The God Diversion
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The world is changed drastically. Most of Oregon is ruled over by the Phantasian Council and its Shining Prince. The United Kingdom serves the Crown of Logres and the Court of Camelot. And even five years after the Metaphysicist's debut, the northern hemisphere continues to experience dimensional imbrication with worrying regularity.

It's this world that you'll call your alma mater.
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:: The God Diversion ::

Birdsie

Sharp Talons Cleave The Worthy
Location
Poland
:: The God Diversion ::

It started, as every terrible, shocking, and upsetting series of events does, in New York.

After a school bus disappeared in broad daylight, the nation was cast into turmoil. There were recordings, witness statements, and irrefutable evidence. Investigations and searches commenced. The federal government called in its resources and questioned tens of thousands of witnesses. Not an atom of evidence was found. It was a national mystery.

A year without answers, and then a similar event happened in Chicago. After a year more, one happened in London. Almost like clockwork, always in early September. Having discovered the apparent pattern coincided with the beginning of a school year, the world started to observe, awaiting new vanishings with bated breath.

After that, one more happened in Ayacucho, Peru.

As it occurred, however, the disappeared class of New York returned to Earth, spat out into the street they occupied formerly, all students and driver unharmed and conspicuously aged three years. Immediately, the media crews and reporters were asking questions over camera flashes. All of them including the driver claimed to have spent three years under the tutoring of an entity calling itself the Educator. Answers were forthcoming, albeit limited. Given that everyone believed the students were dead, and the media was swarming over the situation, no one pressed anyone for the truth. The class representative, Gabriel Storm, only commented he was looking forward to using their new education to aid the people of New York.

After that, it wasn't long before the presence of superheroes was noticed around the city, stopping accidents and intervening in crises. A mugging was prevented by Nightcowl. A car crash was stopped by Lady Justice. Already in the public eye, the students were soon connected to their costumed identities.

Following their formal debut, they unmasked and promised to protect the United States of America. The reception was mixed: some cheered them on, and some raised objections over such people being allowed even informal authority. The government was uncertain how to proceed, especially with the revelation about superpowers. Most of the nation was happy the missing students were safe, so certainly, taking action against the students would've been something of a faux pas. Especially now, that they were revealed as superheroes. In the end, nothing was done.

From there, it wasn't too long before the other shoe dropped, and the realization trickled in, all across the nation and the world: the New Yorkers wouldn't be the only class to return. They most probably would be the only actual superheroes, though.

From Chicago next year came the counterparts of the so-called New York Defenders, as the Cabal of Evil; supervillains declaring a state of total war on the federal government, spreading tendrils of influence across the states and beginning a loud conflict with the Defenders.

After that, it only continued - for over three decades, the Educator continued to abduct youths and inducted them into his strange brand of learning. The details of the phenomenon were explicated over the years and subsequently leaked to the public. Everything from the criteria of the Educator to his demonstrated abilities, and the powers he could engender in his students. There were still mysteries. Sometimes, he'd abduct two classes in a single year, and sometimes, he'd invite parents to attend the graduation ceremonies, and sometimes he'd send invitations and open portals instead of making an abduction in broad daylight. The exact patterns were muddled and unclear, but some general truths were discovered:

A class of students, or in other words, any group of young people learning something, would be abducted, most often alongside a single teacher or guardian.

After that, the Educator would present the students with a theme, or a 'subject,' and they would spend time as a class, developing the theme's ideas and making them more concrete, choosing roles within the theme to adhere to, carving out identities for themselves.

The Educator would then finalize the process and aid them in developing supernatural capabilities related to their roles, at the cost of three years spent learning under him. It was also possible to leave voluntarily, although it'd result in a failing grade, with some manner of scary yet nebulous penalty attached.

Now, the world is changed drastically as a result of his actions.

The Phantasian Council and its Shining Prince have seized control over the state of Oregon, enacting its secession from the United States and bitterly fighting off attempts at integration. The United Kingdom is a puppet that loyally serves the Crown of Logres and the Court of Camelot, its Once and Future King and the Knights of the Round Table.

And even five years after the Metaphysicist's debut, the northern hemisphere continues to experience random bouts of dimensional imbrication with worrying regularity, the side effect of his apparently successful attempt at inelegantly breaching spatial barriers to another universe for reasons largely unknown.

It's this world that you'll call your alma mater.

---

Through a whim of fate, our protagonist was part of the chosen class. Now, this collection of students shall be thrown into a world beyond their wildest imagination. Soon, the Educator shall address them and introduce the hapless students to this new world. What is the nature of our character?

[ ] The Hard-Working Athlete - A football scholarship can be a blessing. It can also be a curse. And for you, it was a little bit of both.

It did, after all, let you get into the school you'd always dreamt of attending, the same one your old man went to - but at the same time, it wiped away the traces of delusion you were getting in for anything other than your impressive pectoral muscles and ability to knock people over on their ass. It's not that you disliked the sport, or that you'd cast aspersions on the ones who choose to play it. Football always was and continues to be, in your eyes, a noble and thrilling undertaking.

But you'd always wanted to be viewed as something a little more than a musclehead with a penchant for charging into problems head-on and destroying them. You're no idiot by any means, but no Albert Einstein either, and your older brother, himself a physicist, always made sure to remind you of it in subtle and incisive ways that somehow managed to perfectly get under your skin and ticked you off. You burned to prove him wrong. To show him that you could do smart science things too. That you were just as smart as him, if not more.

Now, you'll never get to do that. You've locked yourself in. You're the guy who gets the touchdowns and the field goals. The star athlete without a single planet to his name. But maybe that ain't so bad. After all, you've got a second scholarship now, to a much different kind of place.

*Amazing physique and the determination to do even utterly tedious work with little motivation. Not as much of a dumb brute as some people would like to think.
*Not actually bothered much by expectations, but also not stupid about it; willing to shoulder the brunt of difficult work with little complaint, unwilling to be a doormat for others to walk on.
*Almost dangerously obsessive over fitness. Maintaining a strict exercise regimen is healthy not only for your body but almost entirely vital to your mental well-being. If you do not lift or run for too long, your mood could suffer a minor backlash.
*Strict diet. Once, you were offered a cupcake. After offering back a muttered thanks, you took it with you back home and later obsessively tore it apart into a sugary mush, mentally counting the calories and despairing over what it might've done to you - as if the cupcake were poison. You subsist in large part on creatine powder and dietary fibers.
*Better compatibility with physical roles.

