Glyph Training - Perilous Learning

[Clarion Voss]

Timestamp: 23rd of Summer, 509 AV
Flashback - PV

The cold false blue marble hung above the youth like a storm that would not rain. Qalaya had become merciful this morning, for the mage`s mind stretched back as sea salt ground into the sandy beach; found for miles along it`s edge whilst the water quietly receded. This turbulent past turned to hot glass within an artisan`s tongs, shifting and hardening as the coffee locked Clarion`s mind awake.
Blinking he saw the capital of Alahea, it`s range and depth like an eagle call twirling from a sky dropped view, lessening in scope till it came toward a knee's height.

Gods thrice blessed there was a boy and a benshira working in some private study lined in mosaic stone and woven wicker. Here Voss tasted the memories of soft parchment, heavy ink and the task of language like the sensation was his very first.. Primary Study and Language. Glyphs.

"Now what is A Glyph?" The studious teacher recoiled within the shades of his robe, walking softly toward the seated pupil.
The child did not hesitate long, speaking with a fresh exuberance. "A letter."
His master nodded, raising a palm to signify the continuance of expression.

"A picture that`s tied in a little knot." The boy blurted.
His teacher paused in step and in tone, eyes suddenly closing with patience. "What is a Sigil?"

"A snake that`s tied in a bow with a belly full of mice. Freeing it`s body lets all the animals loose to cause trouble and bother those stone men."
"Why don`t you draw a cat then?" The elder quipped, riding the trail of thought blandly.

"What did it eat?"

"Fire."

"Fire master?" Hesitancy of self logic gripped the student, while his elder changed topics swiftly.

"A glyph would be the mouse and the sigil a snake. Look at it like the alphabet of our great Nader-canoch. Individual letters become words... sentences, paragraphs and pauses.

Pockets of Djed, each one individual and potent infused then stringed together, transmuted and transformed. Choose your diet carefully for a sick mongoose could kill this paper cobra. We must become bold and emblazoned yet equally so restrained to the limits of our intellect. Your imagination is impressive yet without the Intent - the ability to hunt and catch the very best prey it's weak. By not using the strongest glyphs in perfect sequence it's sigil is little more then poorly written novel, one that kills the author for it`s mediocre fair. A fitting poise for vanity and excess, yet not one a student of mine will experience bec'ause unlike the Suvan apostles who fling themselves to Dira on whim, you will learn here discipline."

The wizened figure slammed a palm against the boy`s desk, staring him in the eyes with a lost hatred.

"There is no snake, nor mouse, not even a fat alley cat with a weak smile. There is Only your brush - the page - and my voice. We make magic not fairy like tales so write the primary signs again. Focus your will through djed and bind the incantation I have taught to you." He paused in emphasis. "Now."

[Clarion Voss]

Long hours dictated their own terms, sparsely grasped strokes of ink hid within themselves worlds of personal design. Honored Knights and powerful maidens, spindles of hair, kavri and incense, taunt swords and feral lizards soaked through the pages as the black blotted and dried. A child's mind was a truly inattentive construction, easily distracted and found wonder behind every flutter of page and wing.
The rigid cane of the master changed all that. With it came a back bone of energy that seared words into brands, conveying meaning within only an ounce of physical space. Pensive mutations thickened into a broth behind the iron pigment of the boy's sensitive touch.

He channeled the gifts given to him into images of chickens and goats, water pails to be toted behind each word, bowl to bowl bucket to cistern. The ancient tongue did come easily, but that was the short lived problem. Such a perilous rate of learning drove the child into a carefree estimation of the dangers of glyphing.

There was a unique power to be had in both division and unity, channeling pure djed and the informal rawness of magic into his gifts would take very real restraint. His meager tutelage became a faultless appraisal of the strength and accuracy of each measured line, every shallow curve, or reckless dot. If the brush was the transcription of the soul, an echoing mirror of freckles and loose teeth then it was still a slanted shard. Like a seed being nourished, he needed time to grow.
Clarity of transcription was still more like a muddy pool then a glass sea. It would take the very cleansing of the student's character to build a true transfer of magic. It was the pupil's task to store raw djed that would be reabsorbed later, learning to not only charge the page as a lively storeroom but to live with less res and regenerate it's loss naturally and severely. This action was the safety protocol of the lesson.. to prevent overuse by pooling a cherished ounce to be devoured later. Such throbbing meditation took over his frontal lobes, absorbing the student's sinuses so that within the casual display of each stroke there was the faint renewal of ground pigment laced in chemical ether, it felt as though his tongue was millstone against the roof of his jaw.

