Timestamp: 21st Day of Autumn, 513 A.V.
Location: The Towers Respite
How full of promise it looked, how pregnant with possibilities its gilt-stamped leather covers! Fresh and new, every page sandwiched between the elegant bindings, it positively called out for the delicate caress of a quill.
Such an innocuous object, then, should not inspire fear or apprehension in its owner, and yet Alses, having just purchased the handsome blank volume, stared at it with no small amount of trepidation as she perched herself comfortably at her desk. Head cradled on a lacework of interlocking fingers, fire-opal glimmers shimmering in the autumnal sunlight, bright eyes contemplated the red leather of the volume, putting off the moment when she'd have to crack it open and get on with the monumental task of writing.
It was a fine, if chilly, autumn day, and a few days earlier Alses had relished that bite in the air, that suggestion of ice crystals on the breeze coming in from the Unforgiving. It had meant she could justify lighting the first fire of Autumn, could load up on beautifully-fragrant fadeong and nokkochi logs and bask in the heat and light from the flames in her grate.
Fire was a constant – or near-constant – companion in Autumn and Winter, crackling merrily in her grate. She'd seen fire in all its states, from weak and wavering to a cheerfully-roaring blaze to a calmed and restful ember-red glow. Her desk, positioned close to the grate for ease of note disposal and more crucially to benefit from the radiating heat, was liberally bathed in brilliant autumnal sunshine, and strewn with pieces of paper, in more chaos than usual. Those notes, on scraps of paper, were her drafts, her notes, trying to make structured and logical sense of the knowledge locked carefully in her brain.
Alses could explain magecraft perfectly well, she'd found, so long as the person she was explaining to already knew all about it. The trick was being accessible – and that was a lot harder than she'd first imagined.
It went against the grain, too, putting the secrets of the craft down on paper, destined for a library where anyone could read it. Then again...it was a library with a stringent entry policy: no-one who hadn't materially contributed to the sum of knowledge within its walls could gain access. New knowledge was hard to come by; it meant diligent research or dangerous ruin exploration, both of which demanded strength of character, intelligence, guile and a whole host of other skills.
Everyone and their friend wouldn't be reading whatever she produced, just people who'd proven their worth to academia. Perhaps one day she would benefit from the knowledge they'd imparted to Bharani, just as they might appreciate what she set down now.
No time like the present, then – but she'd thought that at least three times previously, each time giving up amid a haze of crumpled notes and impenetrable prose that skipped away from the silver thread of her thoughts, tangling with anything and everything as it left her brain, channelled into the quill and wrote a swirling maelstrom of half-finished thoughts and opinions with no structure to tie them together.
Yes, from previous attempts she'd determined that structure was absolutely key to making anything coherent, and that its lack was the reason she'd failed before. Thus, logically, the first order of business would simply be to create a structure, a plan.
It would have other advantages, too – she could adapt it into a table of contents later, to make navigating the primer an easier prospect. There was no sense in flipping through page after page of notes to find a single reference or piece of information – it was inefficient and boring, the scourge of the scholar.
Alses drew in a deep, shuddering breath from the waiting silence all around. The only living, moving thing in the room was her, surrounded by gently-falling motes of dust that flared into brief supernovae as they passed through the bars of light falling through her window. Just her, and the paper.
Waiting.
With all due ceremony, Alses reached to her left and cracked open a fresh pot of rich black ink, preparing to dip her quill – freshly sharpened and cut for the endeavour – into the abyssal liquid.
Plan, Alses wrote in her best hand, the bold strokes and curves emphatic against the creamy whiteness of the paper. A good start, she felt, a faint smile curving up her lips as she consulted the notes in great drifts and stacks all around – legacies of previous failed attempts – to divine her next course of action.
“Syna guide my quill,” she murmured, distracted as she leafed through the pages of dense notation, but no less reverent for that.
Plan
First: What is magecraft? Consider the new student who knows not a thing about the discipline.
Second: What can be done with magecraft? Again, consider the clueless student.
Third: What are the theoretical principles of the craft?
Fourth: What is needed for the craft? Consider structure as well as ingredients and reagents.
Fifth: The process of magesmithing itself.
Sixth: Examples?
Seen like that, Alses had to admit it didn't look like a great deal of work, or indeed something over which she should have devoted so much time – but behind the vacuous, simplistic statements, the broken-down building blocks, there lay the vast and teeming complexity of a demanding discipline of world magic, a science in and of its own right, with specialised equipment and rituals and terminology, with its own limitations and weaknesses and strengths.
With a sigh, Alses straightened up in her chair and reached out with one imperious hand to select the first few pages of her notes, leaning back as her eyes scanned the dense, spiky text – decidedly not her best hand – seeking out the meaning she'd painstakingly laid down.