[ ] The Popular Girl - Athletic and smart - yes - but neither that nor your rather significant access to wealth and influence are the true reasons for your popularity.

You're, after all, the daughter of the Archetype members, the world's first and most prolific superheroes: Olympian and Lady Justice, the founders of Archetype and the New York Defenders. In Cleveland, your parents fought and defeated the nascent Cabal of Evil and ensured peace and stability for the eastern seaboard. In more recent years, in the skies over New York, they fought against the evil Metaphysicist and managed to barely drive him away according to most sources.

For a whole three decades, they did everything they could to protect the world from the encroachment of evil, and they are now reaching their twilight years. It frightens you somehow, how such titans can become old and weary. More than anything, it frightened you how everyone seemed to expect you to somehow do the same and more.

Now, you'll never have to worry about that. Maybe you weren't born with your father's marvelous strength or your mother's control over reality, but you'll still have your shot.

*Most of the people around you expect you to either do great things or to somehow find a route to your parents through you. Beware the wolves in sheep's clothing.
*Now that you're being Enrolled, you'll have a natural way to assume a role of leadership. Are you sure that you want to?
*In some distant way, your parents must've expected you to follow in their footsteps as well. You aren't sure how they could've predicted the Educator snatching you away so conveniently, but you were trained: physically and mentally. It's nothing hardcore or excessive - you still had a decent life - but you've spent more free time than an average person your age on things like firearm drills, martial arts, and bona fide strategy and tactics lessons.
*You've always had a lot more enemies than your usual kid, and you're about to have even more. How do you know some idiot in your own class won't attempt to ingratiate himself to the Evil Genius by killing or kidnapping you? The bonds of trust will be tested.
*All-rounder, decent compatibility with all roles.

[ ] The Depressed Nerd - After your mother died, you attempted to cope by immersing yourself in other worlds. You're still coping a little to this day. It's been hard.

It didn't help, after all, when they started picking on you in every way possible. Calling you a loser at every opportunity, breaking into your locker, ruining your work, and making up complaints to the teachers were among the lighter pranks of your classmates. It seemed like, from day one, everyone was completely and utterly set against you.

It's been something of a living hell, these last couple of years. You're no psycho, though, so taking it out on them has never crossed your mind: and even if it did, you wouldn't have known where to even find a rifle. You'd rather be left well enough alone on your own. You aren't completely alone in this situation, but help is limited: your old man immerses himself in alcohol as much as you in fiction, your friends don't want to involve themselves too heavily for fear of also being targeted, and onlookers are too busy with their lives.

Now, though, your worries are fading away. Chosen as you were, you'll potentially have an opportunity to carve out a hefty destiny of your own.

*Smart, bookish. Reading both fiction and non-fiction have always been some of your favorite downtimes and you've acquired a broad knowledge base to draw upon from this. You're familiar with a lot of concepts that people would give you weird looks over knowing.
*You're glum and downbeat, and you have good reason to: you start with negative or completely indifferent social relationships with most of your classmates. If they aren't bullying you, they're at least willing to overlook it so it doesn't happen to them as well.
*Physically, you're a bit of a wimp: weaker than average through atrophy. Nonetheless, you hold the potential to self-improve and could become athletic if given the chance.
*You're probably the sort of person that formerly would've desperately sought out the Metaphysicist for a superpower elixir if given the chance. (Desperate for meaning.)
*Within you is the potential to quote every Star Trek episode.
*Better compatibility with mental roles.

[ ] The Slacking Loafer - Absolutely no career prospects. Absolutely no interest in learning or hard work. Somehow, this has even persisted into the Educator's Super School.

You've always had intellect and talent, a level of innate comprehension: about people and events. It made them so utterly predictable it was almost terrifying to you as a child. Now, it's almost monotonous. You predicted your parents' divorce five years in advance, as a six-year-old, during their happy and lovestruck period. The moment you saw him, you predicted the exact chain of events that would lead the Depressed Nerd to get stuffed into a locker in June (yes, in June: you warned him and he didn't believe you.) It's such a fucking bother since no one believes you or wants to extend any belief toward you. The classwork was always childishly easy, so you eventually stopped doing it, unable to engage, and your teachers gave up. Predictable.

And yeah - you even predicted your class would be chosen by the Educator, and took with you some worthwhile items you can sell to your classmates. But then, who would've believed you? They'll simply believe you're a freak for carrying this stuff around and happened to get lucky for being born weird.

Now, you continue to slack off, not eager to do any hard work even with access to superpowers. The end results are predictable anyway...

*Genius without motivation. Brilliance without determination. You've got every possible resource needed to achieve extreme success, but the spirit falters. In order to succeed, you'll need to find something to actually motivate you.
*Incredible social instinct. You've adapted a conversational speedrunning approach that allows you to skip through bothersome dialogues with the NPCs, directly to the moment where you get what you want out of them, be that sweet blessed silence, or some minor favor. Your skill at maneuvering the minds of your lessers is so advanced it can be likened to minor feats of hypnosis.
*Physically worthless. And in terms of willpower, you're hopeless.
*The only passion you have is for coffee jelly. It's easy to bribe you with it.
*You'd rather spend all day sleeping.
*Better compatibility with social roles.

In order to give you an opportunity to generate Student Credit, the meta-resource of the quest, and additional characters you'll be able to name role ideas for a given Theme. If I consider them fitting, they'll make an appearance.

Select Theme:

[ ] Gothic Horror - Fear and haunting. Vampires and werewolves. Lunacy and madness. A world cast in yellow moonlight and dark shadow, its main actors the monsters that lurk in the recesses and come out to hunt, its victims the commoners who are made their prey.

Potential Roles: The Vampire, the Werewolf, the Occultist, the Mad Scientist, the Freak, the Abomination, the Eldritch Horror, the Scared Peasant, the Ghost [...]

[ ] Action Movie - Fists and guns. Cool guys and explosions. Bad guys and epic fights. A world of adrenaline-pumping action and pure awesomeness, its main actors the heroes who stand against evil and fight against it actively, their foes the evil bastards who earned their just deserts.

Potential Roles: The Gunman, the Driver, the Robber, the Martial Artist, the Cowboy, the Mafia Boss, the Hunter Robot, the Retired Killer, the Epic Master [...]

[ ] Science Fantasy - Science and magic. Space and adventure. Good and evil. A classic fantasy saga conducted in the depths of outer space, adventures among asteroids, space stations, and exotic planets, its main actors the cast of chosen heroes, and its antagonists the evils who oppose them.