The young pupil had spent months painting his fingers black, noticing the ancient flow constrict and collect between digits, drawing the force along bone and muscle to flee through fingers and fissures of the body. The stoic master did not allow this type of behavior in tests and challenges, yet encouraged "cheating" within the class room because in his guarded words "the opponent would not play to the tome so you must adapt beyond regiment always." This encouraged a balance of self reliance, perfection of technique and adaptability.

Inside the grammar, dictation, rule and calligraphy of the Nador-Cadoch was held a plethora of vibrant meaning. Even simple sounds, half letter and quarter strokes against the page aligned in memorization and understanding. Sound it's self was primarily linked to thought. His page held these tools of vibration for to the Alahean tutelage each order of it's tongue spun magic, binded it like a bow; as a song to the very pages of papyrus below. Letters did not only convey conventional dictation but deeper, richer tones full of color, lingering in the rarity and spices of life. So too was the glyph transmitted in song, sound and coil of fiery ink. Every sigil now his words.. as simple as Hold, Fire and Air.

[Clarion Voss]

One morning the Bensari mage opened the dry wood shutters to find a hawk sitting perched on the sill of their study. It studied him fearlessly as did the grim human in return. Breaking contact, the master clapped both hands to wipe the chalk from his palms searching visually for the boy.

"Come." He pointed to the large sigil on the stone floor. "What is that."

"A focus sigil master."

The man nodding almost rolling his shoulders as if wanting more or mocking the answer.

"The letters U - S - L - T and A placed over top of one another forming a bound sigil, likely cast vocally into a word."

"Which means.. " Heavy black eyebrows raised solomly.

"Salt u.. slatu.. Sutla!" The child's shortly cropped brown hair lifted in exuberance but the master simply crossed both hands over one another, tilting his chin down.
"It's traditional meaning is length and width, an expansion. For a mage it is a word which amplifies the casting bound to it's pages." Raising a finger, the Bensari stepped out from beside his pupil walking smoothly around the circle.
"Be mindful. Without the proper intention the letters also spell other words like talus - debris of stone.. Elementally quite powerful when desired, but not quite to a mage binding a morph enchantment into it's pages. The recipient literally.. fell to pieces. Remember. Mind." TWAK! A spry cane smacked against floor, echoing across the hall and preceeding coridors."Ful." TWAK!! "Ness."

The pupil simply smiled yet the reed cane smacked him firmly across the face, literally forcing the child to his hands and knees, but there lay little remnants of fury in the eyes of his better. The spry mage then withdrew his arm solemnly.
"Go... Draw this sigil on your page and prepare it for delivery." There was silence but not one stifled tear, only resilience on behalf of both parties. The man's voice was quiet yet never gentle.
"Bind these same words into a single sigil."

The pupil begin the process again, this time sore in the face. Focusing a single large glyph to contain pre-determined magic like a cistern. His trembling fingers accidentally pushed one his smuggled toys over the cusp of the black line. In an instance the binding coiled over the wooden figure like vines and in a flash it was gone, sealed behind the nearly two dimension of brittle paper. He looked up slowly as if already caught, but the old man was too busy feeding something at the window. Quietly swallowing, the boy slid the paper under his tunic, not understanding the full weight of his actions.

Again and again his discipline dipped against the papyrus. His master's voice haunted him, but a stubborn self will pushed the boy further. He wanted to beat this. Own it. Move on.
Using his left hand to write, the ink always seemed to smudge while moving his palm left to right. He tried the other way. He attempted writing the same words right to left. It came easy. Strangely, it felt immediately right.. words slid across the pages backwards, sentences, symbols, ideas.. forms. What did they mean in reverse? The pages did not seem to smear so easily now. His throat was growing dry and fingers ceased with a tired clench. No end phrase was given, nor would it till he had succeeded. He would, front to back, reverse to forward.

[Clarion Voss]

The daylight darkened to night. In silence the man and the boy ate their final meal of the day. Cups of water and thin grape juice washed down fruit, boar meat, hot stew and bread. There was no tension left, but the weariness of two mages who pursued greater things. The student's fingers rattled his cutlery against the stark plate. The old man looked up once, then finished his piece of meat. Washing both hands under an inset fountain designed for exactly that, the Bensari pulled something from between his teeth.

"Boy. Come."

He led the pupil to a darkened room lit by one soft candle. It felt dangerous with the sound of howling wind echoing far beyond reach, as if the floor it's self was about to give way to the blackness of space beyond. The man sat down outside of a series of rounded glyphs quietly. It was well noted that the boy was simply expected to follow. The master then folded his legs across one another, contorting them into a strange fashion with both hands outstretched over the knees, thumb and forefinger connected. The young apprentice had been here before.
They were here to meditate, maybe more.. the symbols were fresh and concise as if preparing for a greater event to transpire sooner tonight.

