eyes to the page, and read.

“Of all the personal magics, Hypnotism can be the most dangerous to the self. Djed is brought up from the body into the mouth or eyes and cast out, like a spear, into the aura of another being. The nature of Hypnotism is like a sickness. It infects the host and changes their emotional or psychological layout to be more receptive to further infection. In some cases, these manipulations can have deadly consequence. It is this writer’s opinion that there is no greater attack or intrusion than the willful manipulation of another’s mind, that most precious sanctum of thought. Hypnotists need neither incantations nor gestures to aid their craft, only aiding their subterfuge. The greatest secret a Hypnotist possesses is that he is a hypnotist. When that fact is discovered, his ability diminishes beneath a careful eye and raised suspicion…”

Wrenmae skipped a few pages, uncomfortable with the underlying fire beneath the author’s words. The girl at the far table had lay down on her book and fallen asleep. Her face was paler now, shimmer-slick with sweat. A fever had taken root in her. Wrenmae turned back to the book.

“With such dangerous manipulation comes an almost equal risk to the mage. The serpent is not immune to its own venom. Likewise, a Hypnotist is not safe from his own manipulations. Often these fabrications, these illusions can turn on the caster. Often these overgivings are subtle, unnoticed till later, if at all. The first signs of overgiving with a Hypnotist is the taste of blood upon his tongue or blood seeping from his eye. Thus far I have had no reported incidents of blindness from this bleeding, but I am told it is the first sign that a Hypnotist has pushed himself too far. Should he continue past this point, his mind is subject to the same insecurity and ruin he can bring on others. A Zeltivan mage named Calot has informed me that, in the past, Hypnotists were routinely subjected to mental competency exams, using three different small councils in order to ensure that manipulation be kept minimal. Hypnotists have the highest rate of insanity among the practitioners of Personal magic. Symptoms observed include-“

“Hey, is this seat taken?”

Wrenmae rocked out of his seat, slamming the cover of the book and wheeling away, falling over himself and onto the ground in a flurry of limbs. Laughter followed him, and he glanced up to see a girl’s face peering over the tabletop, grinning. Her moon face was smooth, her features definitely Lhavitian, set with coal dark eyes and a thin bewitching smile. She was dressed similarly to him, cloak over simple clothes and she offered him a hand. Wrenmae hesitated, frowned, and got to his feet without taking the assistance. He brushed at his clothes as if trying to sweep away his embarrassment, taking the skewed chair and pulling it into the table again. A momentary frown darkened her expression, but it was gone in an instant. “Always so skittish around women?” She slipped back into the seat across from him and smiled coyly, her ink eyes exotic and compelling.

by **Wrenmae** on June 28th, 2012, 3:24 am

“I…No,” Wrenmae answered, shrugging helplessly, “You startled me, that’s all.”

“Uh…boss?” Zan piped from inside his stomach, “What are you-“

“Not in the mood, Zan,” Wrehnmae muttered to himself, “Keep out of it.”

A sigh. “As you wish. Don’t break anything, alright boyo? Maybe take your conversation somewhere more private?”

“I’ll talk where I want to, just be still for awhile.”

And Zan was, leaving only the emotional residue of worry between their mental link. Honestly, Zan was a hard one to figure out, even now.

“Talk to yourself much?” She giggled, and a hot flush burned Wrenmae’s cheeks. “Don’t worry,” she assured with a wink, “I won’t tell.”

“Thanks, I…I don’t really do it often. Sorry if it frightened you.” Again that shyness, a wall of bulwark between him and the person he used to be. The sudden urge for a tankard of mead curled his fingers into the shape of the handle, but there was no buffer to save him from this confrontation, no elixir to call upon the past. Instead he opened his mouth to continued, closed it, and sighed, looking down at his hands. Honestly. Hopeless.

“I’m fine,” she assured, waving a hand between them, “I’ve seen stranger habits in uglier men.” A laugh, like wind through chimes. It reminded him of the mountains. “Are you a student here?”