Potential Roles: The Energy Swordsman, the Wise Mentor, the Smuggler, the Bounty Hunter, the Animal Companion, the Android, the Plucky Robot, the Space Princess [...]

[ ] Tarot Cards - Fate and destiny. Cards and traditions. Readings and mediums. An atypical and prosaic Theme: the setting defaults to a strange subset of medieval fantasy, albeit with elements of predetermination. Its actors are the chosen of the Tarot, fortune-told and mighty.

Potential Roles: The Fool, the Magician, the World, the Chariot, the Hermit, the Emperor, the Hierophant, the Lovers, the Devil [...]

[ ] Write-in

It's recommended that you avoid Themes already used.

Past Themes: Superheroes, Supervillains, Knights of the Round Table, Hard Science Fiction, Horror Movies, Magic Academy, Ancient Greece, Classic Fantasy, Ancient Babylon, Video Games, Alien Conspiracies, Action Archeology, European Folklore, Cyberpunk, Valentines, Nordic Mythology, Pirates, Slavic Mythology, Medieval, Feudal Japan, Wild West, History, Roman Empire, Journey to the West, Golden Age Science Fiction, Noir, 19th Century Romance, Mars Colonization, Music, Naval Age of Discovery, Post-Apocalyptic, Steampunk, Weird West, Space Opera, Highschool Drama, Philosophy.
 
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Enrolled
Enrolled

It was the beginning of the school year, around the comfortable dawn of autumn, and most of the students hadn't yet awoken from the funk of the summer break, that beautiful and confusing interstitial chapter between cozy restfulness and back-breaking work. The inevitable dread and stress of exams and tests hadn't sunk in for anyone yet.

A perfect opportunity to abduct some students, he supposed.

As cool as a cucumber and unruffled by the buzz of conversation around him, Solomon approached the vending machine to purchase a drink, about three minutes before the second period. As he opened his wallet, he slowly blinked in realization, and then exhaled with a hitherto newfound form of tiredness.

I'm Solomon Lancaster, but most people call me Sol because that's faster. I'm a junior year student at Midwood High. Anyway, look over there, a guy's about to trip.

A male student nearby was staring deeply into his phone and didn't notice a spilled pool of orange juice over the linoleum floor, and as a result, collapsed much as prophesied. Solomon, more or less unconcerned, finished buying himself a can of soda, as the aforementioned student groaned in annoyance at his now-sticky pants.

As you can see, I have incredible predictive powers. For some reason, I predicted that doing this internal monologue to myself like I'm pretending to be a Noir detective on a TV show doing narration was gonna slightly help my chances in surviving what's about to happen. I have no idea why but my predictions rarely fail, so I'm doing it. Go figure.

Solomon cracked open the can of Fizzlet and took a tentative sip.

Anyway... this is the story of how I was abducted with my classmates by some unmarried dude in his fifties. I guess. I'm not exactly sure how that's gonna happen yet. I'm seriously good at predicting stuff - I'm pretty sure it's a supernatural power - but I'm not a god or anything. And no one ever believes me when I tell them my predictions.

"Are you paying attention, Sol?"

"Hm?" He'd not, in fact, been paying even the slightest attention to Ethan's words. Hadn't even wholly noticed Ethan was there, really. Forgot that Ethan existed, in a sense.

"Yeah, I'm telling you, Mary's super fucking cute, man," answered Ethan. He was athletic in physique, lean and tall; with striking bright blue eyes and dressed in casual clothing with a short-sleeved white t-shirt and sports sneakers. "I think she's into me."

That's Ethan. He's not my friend, for the record. I don't really do 'friends.' Solomon took a sip of his soda, allowing the lemon-lime flavor to percolate over his tongue. He's something of an innocent idiot, I suppose. He's a soccer player of the sort that uses soccer metaphors in everyday conversation. For some reason, too, he's latched onto me like a remora this week. Hopefully not a portent of things to come.

"You mean Mary Robbins?" Solomon asked dismissively, eager to speedrun the conversation. Its outline already shaped itself in his mind. The entire issue Ethan presented was no larger than making a decision on the flavor of the soda you wanted to drink.

"Man, I knew you weren't listening!"

Well, your romantic life is irrelevant to me, so why should I listen to you?

"She's not even into you," answered Solomon blandly, eyes staring off at the buttons of the vending machine, as if each hid arcane secrets. "You shouldn't get your hopes up."

"Come on, you're kidding. I haven't even talked to her!" Ethan complained loudly. "How can she be actively not into me when I haven't even had a shot at proper conversation yet?"

Well, she's a lesbian, for one. And for two, even if she wasn't, you wouldn't really be her type. And for three, you and I are getting kidnapped later today, and she isn't, so tough shit.

Solomon finished his soda in one final swallow, crushing the can and discarding it one-handed into the nearest garbage bin. The final taste of modernity.

He clapped Ethan on the shoulder. "One minute to class. Let's go."

"Man, I wanted to grab a snack bar," whined Ethan, even as he followed after with his backpack slung over one shoulder.

As usual, Solomon decided to occupy his customary seat on the left side of the classroom, in one of the back rows. It allowed perfect cover to snooze in such a manner the teacher wouldn't notice or even have much cause to complain, and was therefore the optimal position. Solomon hated doing meaningless work, and that meant he consequently despised most of his schoolwork. An ABC test didn't mean too much when you could take a single glance and know almost every answer correctly on some kind of gut instinct.

"Hey, Nash," Solomon called out with curiosity, half-turning to look back at the brunette boy seated behind him, wearing thick-rimmed glasses. "How's your day been?"

"You aren't usually this talkative," answered Damien Nash, one arm supporting his chin as he looked out the window longingly, desiring to be free of the social cage.

"You aren't usually either."

Damien muttered something unintelligible. It didn't matter. Solomon started to tip his chair backwards, to bring their eyes closer, so he could drink in Nash's skepticism better.

"I have incredible news for you."

"Do you?"

"Yeah. The most incredible news."

"I'm all ears."

"Starting from about today, no one's gonna pick on you anymore. It'll be too dangerous. Especially if you aren't too stupid with your choices. Fuck, if you apologize to me after this and ask nicely, I'll even help you make the best ones to scare Josh and Francis off."

Arching an eyebrow, Damien looked at him like he would at an asylum escapee, dropping his arm to the desk. "What are you on about?"

"What if I told you that you'll get superpowers today?"