Breathing in the student then joined the old master, sitting as best he could with his legs folded naturally instead of painfully knotted. He straightened his back while lowering his jaw slightly then lifted his tongue against the palette of his mouth. With blank eyes slightly closed and focused on only the inside, both males began to breathe.. slowly, deeply. Inhaling through the nose while exhaling out the mouth, seeking to wrap one breathe into the next so that the flow never ceased in it's purity and focus.
They were here to purge the overgiving, the shaky loss of djed then fill the lungs, the bones, the muscle, tissue and boundaries of life force anew.
Still shaking, the child tried to stay straight, let his mind quiet into a still pool, noticing the loss of strength that inhabited even the foundation of his spine begin to strengthen as if once again firmly rooted in the ground. It was beautiful. Lines of power, meridians, nerves, energy, began to coarse through his body like a basket being woven by invisible hands, tightening into the harmony of completion. With each new weave came the formation of resolve, intention and focus. To live it was to breathe it all in.

Nothing affected him here, only the constant grip of his own body. Every slap, each insult faded like wax to wick. Breathing out the pain and emptiness, he became filled with the life of Priskil. A hope and building of craft, creating a precision instrument and that was him. Like the tide, his lung filled with air flooding his body anew only to let go once again into the peace and serenity of the universal form of djed. Like the ocean, he knew it's stillness carried with it the danger of rocky shoals and storms beyond belief. He believed. In himself.

When awoken finally the candle in front of his eyes had gone out, leaving him alone in darkness, or so it seemed. From across the chamber came the sway of robes.

"Come here. Across the room along the walls alone. Do not step the center. It could be your death truly."

In the darkness he must come. The pupil attempted to stand, his physical joints stiff and sore from under use. Resting against the walls for support, he then inched forward feeling the crackle of deadly electricity to the right of him. Some uncanny presence he had not felt before leaped at him from the darkness, making the cold wall to his left the anchor and compass from which he directed himself. Moving slowly, the numbness of his two left feet caught one another forcing the boy down towards the floor, down towards the center.
Suddenly a vice like grip caught his arms and threw him back against the stone that had once been the only thing he could trust in this black night. He unconsciously winced in pain.

"I just saved your life. Be grateful."

A strange ambient light came on and in the center of the graven circle stood a black absence, the reverse prism outlined into the hunched shape of a humanoid shadow.

"This is a Gordios." Twelve Black candles lit around the circle in unison like a hushed choir. "Let us.. say Hello."

[Clarion Voss]

The boy had studied the basics of Summoning. He knew the Gordios by another name and form. It was the master's familiar. A hawk named Simone.. So why was this dangerous?
Studying the circle, he noticed it had three rings. The outer most for containing and keeping any reaction within, combined with an inner circle of sixteen interlinked spaces. Within these grooves were the laborious glyphs of coordinates. It read 6701984710485453 counterclockwise.
Fyrden. Next came a smaller circle intersected by lines designed to contain the summoned beast within.
"Simone" the Gordios was not within this one.. in fact it was opening the gateway to Fryden as he watched. Perhaps touching these areas would cause him some pain should the circle be prepared and open. Something pricked his right index finger tip.

"Draw this blood over the outer rim and let it touch the surface."

He did so without question, but it wasn't out of trust, but of what would happen should the pupil disobey. Watching the liquid fall and splatter against the binding, the boy flinched as the matter sizzled and connected him to the process at hand. Simone then spoke.

"Hail Young One. Please describe where you and I are now opening a summoning portal."

It's voice was absent of love, but bordered on cruel pleasure.

"Um, Hello Simone. It's Fyrden. You're umm. Home! A planet near our own Mizahar. Astral Coordinates .. in reverse are 6701984710485453. Emission's measured by sixteen Infinitite crystals, found by tonal intensity due to vibration by being struck by a magnus tool. Um.. hmm. "

"Do not pause. Answer it!"

"Yes Master." The boy stuttered, regrouping his inner clarity. "Fyrden is the world of Familiars! A ... complicated place and sadly overpopulated. It is by text book definition a Low World. Or place who's inhabitants would gladly escape from. Unfortunately the Fyrdenese exist only by absorption of Djed from their native surroundings. Which in a positive light is quite unique! The only way this works outside of their planet is by symbiotic bond.. which makes .. your kind so perfect for the role of Familiarity. It is a small planet which closely orbits a star but does not rotate making it a true juxtaposition of light and dark. This carries over into it's inhabitants own nature. There are Lightfacers and Darkfacers. Both unique and interesting in their own right. The known native breeds are Sarwanki, Pascid, Avavali, Irylid, Kit, and Gordios.. which is.. what you are."

