Mage Saga: Consumption

The year is 2038. It is a time of recovery and recuperation. Eighteen years after the DAWN OF MAGIC, eight years after the arrival of the ARCHAENS, the world finally begins to stabilize. Half of humanity perished in the tumultuous wake of magic's arrival.

MAGES have imposed a measure of order where there was only chaos. Many of the Old World structures have crumbled and turned to ash. New Corporations and Conglomerates and Countries controlled by these mages have risen to power. Despite frequent and costly INCURSIONS from alien worlds and hostile horrors, a new equilibrium takes hold.

However, in a universe of miracles and magery, in a galaxy of wonder and war, in a world ruled by the merest whims of the mighty, change is inevitable….

"We're here live from Kantyn Island where Senator Barlowe will be publically announcing his candidacy for the presidency later today. Stay tuned for live coverage!" The perfectly cool water reflects the flawless visage of Mischa Aizermann. Equal parts news anchor and celebrity, the blonde mage has taken the news media by storm. Everyone around you, the blank construction workers finishing up the last arrangements for the post-announcement festivities, the mediums attending to the estate's weather control machinery, the low ranking mages serving as security, none of them can take their eyes off of her. Looks of avarice play across their faces.

You feel nothing.

You give an indolent kick through the healing waters. As the so-called sacred waters flow over your skin, the last painful remnant of your latest round of treatment gradually fades away. The translucent, white-blue liquid is denser than normal water, leaving you free to just float on your back and soak up the sun without effort. The comfort, ease, and grand environment is something you're used to. But really, you just feel tired. And it's only 11 AM.

As the TV screen behind the poolside bar cuts to an advertisement, the live camera crew on the opposite side of the pool starts efficiently breaking down their equipment. Mischa Aizermann's large black eyes pass over you like you're a part of the scenery as she heads back towards the isle's manse. A bevy of assistants and crew members flock around her nervously. The rhythmic vibrations of power tools constructing a temporary stage helps lull you to the dreamless oblivion of sleep.

"-t outta the way, Dead End!" An arrogant, youthful voice rips you from your restless sleep. You look around startled. The voice speaks again, louder this time, and you realize it belongs to one of your little brother Simon's cronies. It takes a second for you to register what he's saying, and to actually pin down where he's saying it from. You find the dark-skinned mage standing poolside, looking down upon you. "I said get outta the fuckin' way! Guess you're as stupid as you are useless." His voice cracks on that, the early stages of puberty making themselves known. "Mr. Barlowe has to be hoping for the sympathy vote, keeping you around where you get in the way!"

"Lay off, Vybrock." Simon says as he and the rest of his gang of mage youths arrive. Confident, authoritative, and already a handsome youth, it's not hard to see why this youngest generation of mages gravitate around him. Already, the adolescent boy is taller than you. All the boys are. Even some of the girls can match your meager height. They shy away as your brother flares out his aura. You can't see the hallmark of a mage, but you can feel it, and familiarity has ingrained recognition bone deep. Everything feels heavy, like you're twenty meters underwater. Breathing is hard. Menace and malice linger in the air. A clear promise. This too you're used to. "You stupid or just got a death wish? A Vybrock thinks it's alright to insult a Barlowe? Over my dead body."

"Be careful what you wish for." He's clearly on edge after your brother's threat, but as expected of an idiot tween used to getting his way, he won't back down.

As Antoine Vybrock unleashes his aura, it hits you like a sucker punch to the gut. Not as overwhelming as your brother's, but you've only felt this presence once before. Where your brother invokes a familiar sense of dread, this is taking a pair of scissors to a freshly mended wound. And he's not holding back, either. You're pretty sure the only reason some of your smaller bones don't break is the water around you. The temptation to gently slip under the waves is overwhelming, a deep part of you still refuses to give him the satisfaction.

Have you not stood before your mother when she was full of rage and wrath? You may just be a blank, a person without even the slightest manifestation of magic, but even the strongest mages quell before her fury. A pair of neophytes posturing at one another will not break you. They will not!

The auras clash, and you know the boys are only moments from coming to blows. The air crackles visibly. You can see that much. Your mouth is dry. Your skin itches like it belongs to someone else. Clearing your parched throat takes a physical effort. "It's alright Sy. I was just about to head inside anyways. Have to get ready for the party tonight after all." You force a chuckle out. "Don't get worked up on my account."

Speaking taxes your exhausted mind, but not doing anything here and now would be irresponsible. Blank or not, you're the adult here. The security detail will surely step in before things get too serious—that's one of their jobs. But… they tend to underestimate the frailness of the 'magically impaired'. You've learned that through painful experience. If these two boys get into a fight, well, you might have another trip to Doctor Medheave's ward much sooner than you anticipated.