"Yeah, right." Nash snorted in response, and then dismissively opened his book, Chimitango Bruised Bananas, and started reading, as if intent on ignoring the conversation: most likely believing that either Josh or Francis were responsible for Solomon's intercession.

"You're skeptical. Just like that one time I warned you that you'd get stuffed in a locker in June, and you didn't believe me, because 'it does not make sense for you to be anywhere near school in June.' You didn't heed my advice then. Maybe you should heed it now?"

"Ugh, you're being freakier than Olivia." Damien retreated even further into the story of Bruised Bananas, and visibly disabled his interest in processing audible cues.

"Alright. Fair enough," said Solomon, a smile tugging at his lips. Despite himself, he was unusually excited. "Just don't call me a freak again when you can throw fireballs. I'm so nice and happy today that I'll preemptively forgive you anything you say until we get there."

"Uh-huh."

After half a minute or so, Ms. Parker walked into class and started writing out the topic on the blackboard and lecturing the students. Some claptrap about using multimedia for information. Not interested, Solomon leaned to the right and whispered to the column of desks across, directing his words at no one in particular.

"Hey, did you know the Educator's gonna kidnap us? It's gonna happen today and soon. I brought all sorts of supplies if you wanna buy them off me."

"Right. Look, Lancaster, you're acting like more of a fucking weirdo than usual," answered Josh Thompson, the de facto class bully - the same one that picked on Nash and rendered him such a colossal joy to converse with. "How about you go back to sleep and tell us about your glue dreams another time?"

He shared a chuckle with Francis, his lackey.

"In five minutes, this entire classroom will transubstantiate into another dimension," said Solomon, completely serious, the prediction of the event having become a mote clearer, more accessible. "And then you'll do nothing but maybe suck my dick, Thompson."

"Heh. That's gay," muttered Max from the back right corner with a giggle, having overheard the conversation.

"I'll bet you I'm right."

"Alright, freak, you wanna bet?" asked Thompson with a bloodless grin, voice rising an octave in an indication of considering it.

"Fifty bucks," said Solomon immediately. Ms. Parker then turned back to address the class, and the conversation needed to take a break to avoid her attention. Observing out of the corner of his eye, Solomon noticed that Thompson was at least a little intrigued. After she sat down in front of her desk, having assigned some workbook task, they restarted the talk.

"A hundred nothing happens," countered Thompson.

"No, fifty's enough."

"Cold feet?"

Solomon offered his most chilling confident smile - one that caused even Thompson's smirk to dampen. "No. Just trying not to bankrupt you. I'm nice like that."

"Fuck you," said Thompson, albeit agreeingly. "I'll do fifty. Easiest money of my life. Better keep your word, though, or else I'll beat the shit out of you so hard you'll make even Nash look like a well-adjusted citizen." Their hands met in the sacred bond of agreement, as several other students rolled their eyes at the exchange.

After that, everyone waited - not showing any degree of interest, or much faith in Solomon's prediction. However, diametrically opposite, Solomon's heart was thumping unsteadily in his chest, adrenaline rising and blood pumping in what might've been the first case of sincere excitement he'd felt in years. What if his prediction was wrong? The Educator was a supernatural being, so what if he could spoof the predictions? He could conceive of that as being a potential source of interference.

As the clock ticked away, his excitement started to almost boil him alive from within. Josh was paying only half attention to the ticking of the clock, more often preoccupied with his conversations with Francis and Noah. Solomon could feel his fists clenching involuntarily as he looked on, finding the fifth minute from their bet approaching.

After that, a man entered the classroom. He wielded a carved walking cane and was dressed immaculately in a navy blue suit dotted with all manner of starlike patterns and twinkling silvery constellations, small crescent moons, and even a brilliant sun brooch over the heart. His head was adorned by a modest cornflower tophat with an embellishment in the style of gilded beads. His face was impossible to discern, as if blurred and sheathed in darkness simultaneously as if you were actively forgetting its features the moment you looked, and yet were certain you could discern it from a set of similarly concealed 'faces.'

"Good afternoon," he said, causing Ms. Parker to abruptly look up from her computer. It was now a crystal ball lying on a lavender-blue cloth, and the entire classroom was transformed in a similar fashion. The windows had shrunk and were covered by thick layers of dark, violet, and azure drapes, producing only soft illumination. The interior of the class was mostly lit by a set of candles that appeared on a number of surfaces, which honestly seemed like a serious fire hazard combined with the drapes.

"Oh dear," she said, beginning to stand from her chair. "Excuse me, sir, who are-"

"I," he said, and the cadence of the word cut through every rising whisper and word and even the brewing thoughts in the classroom, dispelling shadows of doubt and banishing even the slightest, narrowest traces of uncertainty, until the only thing remaining was absolute and utter attention directed towards him, even as he raised a perfunctorily outstretched index finger, cane gently clacking against the hardwood floor, "am the Educator."

"No fucking way," whispered Sam, a short-haired punk girl with several piercings, dropping her pencil from where she'd been drawing outlines in her sketchbook. Several of the people around the classroom looked at Solomon with shock, and he could feel Damien's eyes drilling into his back with such inquisitiveness it was almost concerning.

"Once more," the Educator uttered, in a much a softer and gentler timbre, now that he garnered the desirable amount of silence and gravitas from the class, "Good afternoon. Ms. Parker, why don't you have a seat? I promise I won't be long."

As if shocked - too shocked to respond coherently - Ms. Parker slumped back into her chair, hand rising to caress her forehead, staring wide-eyed at the Educator.

"Now. I wish to welcome everyone here present to my Class, namely - or to be more particular - the Freshman Class. For various reasons, I've sought the Enrollment of your specific student body in my prestigious three-year Education Course. Before I proceed, I must ask, is there anyone present who has questions, or does not wish to be here?"

Slowly, almost hesitantly, a single hand ascended above the heads of the students.

"Yes, Ms. Storm?" the Educator asked, directing his full attention to the hand's origin.

The hesitant hand belonged to a young and pretty girl, with a radiant ponytail of blonde and dark eyes. As soon as the Educator acknowledged her, she steepled her hands and breathed in calmly, as if to psych herself up before speaking to him.

Penelope Storm, thought Solomon. She's easily the most popular girl in class, what with being the daughter of the world's most famous superheroes and all. Or the most popular in Class, now, I guess. Shit, man, he said that with capital letters. How did he do that? How did I do that, just now?

For once, he was stumped, even as Penelope spoke up.

"I assume that means we'll be acquiring superpowers?"

"I am not certain I understand the question," answered the Educator, settling both hands on his cane.