He was starting to question the nature of this affair. Was the master giving him a Familiar of his own or was this simply an exercise in humility and caution. The creature spoken to wavered above the lines, searching for a suitable candidate for summoning by pursing through the glyph lines.

"Tell me what these extra geometrical forms are and what their glyphs present to us.."

The boy squinted, searching up and down over the shapes and gullies.

"There is a tetrahedron and a half circle. The bindings are meant to syphon the summon to only attract creatures above a certain strength and below another. The large glyph inside the half circle is designed to make the creature feel at ease and more comfortable in their new surroundings, possibly even against their will."

With a flash of light and tremor of distinctly discordant energy the circle shimmered before their eyes, draining the human child slightly, but he steadied his footing and squinted against the escalating brightness. The silhouette was sharp yet stout, and giggled with joy.

[Clarion Voss]

The white heat pulsed then distilled into the glow of the twelve ominous candles. Clenching his fear, the pupil watched with amazement as the new creature turned it's head to signal it was indeed alive. The thing was short, fat with large beady eyes and some would say cute little horns. It's skin was that of a red newt, interspersed with faded spots of brown and green.

"Welcome Kirt. What is your name and what would make you a dominant suitor of familiarity in Mizahar." Simone seemed to speak with regret as if wishing for another breed of creature. The Imp before them admired his surroundings and even pretended not to test it's boundaries.

"Heh Heh Heh! Not every day you meet an Archwizard and his apprentice! Name's Timson Ta and Boy am I glad to SEE you. You need Cleaning? Count on me! You need Accounting, I'm great with numbers. A Tailor to patch your Knee? I'm good for that too. I can Cook, I don't complain about being hit or whipped and I'll never stab you in the back! I can camouflage myself to blend into the surrounding, so it'll be like I'm not even there! That's right.. name's Timson TA!"

"Ta ta."

With a flash Timson was gone, but marked for a temporary return.

"Bring Another. This time make sure it's not a raving blithering Idiot."

The boy was silent through out this process, as if he had no say in all for something that would possibly affect the remainder of his entire life.

"Not my fault... I swear it. Why not let the boy try."

With a tone of hesitation the master agreed. "Fine." The old man stepped away from his student as if signaling the danger of such a suggestion.
Standing with his toes nearly touching the third ring the lad focused on understanding the flow of energy all around him. Each line, every turn. The order and reason for every glyph and symbol. He remained calm while opening his mind to the sanctity and draw of the process as a whole. It was time to bring forth another and reopen the portal. The bound djed held it's focus, allowing the boy to trace his blood magic along it's frame with greater ease. The hard work appeared to be in laying the ground work, and basis for arrival.. now it was a matter of awakening those channels, one by one in sequence. His pursuit of magic rode along the cusp of each turn like the spine of some mythic animal. As each ring aligned to the cause, there arose a ringing within his ears, so that as the second ring came on with the third two tones could be heard beneath the recesses of his skull.
The pupil wondered if that happened to every summoner or simply to himself alone. Pressing further, when guiding the magic toward the center point from all surrounding angles, there felt like a great underwater pressure building up against his own skull, so that to awaken the summoning portal was to crush his brains to dust. Still the boy pursued while a trickle of blood seared down his nose; and in a flash, in a whimper a great light appeared once more.. pulling out a fresh silhouette, one that was jagged, uneven and hard.

The lights never faded but within his own blurring eyesight. The purge of energy took so much it was dizzying. Never before had the boy felt such a large destructive entity drive away his own life, his own energy within a blur and fraction of seconds. Crumbling once more to his knees, the boy breathed out hard, wishing for it all to be over. Nothing ended..especially not the pain. He had to stand.. to face this new force. To pretend he was strong. He was empty now, but on both feet.

[Clarion Voss]

As the noise and magic died away under the surface there remained and twisted, contorted little creature. It looked like a bipedal collection of burnt roots with two eyes and a pair of lips.

"Welcome Irylid. What would make you a proper familiar?"

The creature blinked saying nothing, but tested it's boundaries one by one.

"Creature.. what is your nam- "

"I heard you sycophant. I want no part in your party. Send me back. I rather die then serve this cretin."
Interrupting Simone, the bitter creature appeared to think the summoning was on behalf of the Master wizard. The voice of the host familiar pandered dry and still.

