Wizardly Argumentation
Chrace and Cothique have dominated the Norscan trade; and through the Norscan trade, contact with the Dawi and by proxy of the Dawi, the Brana, those strange, intelligent griffins. That's not to say nothing comes to the other Kingdoms, to Ulthuan as a whole, but it is a slow thing, in particular magic for the Mages of Cothique and Chrace alike greedily drink up what lore they can, their hunger for knowledge, for wisdom like a great maw, ever hungry for more, insatiable at the best of times. The scraps, already worked over, slowly filter their way through the other Kingdoms, examined by those mages. The different grasps of magic they hold, ten Kingdoms slowly cohering, they can catch on snag on different portions of what comes to them.
"What in the world are you talking about?"
And it seems one of those self-same mages sees something he is unenthused by.
"Stormcallers is right. Elementalists..."
Very unenthused indeed.
Aesaith Starsong of Nagaryth is a man of standards, after all. Veteran of the Great Catastrophe, his was a subtle but terrible work against the minds beastly that, shrouded in Ulgu, had casted themselves against his home: arrogant and sure they were, as was so often the curse of Ulgu, that their machinations were beyond all sight.
And what was beyond the sight of the stars and their light? What beyond the bright sun shining?
What beyond the sight of birds?
Very little indeed.
Not, mind you, that he had shied away from using Ulgu to strangle those same beasts on occasion.
But Azyr...Azyr was a Wind of grace and subtlety and foresight. The Heavens. Not simply cracking cloud and raking skyfire! Subtler, wiser motions, that allowed the stroke of a pen to destroy an army just as easily as some half-hearted shaman tossing about lightning and ice like a rank amateur.
Besides, dropping falling stars was much more effective and much harder to ignore.
And yet this Stormcaller, this Skyfire, all but fawned over such cheap conjuring, like some nascent Hekartite bloviating over "the song they sing" and "wild hearts" and so much worship of raw, naked strength, ignoring that strength without conscience was nothing but a nightmare. Bullies at best, monsters at worst.
There was a reason noble Ulthuan sought to constrain the followers of Hekarti, for all they would not move against Her. He could intellectually acknowledge, of course, that She had Her place, that there were reasons not anger Her in even the most peaceful and honest heart. Her cruel whim could sabotage Archmages better than he was.
But to kneel to Her, it was to kneel to what was worst in magic and its practitioners. Arrogance, ego-centrism, sadism, the love of knowledge untempered by the need to put that knowledge to good, productive use. Power hungry, politicking, domineering.
In short, a path to nothing less than Dhar. To endless war, and endless suffering, and slavery and subjugation to those who ought to know better, to be better, to set a better standard for all.
Nothing else for it: time to speak to this Griffin as he would any colleague.
--
"What the hell are you talking about?"
The Brana have not been slow, themselves, in acquiring the Lore of the Elves to further refine their own magic. Whether it be their tomes on the Winds, Grimoires containing spells, training manuals, anything, they will take it. They drink it down, for many reasons: natural curiosity, of course. A desire to be better at their jobs. And to a certain extent, a desire to more or less catch up to their allies, the Dwarfs. Their mysticism has existed for millennia, their Runecraft refined for thousands of years. In comparison, the Brana have existed for a paltry handful of centuries and, for all they punch far above their weight class, the signs are there. Getting to develop their magic, it is important.
And so they trade with Cothiquian Storm Weavers and Caledorian Priests and Chracian Beastwalkers, the Stormcallers and Silverbound and Bloodhunters looking for wisdom from an elder people.
"Bunch of cardsharks, soothesayers and ne'er-do-wells!"
But wisdom, much like beauty, may lie in the eye of the beholder.
The One Who Spits Brightest Fire From the Skies, or Skyfire to the Dawi, grinds his sharp claws into the stone of his home as he examines the oversized tome.
This Aesaith Starsong is diffident and airy at best, a slothful coward at worst. "Mystic Azyr, more like good-for-nothings!"
Magic was meant to be used, to face great evils, to turn aside the worst of harm. He had not survived the Great Catastrophe by prognosticating in his tower, examining the stars for portents and speaking to birds! He had wreathed his wings in lightning and summoned thunder in his voice and split flesh with claws covered in arcing menace!
And here this Elgi was, droning on and on about responsibility! And where was his? In a tower, as daemons swarmed the land? As Beastmen, cloaked in shadow, walked the land and only the heights, only a bird's eye view, allowed one to see through the deception and to take decisive action, to break their will with the call of thunder and and the hiss of ice.
Anything less than confronting that is an abrogation of duty.
Foresight is all well and good, unless it means you do nothing for fear of the flowing futures that fly by you! What is what is to come in the face of what is certain, what is now? That's the only thing that accounts in truth, all else being mere hot air as the case may be. The future is nothing more than a building series of now, and much like a house of bricks one hardly needed magic to see the foundation, just a good eye and even the slightest ability to extrapolate!
And what of the youth! Always prone to oddity, what if they adopted the diffident ways of this idler and his mysticism?
No, clearly that could not be allowed to come to pass!
So Skyfire pressed his claw against the stone, preparing to carve the Klinkarhun...
--
Beware the Elements!
...Action is all well and good, but to act without consideration or foresight is the act of dread Hekarti. Azyr, most of all, must turn its mind towards the repurcussions of its actions, and work with grace and care. A little bird speech can go much farther than any lightning bolt. There are those, among them Eltharia the Lightningbringer, Yolan the Cold, and Skyfire among the Brana who forget this; but to their own peril! You lose sight of the responsibility of Azyr, and place yourself at risk of being nothing more than any mere sword swinger when you do. The Winds, turned to the same end as a heavy rock tossed by some strong man: it is abjuration of wisdom, and wisdom is the path of any true wizard! Look to the stars and not merely to the ever shifting clouds, which blind you to higher mystery in the crack of thunder and the spitting of lightning. Look to Hoeth's constellation for guidance my friends, and away from that which would bind you solely to this world...
--
Diffident Sloth.
...Action is required! Magic is a tool, meant to be used, not merely to be fawned over as a lover might be! Those who cling too deeply to the mysticism of our Wind, of the Sapphire, they lose sight of that responsibility, ironically even as they themselves speak of responsibility. Among them I name Aesaith Starsong among the Elgi, and among the Brana proper I name and shame Starbringer and Smokelover for their prognosticating. Good sense can allow one to know the future, good sense and a basic understanding of cause and effect: but only we can shape the storm, only we can see through the lies of Quicksilver, only we may bring such devestation short of proper warmachines. This mysticism you study from among the Elgi, it is nothing more than an attempt to brew sloth in you, sloth, idleness, and a corrupted youth...