"We'll be acquiring abilities. Supernatural powers. Yes?"

"I misspoke," said the Educator, raising an arresting hand. "I can understand exactly the form of the question. I was requesting you to expand on its source, Ms. Storm."

"The fuck," whispered Francis, many times more quiet than he'd ever been even whispering during Ms. Parker's classes. "He's actually fucking real. And in front of us."

Several of the other students looked at him, as he, in turn, looked at Josh, who looked stumped - in equal measure, seemingly, by losing a bet that was impossible to lose, as well as the fact this was occurring. At the same time, the dialogue between Penelope and the Educator continued without interruption.

"I only wished to ask if this process might be interfered with in any way by my being the child of two Enrolled."

"No, I do not believe so, Ms. Storm."

"Thank you, sir."

"Thank you, sir," whispered Mia, copying the tone, albeit with a deep color of shock. "How's she so fucking casual, like he's Mr. Wilson?"

"Now," the Educator said, once no one else's hands rose, "Assuming everyone here is a willing participant, at least until I am informed otherwise-"

Solomon's own hand shot into the air.

"Yes, Mr. Lancaster?" the Educator asked, not sounding even slightly upset at the interruption or suddenness of the gesture. Solomon didn't care to ask how he knew everyone's surnames. Presumably it was some kind of fucked up magic.

"So, if we want, we can leave?"

"Yes, Mr. Lancaster," the Educator responded.

The man cast a look around the classroom as if to test the atmosphere, before looking at Solomon once more. "This course is purely voluntary. You may quit at any time of the day, any time of the week and month, simply by saying so out loud. I'll naturally deliver anyone who does so to any safe location they desire. However, I should warn you that without this course's Education, you'll not be able to call upon any of the so-called 'miracles' that I am said to teach. A full three-year attendance is mandatory to be capable of independent manifestation and development in such mores and disciplines. I hope this, too, is understandable?" He looked around the classroom, receiving a smattering of vague, shocked nods and mutters of agreement and assent. "Excellent."

"I have a question, too," said Damien, raising a hand only a half-second after. "Um, uh, you are... or... well..."

"I am not George Orwell, and neither is the Theme of our Class his famous novel 1984, no," answered the Educator, sounding as though he'd actually misunderstood the question. "That'd be an incredibly terrifying Theme, I'll admit. I'll have to consider it in the future."

"No, uh, what I meant is," Damien stopped to breathe for a second, and then restarted, "Can you explain where you've brought us?"

"That'll be explained at a later point in time, Mr. Nash. However, the enthusiasm to learn is noted and much appreciated. Any other questions?"

He looked around. There was nothing. It seemed they'd exhausted the well of immediate concerns, and were now simply burningly curious to see what'd come ahead.

"Majestic," the Educator said placidly. He moved on swiftly to the next topic, "Now, before we proceed, I ought to mention, my name is, formally and officially speaking, the Educator. It'd behoove you to show respect and refer to me as such. However, in the recent past, certain of my students have come up with the affectionate nickname of 'Mr. Ed,' to which I am not entirely opposed as long as it's utilized outside of class hours, either in private conversation or more informal settings. I merely wished to note this before we proceed with the actual lesson. Its topic, of course, being..."

He turned around, not approaching the blackboard, staying about three paces away from it. A wave of the hand caused the stick of chalk to levitate, and sketch in perfect Arial font on the blackboard, the words: 'Tarot Cards.'

"Tarot," he punctuated out loud, as the chalk landed back on the shelf. "This, for the next three years, shall be your Class Theme. I'm afraid for various reasons, this is not up to negotiation. Now... the Tarot! An exciting Theme, full of potential and wonder. Please open your books to page eleven."

"Books?" asked Sam, looking around. "We don't have any-"

A number of tomes clattered onto each desktop, poofing in out of nowhere.

"Books. Page eleven," the Educator calmly repeated, with the same cheerful intonation.

Everyone followed the instruction and found a short catalogue - or perhaps, more accurately, a cheat sheet - of tarot cards with their associations and meanings.

"Tarot is an old tradition," the Educator expounded. "Albeit not as old as some would have you believe. According to known occultist Aleister Crowley, its origins are founded in the Jewish mysticism of the kabbalah, a fact which is patently not true - its origins are much more humble, as a simple card game not dissimilar to poker. It was only because of its eventual inclusion of religious and mystical themes around the sixteenth or seventeenth century that it started to gather a more spiritual reputation. However, even if the depth of its history may not run as profound and cavernous as many like to believe, it holds a degree of true power and meaning, still."

"Take, for instance, the Fool," he said, manifesting a card out of nowhere. It displayed a cheerful blonde youth with an exuberant face, about to step off a mountain, with a dog barking at them in warning.

"Almost limitless potential, curtailed by a number of shortcomings. It represents freedom and new beginnings, adventure, and idealism!" He flipped it around, showing an empty space, the Fool having fallen off the proverbial mountain peak, the dog now panting over the edge and barking in grief at the loss of its companion. "However, its darker side represents carelessness, reckless foolishness, and sheer naivete. It does not do to be foolish! It can be as deadly as it can be innocent!"

He drew a hand back and threw the card across the room, and it sailed over everyone's head like a bullet from a gun barrel, hitting the opposite wall and lodging itself in the middle of a wooden pillar, before exploding into a swarm of luminescent butterflies.

"Fate. Destiny. Meaning. Symbolism. Narrative," the Educator recited clamorously, each punctuated by a short, dramatic pause. "These are the concepts the Tarot revolves around, that it draws on its essence from. It'll be your Theme as Enrolled. Give it due consideration, as its ethos can make and unmake your very futures! Endeavor not to follow in the Fool's doomed footsteps, or else you may find yourselves walking off a mountain blindly."

With such an ominous declaration, the Educator swept off to the side, raising a finger as the door opened. "Now, all of you, please read pages one to ten, while I have a short conversation outside the classroom with Ms. Parker... Ms. Parker, if you would?" He looked at the frozen woman.

The young woman, so chipper and upbeat only several minutes ago, was now entirely reeling from confusion. She almost winced at her own name, but stood, ramrod straight with a nod as the Educator requested her to accompany him.

"Uhm, yes... yes, I'm coming." She walked over to the Educator, offering the students one final look of utter defeat and uncertainty. The Educator closed the door, and they were left in complete silence. Only they, a classroom remade to look almost like a marriage between a fortune-teller's tent and wagon, and the books he'd produced.

