30th Day of Spring, 515 AV
From across the lab came the familiar sound of a hammer tap, tap tapping steadily to a beat and pitch that no simple metal tool could ever be the source of. The peculiar noise didn’t so much disturb the Ravokian magesmith as much as it bothered him knowing he wasn’t the one making it. With a fractious lick of his finger, Elias turned the page on the tome which sat open in his folded lap, its old and faded letters lit only by the dim light of the lantern hanging over head.
Every once in a while Elias’s eyes would dart up over the lip of his book, the mage’s curiosity peaked by a particular note he didn’t recognize, or a thrum of stray djed he had never felt the likes of before. Lazarin often employed his assistance with many a commission and orders from the Ebonstryfe or Black Sun, but those were exclusively of a lesser importance than the usual. In fact, anything belonging to a notably important client or with a coefficient higher than three, and Elias wasn’t even allowed within ten yards of the glyphs, gods forbid he actually be trusted to assist in the magecrafting process itself.
It irked the smith to no end that he still hadn’t accumulated enough confidence from the man with his continuous dedication and all the previous demonstrations that proved he truly did know what he was doing. What would it take to finally convince the irascible bastard that it wouldn’t be the end of the world allow his student a chance to help craft beyond the simple and elementary artifacts Elias’s days in the lab were so often exclusively defined be. He disliked the crotchety old paladin thoroughly, and furthermore, he disliked how hopelessly reliant he still was to the irritable magecrafter and this Institute in helping curb his constant, desperate desire to continue his studies in the finer arcane arts. Perhaps that was why he felt so stymied and constipated –magically speaking, of course- these last few days.
Perhaps it was the nagging call of independence to which he needed to wholeheartedly embrace if he ever hoped alieve himself of such depressing, torturous confinement at the hands of his professors.
Naturally this wasn’t the first time he had such revolutionary thoughts. This same feeling of suppressed and hampered progress had taken hold of him late in his studies abroad during his time in Zeltiva as well. Of course, when the clamoring hunger for freedom and magical liberation simmered down and reason took root once more, it always became all too painfully clear why it was such a thing was impossible…
Money.
He had learned very early on why the laboratories of the famed University so often seemed unused or downright abandoned, and why so many self-proclaimed magecrafters always chose to immerse themselves in nothing but coma like study sessions for exceedingly endless stretches at a time. No one was crafting not because they simply preferred the ancient, dusty spine of an old book in their hands to that of a hammer’s mallet, but because to even begin experimenting on the smallest, meekest of artifacts was a feat that in of itself could cost thousands of golden mizas or more! Needless to say, the ex-apprentice had yet to come across a dedicated magician who wasn’t really a poor wretch behind all the learned arrogance and contempt for the mundane.
Once Elias had believed that magecrafting was the solution to the problem, and in truth it was -once upon a time- acting as something special and distracting that even a fool like he could do. That said, the art was a hobby to the studious and determined, but his experience so far was proving that if one truly ever hoped to be a practical practitioner, it didn’t matter how diligent and wise you were, for diligence and wisdom weren’t enough to afford the hefty ingredients bill that was the dark and unwanted cloud hanging over every aspiring magesmith’s naïve little head.
With a rough, mental chuckle, Elias even realized that the very tome that he was busying himself with was just another reward that wealth was responsible for. The IHL’s vast library on the magical talents of the world could only have been possible by the gracious and extensively influential gift of coin. Said book was one on the subject of magical staffs, and in particular explained how a magecrafter went about creating one. First the smith had to insert the staff in special insulated clamps, coating it in mineral powders and wrapping it in D-wire coils. After that it took two mages casting spells of different disciplines from both ends of the artifact at the same time. Interestingly enough, it also had to be created for organic materials, and organic only. Usually that meant the expensive kind of.
He sighed and nearly collapsed head first into the whirring words of book out of sheer sadness. There was nothing quite as dispiriting as coming face to face with one’s own poverty, especially when it consistently stood in the way of personal progress.
Caldera’s silent brooding was suddenly interrupted when another man, young and nervous, wandered into the laboratory after his apparent knocking had gone unanswered. The boy’s uncertain gaze fell first on Lazarin, the bearded wizard buried deep in his magical work as he hammered away at the pedestal in front of him. “Uh, Lord Lazarin. The ingredients you requested have arrived.” He uttered shakily, and Elias wasn’t sure if it was the blatant demonstration of magic that had him so unnerved, or the infamously incensed paladin who was doing it. To his credit, the stryfer never even bothered to look up, his focus so deftly attuned to his craft and nothing else. Instead professor Thadeus merely grunted something incomprehensible under his beard and waved vaguely in his assistant’s general direction. That being Elias chiefly, since no one else was there.