Though the weather is controlled by a very expensive prototype, the sun seems unbearably hot.

Moments more of tension. The boys are still glaring daggers at each other. Both boys are prideful and they have their backs up. Your words have never reached Simon, and you may as well be a particularly annoying bug to Antoine Vybrock. This is the preliminary stage before a mage battle. You've read about it, and seen it too many times for your liking. They're gauging each other, testing their opponent's aura. For experienced mages, this occurs far too fast for a blank to comprehend.

Already, they're waging battle before moving even an inch. You grit your teeth and swim to the edge of the pool. Like swimming through packed gravel. Takes a long time. It is a big pool after all. Dripping wet, you manage to haul yourself up, and interpose yourself between the brash little shits. Both of them seem to hesitate for half a heartbeat as you obstruct their view of one another.

Standing in between the two mages, you suddenly feel the full weight of their threat. Idiot. Weakling. Blank. Either of the mages could snap you in two as easily as you step on an ant. Doesn't matter that they're kids or that you're a Barlowe. Dread certainty turns your blood to ice. They'll kill you by accident. Can't breathe. Muscles won't even twitch. Falling to your knees. Everything begins to blur...

Then the pressure is gone.

You're on the ground, sweating and shivering. To either side, armored mages have professionally subdued the fractious youths. Dangerous weapons remained sheathed as they loom over the prepubescent mages. The group of children look petulant and abashed. Both Simon and Antoine are noticeably absent.

"Sir," Ben Grimes, one of your family's oldest and most trusted guards, extends a hand. His demeanor, from the neatly groomed hair to the flawless black suit, is utterly professional. That suit is more heavily enchanted than the armor of his subordinates. He continues, "it may be prudent to retire to your rooms."

You take the proffered hand. "Of course."

He helps you to your feet, and you wipe vomit from your mouth with the clammy back of your hand. You start make your way to your suite, not without difficulty. Feet heavy. Throat still burning with acid. You do your best to ignore the looks of the growing crowd of people flowing through the estate as the palatial surroundings pass by around you. To top it all off, your door won't open. Oh, right. Security measures. Put your hand on the pad. Say your name. Look in the mirror.

What is your name?
[] Ronald Jr. - Named after your father
[] Terence - Named after your maternal grandfather
[] Samuel - Named after a mutual friend

Who do you resemble?
[] Take after your father. Blonde with blue eyes. Considered handsome.
[] Take after your mother. Brown hair with green eyes. Considered severe.
[] A mix between the two. Blonde with green eyes. Hawkish nose. Strong jaw.

A proper set of clothes have been laid out for you for the announcement this evening. You can add one accessory of your own to the ensemble. Which do you choose?
[] A US Flag Pin, to match the one your father will be wearing.
[] A watch with the logo for Daedalus Industries, where your mother is a high ranking executive.
[] A wristband with the insignia of All Created Equal, a blank rights group.
[] Nothing. It's perfect as is. You're not one to stand out.

Name: Terrence 'Teri' Barlowe
Appearance: Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Handsome features. Short. Skinny.
Age: 22
Occupation: University Student

Wolfy said:

@Mazrick, do we need ability to sense magic to work in magic items and stuff? Or is it impossible for muggles to meaningfully contribute to the magic side of the gig?

Click to expand...

Click to shrink...

Broadly speaking, there is a large magical spectrum upon which humans exist. This spectrum is divvied up into three stable categories: Blanks, Mediums, and Mages.

Blanks have no magical senses, no magical presence, and no ability to directly manipulate magic. However, there are certain magical items that use external arcane sources of energy. They can use these just fine. Additionally, Blanks are resistant to raw magic poisoning... which is why they are alive at all. The vast majority of casualties after the emergence of magic died due to this effect. As an aside, blanks are sometimes able to operate where magic-wielders can't due to their lack of magical senses. These individuals make up 90% of the population.

Mediums are individuals born with magical senses, magical presence, and a limited ability to manipulate their own magic. Basically, they are Mages born with a limited supply of magic. Once they expend their inborn magic, it is gone. It does not regenerate. However, they are more than capable of producing magical items and such due to their magical senses and the lack of a sometimes problematic aura. They do require an external source to power all items. Currently, these individuals make up around 10% of the world population.

Mages are the elite. Born with regenerating 'wells' of power, they grow stronger the more they tap into their well. This escalation is not limitless. The raw potential of a given mage can be determined at a young age. Further, their auras can be used to power certain magical items and fabrications, however this aura, when not skillfully and meticulously controlled, can hamper the creation of magical devices. There are less than two million mages in this world!

Thanks for the question @Wolfy !