"Holy fuck," said Josh almost immediately after the door closed, his former smirks now a faded and distant past, looking at Solomon with sweat on his forehead. "How did you know? How did you predict this?"

"I'm just that smart," Solomon smugged. "You owe me fifty dollars."

"Did I hear that right, you predicted this entire thing?" Penelope asked, turning around to face the back of the classroom.

Huh, usually everyone brushes off everything I say. Even if I'm proven right in the end. I suppose this is somewhat different enough.

"Yeah," Solomon answered dubiously, staring at the popular girl.

"How?" she asked, and leaned forward, closer in his direction. Her voice was frightfully grave. "No, seriously. How?"

"Uhm, I'll explain it to you later," he said, kind of shocked at the sudden reception. "For now I think we should read the stuff that guy wants us to read."

She nodded in agreement and returned to her book. Harrison, the muscular football player, looked at Solomon for a second and asked, "Any other predictions?"

"Uh, not really... I'll let you know if I have any."

What is this? Why are they suddenly not so skeptical anymore?

"Thanks," he said and started reading.

---

Mechanics

It seems you were right, although you usually are.

Now, the mechanics shall be explained. In this quest, there are two distinct types of spendable resources:

[Will], representing the Slacking Loafer's current willingness and motivation to take unpleasant action, its management and inconvenience being the foremost flaw of his character. It's most often expended on actions such as studying, learning, training, social interaction, making breakthroughs, and so on. It can be restored mainly by slacking off, loafing around, and doing nothing productive whatsoever. It's essentially the resource you utilize to increase the effectiveness of your baseline actions.

At the moment, you have [370 Will], a decent sum made even larger by your being correct, having your claims seemingly make an impact for once, and being thrown into a dreamlike fantasy scenario right out of a storybook in which you'll almost certainly gain highly desirable superpowers.

Student Credit, representing an abstract measure of the thread's efforts, argumentation, involvement, and activity. It can be expended on achieving true excellence; breakthrough that are impossible with hard work or genius alone, but rather, require a combination of both married to prodigious luck and fortune.

Right now, you have 4.7 Credit, a seemingly modest quantity, and yet impressive given the amount of discussion and content you've generated so far.

---

Starting Items

Now, before the main crux of the vote happens, you must decide the assembly of items that Solomon decided to bring along with him. A write-in here costs .1 Credit, otherwise, each mentioned option is free of charge unless mentioned otherwise. However, you can only pack a maximum of fifteen items, including copies:

[ ] Comfy Pillow - Your own favorite pillow to sleep on. It will passively boost your Will restoration by a minuscule amount. Having more pillows won't help you because you only have one head. If perhaps you had some way to sprout more...?

[ ] Coffee Jelly - Your favorite treat. Eating it as a reward can motivate you and increase your Will during a drought of impetus.

[ ] Baton - A self-defense baton you made through whittling during your free time, a relatively pleasant and relaxing experience. For some reason, you anticipate these may be useful in short order, and sooner rather than later, although they'll - naturally - eventually be discarded in favor of all sorts of amazing superpowers.

[ ] Lighter - Stolen from your dad, borrowed from your neighbor Ms. Smith with no intent of being returned, or simply picked up from the ground and manually refilled. If sold or rented out alongside the cigarettes, you can make awesome profits. A gut instinct combined with simple deductive logic tells you someone will probably figure out pyromancy sooner rather than later, so packing more than one would be slightly superfluous, and its usefulness is tragically short-lived as a result.

[ ] Cigarettes [Free, then 10 Will for each purchase after the fourth] - The most common sin perpetrated on the lungs, and the ultimate contraband. Every high schooler needs their dose of cancer sticks, and you're happy to oblige. You avoided paying for them - and therefore doing the work - by mooching off your old man's supply stash for the last couple of weeks, until you gathered a decent amount. If you want a truly ridiculous amount, you'll have needed to work, though. It debatably makes you slightly immoral to sell these. Or, perhaps, more moral.

[ ] Survival Handbook To Educational Enrollment [Free, then 10 Will for each purchase afterward] - A handbook to surviving and succeeding an Enrollment, written by one Cassandra Prescott, also known as the Archivist, a graduate of the History Theme. It contains a number of useful tips and tricks for your Education, a list of potential and useful arguments that can be levied against the Educator and are recorded to have worked in the past, and some minor footnotes about the sort of things you may encounter. Based on interviews with other Enrolled, including exclusive commentary from the Metaphysicist on page sixty-five!

[ ] Solar Charger [75 Will] - An incredibly useful yet expensive item, as most of them aren't cheap, you would've had to (retroactively) work your ass off part-time to afford one, let alone several. Such a treasure will doubtless accrue price until someone can figure out a way of charging phones with magic, something you predict won't happen or be reasonably available for at least several months, letting you sell it or rent it out to your classmates for immense profit and favor.

[ ] Tarot Deck [5 Will, .1 Credit] - In an incredible feat of predictive fortune, you managed to snag one of these. Oddly, you can't tell how useful it might be, though. Presumably, there'll be lots of tarot decks around, but maybe having one of your own is gonna do or mean something special with all the magic you'll be throwing around?

[ ] Write-in [.1 Credit, potentially also Will]

It's recommended you format this part of the vote as a plan. Under his circumstances, Solomon would've predicted you won't need anything in the way of food or water, so you do not have to worry much about that unless you wish to bring along luxury items such as peanut butter to sell at marked-up prices.

Selling for money doesn't make a lot of sense currently, but you can hold off your goods until one of your classmates has something you want. Or, you can give them out freely and hope to earn yourself some favor points with your classmates.

---

Enrollment

After you've selected your items, a natural question remains: how does Solomon's Freshman Class (no longer having the honor of being high school juniors, apparently,) design the Roles, once they are done with reading the assigned material that introduces the topic to the unaware?

Each Enrolled, naturally, has a Role, an aspect of the Theme they manifest as the core of their power and center of their learning. Already, the Educator introduced you with the example of 'the Fool,' a brash and naive, yet adventurous and greatly dormant youth capable of performing great deeds, if they do not suffer an early death.

For this particular section of the quest, each player may craft an [ ] Idea: [Role], proposing a conception of a particular Role, much as the Educator's proposed interpretation of the Fool. A conception may be as broad, narrow, deep, and shallow as desired, and expanded upon by other players. A player may also freely challenge another player's conception with their own, arguing for how a Role should operate based on a different conception of it. A player can make propositions for multiple Roles, although it's somewhat encouraged to give others space to develop their own ideas, and gradually build off of each other: bonus Credit may be assigned for such endeavors.