The young man glanced over and found the second mage in his seat on the other side of the room, brown eyes staring back at him and a mischievous grin freshly adorning his lips.
The ravokian snapped shut the tome and waved the boy over.
Every once in a while Elias’s eyes would dart up over the lip of his book, the mage’s curiosity peaked by a particular note he didn’t recognize, or a thrum of stray djed he had never felt the likes of before. Lazarin often employed his assistance with many a commission and orders from the Ebonstryfe or Black Sun, but those were exclusively of a lesser importance than the usual. In fact, anything belonging to a notably important client or with a coefficient higher than three, and Elias wasn’t even allowed within ten yards of the glyphs, gods forbid he actually be trusted to assist in the magecrafting process itself.
It irked the smith to no end that he still hadn’t accumulated enough confidence from the man with his continuous dedication and all the previous demonstrations that proved he truly did know what he was doing. What would it take to finally convince the irascible bastard that it wouldn’t be the end of the world allow his student a chance to help craft beyond the simple and elementary artifacts Elias’s days in the lab were so often exclusively defined be. He disliked the crotchety old paladin thoroughly, and furthermore, he disliked how hopelessly reliant he still was to the irritable magecrafter and this Institute in helping curb his constant, desperate desire to continue his studies in the finer arcane arts. Perhaps that was why he felt so stymied and constipated –magically speaking, of course- these last few days.
Perhaps it was the nagging call of independence to which he needed to wholeheartedly embrace if he ever hoped alieve himself of such depressing, torturous confinement at the hands of his professors.
Naturally this wasn’t the first time he had such revolutionary thoughts. This same feeling of suppressed and hampered progress had taken hold of him late in his studies abroad during his time in Zeltiva as well. Of course, when the clamoring hunger for freedom and magical liberation simmered down and reason took root once more, it always became all too painfully clear why it was such a thing was impossible…
Money.
He had learned very early on why the laboratories of the famed University so often seemed unused or downright abandoned, and why so many self-proclaimed magecrafters always chose to immerse themselves in nothing but coma like study sessions for exceedingly endless stretches at a time. No one was crafting not because they simply preferred the ancient, dusty spine of an old book in their hands to that of a hammer’s mallet, but because to even begin experimenting on the smallest, meekest of artifacts was a feat that in of itself could cost thousands of golden mizas or more! Needless to say, the ex-apprentice had yet to come across a dedicated magician who wasn’t really a poor wretch behind all the learned arrogance and contempt for the mundane.
Once Elias had believed that magecrafting was the solution to the problem, and in truth it was -once upon a time- acting as something special and distracting that even a fool like he could do. That said, the art was a hobby to the studious and determined, but his experience so far was proving that if one truly ever hoped to be a practical practitioner, it didn’t matter how diligent and wise you were, for diligence and wisdom weren’t enough to afford the hefty ingredients bill that was the dark and unwanted cloud hanging over every aspiring magesmith’s naïve little head.
With a rough, mental chuckle, Elias even realized that the very tome that he was busying himself with was just another reward that wealth was responsible for. The IHL’s vast library on the magical talents of the world could only have been possible by the gracious and extensively influential gift of coin. Said book was one on the subject of magical staffs, and in particular explained how a magecrafter went about creating one. First the smith had to insert the staff in special insulated clamps, coating it in mineral powders and wrapping it in D-wire coils. After that it took two mages casting spells of different disciplines from both ends of the artifact at the same time. Interestingly enough, it also had to be created for organic materials, and organic only. Usually that meant the expensive kind of.
He sighed and nearly collapsed head first into the whirring words of book out of sheer sadness. There was nothing quite as dispiriting as coming face to face with one’s own poverty, especially when it consistently stood in the way of personal progress.
Caldera’s silent brooding was suddenly interrupted when another man, young and nervous, wandered into the laboratory after his apparent knocking had gone unanswered. The boy’s uncertain gaze fell first on Lazarin, the bearded wizard buried deep in his magical work as he hammered away at the pedestal in front of him. “Uh, Lord Lazarin. The ingredients you requested have arrived.” He uttered shakily, and Elias wasn’t sure if it was the blatant demonstration of magic that had him so unnerved, or the infamously incensed paladin who was doing it. To his credit, the stryfer never even bothered to look up, his focus so deftly attuned to his craft and nothing else. Instead professor Thadeus merely grunted something incomprehensible under his beard and waved vaguely in his assistant’s general direction. That being Elias chiefly, since no one else was there.
The young man glanced over and found the second mage in his seat on the other side of the room, brown eyes staring back at him and a mischievous grin freshly adorning his lips.
The ravokian snapped shut the tome and waved the boy over.