"Good bye, may you burn in the sun. Boy. Send him back."

It had taken so much work, so much effort.. and all he got in return was this.. thing? Fine. Grinding his teeth, the student reversed the energy flow one glyph at a time and purged the room of the stink. Strangely that part was easier then he thought.. as if the nature and strength of the bond drew a summoning back to it's home faster due to some unseen magical law. Interesting and well noted, but he estimated the same rules wouldn't hold if he had lessened the control of the bond. Breathing deep, the boy could once again feel his master's eyes dig into the back of his skull, as if demanding he cast beyond his own limits, simply to test resolve.

Loosing no time, the excess djed that still burned across the floor was called back into the process of renewal, sweeping into the clatter of a new spell. He cast and infused the circle once more, unconsciously leaving the old wound drying to his upper lip. Pressing his life, his work, his passion into the summoning, the borders flashed to life again in counter clockwise sequence as the symbols lit up with a blue pulsing light of their own. It was time to see what would take the bait of his summon. At first nothing came, leaving the shrill triple dose of harmonious tones rising in pitch behind his ears, his teeth clattered together and his fingers would barely extend to their fullest, feeling as if they carried inside lead weights each.
Then suddenly like a fall from a great height came the elastic rebound of surging force. The familiar aquatic shielding covered the newest creature. It was absent and concave like a black hole. It was a Gordios.

"Finally." Simone whispered. "Perfect."

"Creature what would make you an ideal familiar among the realm of Mizahar?"

Staring at the black creature was like looking into a thunderstorm through a hail of glass. It was omniscient. Crushing in it's fragile inner power. It's voice was smooth and non-descriptive.

"I would serve. It would lead. That is all."

"Simone, let the boy speak."

"Are you sure that is wise master?" Simone was smart enough not to question twice. The pupil raised his own voice now for the first time out of the entire ordeal.

"What is your name?"

"You may call me whichever name would suit you."

"Then be Hades."

"As thy wishes."

The boy could feel the contortion of the creature's energy through the pool of his own creation. It wasn't completely honest, but made of a lot more complexity and grace then the others.

"Pupil. What say you."

"I say Take the Oath and let it be done." In truth, he'd wanted at least one more choice but hadn't the strength or will to try. There was nothing wrong with this suitor.. it was stronger then the others, smarter and balanced enough to remain reserved and take orders.

"Then you shall."

[Clarion Voss]

Simone mediated the entire ordeal, as the master watched the boy write the contract in the ancient protohuman tongue.

"Cut open your thumb and sign this letter with it's material. It is binding to the point that none can return from. Understand that for it will not be repeated. Now sign and impart not only your blood but your spirit and intent. Let it's turning be your truth and your own will. Make your stand."

The boy signed the form with nearly the last of his inner strength, eyes jaundiced and lined in broken vessels. His master noticed the tension but said no more, forcing the lad to pour what was left inside of himself into a metal cup. As Simone brought the contract towards Hades, the candles seemed to flicker and light exited from the very room they stood. In an instance, the first step was done, but he felt no different. Then it hit him like an hourglass that spilled both ways.. pouring in and out of himself; something cold, unnatural but steadfast. A raw, turbulent magic that stung like a storm of dark energy, burrowing through the veins, filling the lungs with black clouded sand.

"Thank-you Master, I live now to serve."

"Then I to Lead."

Now came the cup. The final step to this long night. Dripping, both Hades and lad's blood were mixed. The boundaries surrounding the creature ceased. It cautiously moved close, observing it's new master. Raising the chalice to it's lips, Hades drank and formally handed the vessel to the shaking palms of the student. It's touch was ice cold, similar to the kind of heat that was so completely overwhelming it seared the body shut. The pupil drank, drank till there was nothing left.. as if the very counter balance of his existence had shifted, sank and rose again .. as if that thunderstorm was his own departure. His chariot. His companion.


His familiar.

The geometric lines faded as the room went hazy. Discord replaced his heart beat. There was nothing outside their connection, like a drowning man who learned to breathe water he felt tainted. Corrupted. Renewed.

Darkness was Life. They merged. Imparted trust in a marriage of opposition. He felt like an immortal with a deathwish. The sleep came now, yet the consequences held. No awakening would change that. Whispers plundered at his guts in a pool of solace and regret. What was this.. It was the Longest of Good-byes. It was a new beginning.

[Tarot]

I'm sorry this took so long!

Experience: +3 Glyphing, +3 Summoning Lore: Fyrden

I don't think the Familiar would be carried over from a previous life though!