Abilities, specific limitations, and so on can be named, and should be named in a fair and discerning manner - both for maintaining the spirit of equity and because of more practical concerns! Remember that you won't be the only individual receiving some of these Roles, and your favorite may not necessarily fall freely into your lap: the more powerful a Role, the more enticing it is, and the more students will want it, with the Educator potentially resolving a tie of interests in someone else's favor! At the same time, the more powerful a Role, the more inherent danger it presents, marking anyone bearing it as a potential target later on in the quest. There is a safety in relative 'weakness.'

The shape of the Roles, as they emerge, is in your hands, but the Educator is the final arbiter and can veto anything he deems unacceptable, ridiculous, or non-fitting. He's also the final arbiter of who receives which Role, if any disagreements should arise that cannot be resolved by their respective parties. The Educator can also propose or challenge ideas, or back them up, although this form of interference is fairly rare, as he seems to value his students' input and creativity far more than technical correctness.

It should be noted he's generally willing to acquiesce to reasonable ideas, such as 'the Vampire' not burning up instantly into ash when exposed to direct sunlight, as that'd disincentivize anyone from picking such a Role, the price not worth the benefits. However, he does look fondly at reasonable limitations as well, and may be willing to tolerate a slightly larger leeway of amazing superpowers if they are accompanied by some Thematic drawbacks.

At the end of the day, the ultimate and accepted form of a Role shall be based on a mixture of the following elements:
- General average and crux of what the players / students can agree on as being reasonable.
- What the QM / Educator believes is reasonable, transcending the element above to a moderate degree.

Naturally, Roles revolving around the Theme of Tarot Cards should most probably include actual tarot cards as Roles - giving you an incredibly diverse and ironically predetermined spread of them to pick from - although you're free to include auxiliary ideas.

For instance, something like 'The Fortune-Teller' might act as a considerable support and prediction-based Role...

If an insufficient amount of Roles is proposed, more shall be provided diegetically by the students. Likewise, if some are bypassed, the Educator shall provide some baseline ideas of his own, ones that won't necessarily be inherently to any degree inferior or superior to what you might've come up with.
 
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Enrolled (pt. 2)
Enrolled (pt. 2)

After returning, and directing Ms. Parker to sit back down in her chair, the Educator stood in front of the blackboard and clapped his hands peppily. "Alright, Class. I hope you've finished reading. If so, let's assemble everything you've read into a nice and proper body of work. I wish to see a real brainstorm here, everyone getting involved in a discussion."

He intently shifted his gaze around. "Ideas?"

"Death's, like, uh, good at killing? And has a scythe I guess?" said Ethan in a throwaway fashion, without raising a hand. He seemed to have adapted well to the strangeness, already taking the concept of inventing superpowers with a level of detached relaxation.

"A decent start, Mr. Hartwell. Let's add it to our board," answered the Educator, as the chalk stick automatically drew out an assembly of bullet points under the role, 'Death.' Surreally, they were, 'experienced killer,' and 'scythe weapon' respectively. It seemed the Educator wasn't lying. Their own interpretations would decide the aspects of a Role.

A hand shot up, before more ideas could be thrown in. Solomon noticed it was Zoe's, and his face immediately distorted into chagrin.

She's always been the Teacher's Pet, he recanted. I should've known entering Narnia won't change that.

"Ms. Stone?"

"Won't the board run out of space, sir?"

"Don't worry. We'll add more space as necessary," the Educator answered, refusing to elaborate on how exactly he planned to add more space. "Other ideas?"

After a couple of hesitant seconds, Penelope raised her own hand, and offered, "For the Magician, sir, I think, we can say it is a Role concerned with the subtle and unseen, setting beginnings into motion, inspiring events, often in a way that isn't easily seen..." Her voice blurred away in Solomon's mind as he sucked in a breath and sighed.

I'd better start involving myself. I'm not sure what I actually want to achieve here, though. There's far too much to consider...

He attempted to re-center himself. An opportunity for magical powers stood in front of him. He needed to consider what he most desired out of a potential package of such abilities. Marginally more optimistic, now that he'd figured out in which direction to think, Solomon began to contemplate.

Well, for starters, something easy and pleasant. Hmm. The Hermit? It'd fit me, although that's a depressing thought. And I'm not a nerd or particularly hard worker, so is Magician even something I want to consider? There must be other things I can think of...

As he descended into a meditabund introspection, soul-searching and deep, he rather ironically failed to discern the swiftness of the Class in coming up with ideas. They went on, even the sorts of Thompson and Langley collaborating and creating new ideas - an assortment of concepts half-baked and well-refined alike, thrown around and written down on the blackboard with no bias, the dimensions of which appeared to conveniently expand as needed, the writing becoming more condensed yet remaining clear.

And in the meantime, Solomon considered himself on a fundamental level. He didn't want much. Just to be content, not unlike anyone else. There were a lot of paths to achieving that, some far worse than others. Transforming himself into a less demotivated human being sounded extremely troublesome. An effortless system of advancement leading to eventual apotheosis seemed nice, though. Alternatively, something to either hack away his uncanny predictive ability or make people listen to him...

In several minutes, a crisp list of ideas for the entire deck was transcribed on the blackboard, and Solomon was snapped out of his reverie because of Damien's muttered complaints about the bitter unfairness of the World. It didn't seem as though he'd lost much, as even now, halfway through the process, interjections could be made to argue up or down a Role's particular capabilities. He considered that aspect of it as well, although he didn't come up with anything thrilling.

And then, once the Educator reminded them everyone would choose a Role, came the narrowing of eyes, and cold looks, and amendments: the World's influence needed to have limits, and Death couldn't simply kill everyone it knew with a casual thought, and the Devil, even if it could dabble in forbidden arts, couldn't simply erase timelines.

Predictable.

It developed into an argument of scales and balances, everyone having picked out a mental favorite they wished most for, and attempting to argue up its power, and argue down everyone else's without being entirely submerged in the cesspool of disapproval. Predictably even for a peon, social factions developed, promising to aid each other and bring down the competition, and soon the Class was locked in a silent war. In front of Solomon's eyes, old friendships were tested, and ancient rivalries came to bear.

Damien was most fortunate that he didn't state an outright preference for any particular Role, as it'd have been immediately buried with anchors hoping to drag it underwater. It'd ensure that at least one decently promising candidate would be left for him at the end.