Location: The Towers Respite
How full of promise it looked, how pregnant with possibilities its gilt-stamped leather covers! Fresh and new, every page sandwiched between the elegant bindings, it positively called out for the delicate caress of a quill.
Such an innocuous object, then, should not inspire fear or apprehension in its owner, and yet Alses, having just purchased the handsome blank volume, stared at it with no small amount of trepidation as she perched herself comfortably at her desk. Head cradled on a lacework of interlocking fingers, fire-opal glimmers shimmering in the autumnal sunlight, bright eyes contemplated the red leather of the volume, putting off the moment when she'd have to crack it open and get on with the monumental task of writing.
It was a fine, if chilly, autumn day, and a few days earlier Alses had relished that bite in the air, that suggestion of ice crystals on the breeze coming in from the Unforgiving. It had meant she could justify lighting the first fire of Autumn, could load up on beautifully-fragrant fadeong and nokkochi logs and bask in the heat and light from the flames in her grate.
Fire was a constant – or near-constant – companion in Autumn and Winter, crackling merrily in her grate. She'd seen fire in all its states, from weak and wavering to a cheerfully-roaring blaze to a calmed and restful ember-red glow. Her desk, positioned close to the grate for ease of note disposal and more crucially to benefit from the radiating heat, was liberally bathed in brilliant autumnal sunshine, and strewn with pieces of paper, in more chaos than usual. Those notes, on scraps of paper, were her drafts, her notes, trying to make structured and logical sense of the knowledge locked carefully in her brain.
Alses could explain magecraft perfectly well, she'd found, so long as the person she was explaining to already knew all about it. The trick was being accessible – and that was a lot harder than she'd first imagined.
It went against the grain, too, putting the secrets of the craft down on paper, destined for a library where anyone could read it. Then again...it was a library with a stringent entry policy: no-one who hadn't materially contributed to the sum of knowledge within its walls could gain access. New knowledge was hard to come by; it meant diligent research or dangerous ruin exploration, both of which demanded strength of character, intelligence, guile and a whole host of other skills.
Everyone and their friend wouldn't be reading whatever she produced, just people who'd proven their worth to academia. Perhaps one day she would benefit from the knowledge they'd imparted to Bharani, just as they might appreciate what she set down now.
No time like the present, then – but she'd thought that at least three times previously, each time giving up amid a haze of crumpled notes and impenetrable prose that skipped away from the silver thread of her thoughts, tangling with anything and everything as it left her brain, channelled into the quill and wrote a swirling maelstrom of half-finished thoughts and opinions with no structure to tie them together.
Yes, from previous attempts she'd determined that structure was absolutely key to making anything coherent, and that its lack was the reason she'd failed before. Thus, logically, the first order of business would simply be to create a structure, a plan.
It would have other advantages, too – she could adapt it into a table of contents later, to make navigating the primer an easier prospect. There was no sense in flipping through page after page of notes to find a single reference or piece of information – it was inefficient and boring, the scourge of the scholar.
Alses drew in a deep, shuddering breath from the waiting silence all around. The only living, moving thing in the room was her, surrounded by gently-falling motes of dust that flared into brief supernovae as they passed through the bars of light falling through her window. Just her, and the paper.
Waiting.
With all due ceremony, Alses reached to her left and cracked open a fresh pot of rich black ink, preparing to dip her quill – freshly sharpened and cut for the endeavour – into the abyssal liquid.
Plan, Alses wrote in her best hand, the bold strokes and curves emphatic against the creamy whiteness of the paper. A good start, she felt, a faint smile curving up her lips as she consulted the notes in great drifts and stacks all around – legacies of previous failed attempts – to divine her next course of action.
“Syna guide my quill,” she murmured, distracted as she leafed through the pages of dense notation, but no less reverent for that.
Plan
First: What is magecraft? Consider the new student who knows not a thing about the discipline.
Second: What can be done with magecraft? Again, consider the clueless student.
Third: What are the theoretical principles of the craft?
Fourth: What is needed for the craft? Consider structure as well as ingredients and reagents.
Fifth: The process of magesmithing itself.
Sixth: Examples?
Seen like that, Alses had to admit it didn't look like a great deal of work, or indeed something over which she should have devoted so much time – but behind the vacuous, simplistic statements, the broken-down building blocks, there lay the vast and teeming complexity of a demanding discipline of world magic, a science in and of its own right, with specialised equipment and rituals and terminology, with its own limitations and weaknesses and strengths.
With a sigh, Alses straightened up in her chair and reached out with one imperious hand to select the first few pages of her notes, leaning back as her eyes scanned the dense, spiky text – decidedly not her best hand – seeking out the meaning she'd painstakingly laid down.