“Yes,” he answered, smiling, “I study magical theory and history.”

“I gathered the first from your little checkout,” one of her long fingers flipped at the closed cover of the book, “Writing a paper on overgiving?”

“Err, yeah,” Wrenmae lied, nodding vigorously, “Professor Rayage assigned it and I’m getting an early start.”

Another brief frown, “Where are your notes then,” She asked, raising an eyebrow, “Your material? Can you just remember all those details without writing them down?”

Too late Wrenmae recognized his mistake. She led him into a deception, threw him off balance, now he was caught in a difficult position. If he said he could, she’d no doubt quiz him on the contents. If he said no, he’d have to come up with another story. Worse, it would make him look like a liar already. Inside his own head he berated his lack of foresight. Outwardly, he froze, like one of the busts eerily holding vigil over the library.

“You’re a mage,” she whispered, putting a hand on his own, it was cold.“And you’re afraid you’ve overgiven.”

He remained frozen.

“Keep your secrets then, but I can’t help if you won’t talk, Egyptus.” She stood up, drawing the storyteller’s gaze with her. She had said it. Said his name, his REAL name. The name he had before Wrenmae, before Vayt, before all of this. His heart thudded against the inside of his body, throwing itself against his ribcage as if trying to break free, to escape. He felt sick again.

“I just wanted to introduce myself, Li, by the way, and see how you were doing.” She paused, tapping a finger against her chin, “You know, apart from that unfortunate bit of business with that girl at the Scholar Forum, you’ve been able to keep in pretty good control so far.” Her hands sprang together, clapping delightedly “Proud of you. But then, this isn’t anything like Sunberth, is it?” she bent near to his wide eyes, his pale face, “Do you even remember Sunberth?”

He didn’t answer.

“Well, I’m sure it’s none of my concern, but I wanted to offer a hand in your…troubles. I mean, if you’ll let me.” She stood up straight and tapped the book with her fist. “We’ll be in touch. Keep it together, huh? They’ll lock you up if they know.” She inclined her head at the librarian, giving Wrenmae an odd look and he followed her direction, swallowing.

When his eyes darted back to her, she was gone, leaving him almost alone in the library…or at least as alone as he was before.

The librarian returned to his work, casting a suspicious stare in his direction every once in a while. Nervous, his body on fire with popping muscles and spasms, Wrenmae scrabbled for the book and twitched back to where he found it. No one watched him from either side of the rows; no one stared in the spaces between books. The Overgiving book was jammed back into its place by uncertain hands, he tremor and slid to his knees. Who was she? Li? Had he spoken to her in Lhavit? How could she know his name? How could she know about overgiving? Did she know about the Blight? Too many unanswered questions and too much of a shock. It was never so clear how much he’d been hiding till now…all the misery and agony he brought. What he was. Ever since being tortured in Sunberth, he’d been focused on himself, on his struggles. His broken mind, his lost memories, his lack of conviction or purpose. Once upon a time he’d vowed to kill Vayt. Where was he now?

Reading? Plaguing students?

Tears pushed against his eyes, frustrated, angry things that struck hot against his skin before vanishing. By chance or fate, no one came upon him, no one disturbed him. Zan remained quiet and the world kept turning.

Somewhere, beyond the books, someone coughed.

by **Echelon** on July 9th, 2012, 2:58 pm

Adventurer's Loot

A Gift
Experience is its own reward.

Wrenmae's Loot :

(This was really a joy to read, Wren. So many threads are grinded out just for XP, but this had a real sense of purpose, and peaked my intrigue. My favorite bit was being able to see Wrenmae reflect on his influence on the world, and see some purpose in him. I know you have probably played his guilt to no end in the past, to the point where it was boring for you. But here in Zeltiva we hadn't been able to see that side of Wren yet. So that was cool. Beautifully written as always. Thank you for sharing.) - if you have ANY questions or concerns about this grading, please PM me.