Aside from that, it seemed Josh was angling for the World and Francis for Judgement, much to a lot of people's crossness. Solomon didn't even want to think what they could do with that kind of power and considered whether he should attempt to snatch either of the Roles himself simply to prevent them from becoming too entrenched in influence. It seemed like the sort of troublesome that'd return to bite his ass. He could also technically call in Josh's debt, but arguing with that would be its own sort of pain.

Nonetheless, the conflict of debates sparking continued on, unabated, like a cart slowly rolling downhill in the direction of a pit leading to a nuclear core.

The Educator acted as the final executioner of the untrammeled cultch. However, he also offered, more than anything else, a steady input of wise and creative counsel, reshaping ideas that started half-formed into complete and frankly inspired ones, only proceeding if there was agreement from their originators. As if borrowing or loaning his superior cogitation to students, rounding out what they couldn't articulate themselves but found instinctively desirable.

And from that, soon, started to emerge the first glimmers of brilliant truth, the Roles starting to settle into more concrete shapes, and as this happened, Solomon felt a strange electric brush running rampant across his mind, a proprioceptive discord that seemed to tangle throughout his nerves and brain, as overwhelming as it was strangely invigorating. It was like a static power running through the air, slowly filling his lungs and veins, igniting them pleasantly like sublime lightning.

After it was over, he shuddered, and then exhaled shakily, seeing a thin icy mist emerge from his breath, smelling of nothing distinct. He pondered its existence and then whipped around to look at his classmates and see their reactions.

No one else seemed to notice, or at least, didn't comment on it. He didn't observe any signs that anyone was bothered. Looking at the Educator, it seemed the man hadn't seen it either, too occupied with the blackboard's contents, studying them for a couple of seconds.

"Alright, Class," the Educator said cheerfully, clapping hands as he turned around. "I can see a lot of potential here that I can work with... Let's do a final pass, roll over any mistakes, flatten out the wrinkles. Five minutes for you all to consider and finalize the current roster. Let's not add new ones, though, I think we've accumulated a decent packet, and I don't want to unbalance this precious set too much. You've delivered on my brainstorming request. I commend you."

Delving into his mind for one last confirmation of what he wanted, Solomon made his choice - the ideal Role, the one he wanted, that'd deliver him onward to tomorrow.

---

Here's the list of possessions you ultimately decided to take with you:

Contraband Items
Survival Handbook To Educational Enrollment
Tarot Deck
Comfy Pillow
Baton
Solar Charger
Phone + USB of Calibrated "Educational Videos"
Cigarettes
Lighter
Coffee Jello (x7)

And now, you must make a very important choice - namely, what is the most desirable Role for you? A number of the following are based, at least partially, on ideas displayed in the thread during this section, and others shall not be.

The Role you select is the one you'll succeed in claiming; due to your predictive ability, this is entirely assured, as if you predict a Role cannot be selected or argued for eloquently, you'll simply dismiss the choice from possibility space. However, certain more excellent or powerful options will demand an input of determination and true effort from you, things which are in short reserve. Arguments made in the thread can lower the costs, although not any more than 20% of Will and 25% of the Credit cost.

Due to your innate proclivities, a certain space of Roles has been prioritized in your prime consideration. All capabilities displayed beneath the names are projections of power you'll gain in time, not immediately granted faculties:

290 Will
6.3 Credit

[ ] The Magician: The Mystic
- The mystery of Magic has limitless manifestations and governing laws, almost none of which universally apply. All except one: everything has a cost. Humanity is ascending, perhaps all the way to godhood. And what price will be asked of us for this? And what will happen when we can't afford to pay it?

Find out the truth of this dilemma, before your species does.

*As above, so below - thus is the ethos of the Arcanist, and the foundational principle of magic. The universe is a strict equilibrium, all actions counterweighed by all other actions and the potential of future action; an equation, its outputs and inputs changing in relation to each other. Manipulating one, you can enforce change on the other.

*Effects are simple and crude to start with: form an effigy of a room made of carven rock, and control its furniture; create a voodoo doll of an individual and torture it to cast curses upon the real being; draw a situational chart corresponding to a chessboard's states, and see as the opposition plays based on real events, making your own counters to manipulate reality into obeying your moves, eventually winning a political election by toppling the enemy king with a dramatic checkmate.

*The Arcanist may eventually formulate and access new laws of magic, in order to create and control new effects: repetition as the basis of ritual, appeasement of the world as the foundation of good karma, and assigning an inherent form of meaning and deep value to sacrifice to receive something desired in exchange.

[ ] The Magician: The Arcanist [100 Will, 7 Credit] - If an ideal doesn't match the world, it's not the ideal that must change. A long time ago, men feared to ascend the skies, dreading the wrath of divinities. Now, through sheer grit, we've moved past that - and in time - every other limitation.

*A simple phenomenon: impose your will and enact change, commensurate with the level of will you're inputting. Mental focus alone is the channel for this, although deeper levels of intricate and complex mechanisms can be formed within your mind to allow grander effects. At baseline, you can only bend minor probabilities with extreme focus, or create telekinetic effects that bend spoons or lift pebbles. In the future, your reserves may slowly deepen.

*For a number of more immediately-accessible gross and material invocations, you can stake control over the four Minor Arcana: Swords, Wands, Cups, and Pentacles. Each bestows authority over a certain element, as well as a certain methodology of magic: (Air, Reason), (Fire, Creativity), (Water, Emotion), (Earth, Material). Focus on a single one that appeals to you the most, prioritize each in equal measure, or swap out your pick on the basis of need.

*Eventually, most probably after calcification of your Role has occurred, you'll be able to induct new sorcerers into one of the Four Arcana, forming distinct schools of magic. Arcanists of the Sword cleaving through issues via an orderly system of wizardry, Arcanists of the Earth creating artifacts to channel their will, and so on.

[ ] The Magician: King of Magi [200 Will, 14 Credit] - There is nothing mere about excellence, and yet that insufficient word falls well shy of describing what you are. Become the King of Magi, mantling the originator of every supernal and arcane art, your own namesake.

*Even from the start, you excel beyond words, the mere dross of your Role enabling the potentiality of full magical transcendence, predictions of magical workings forming the coherent baseline from which to cast: spells developing in fast progression like falling stars, empowered as they blossom into supernovae. No secret is beyond you, no art above being learned or mastered; no mere threefold greatness is this, but a universe-encompassing genius to blot out the galactic phosphor and replace it with your designs. Abnormally, even before your first lesson with the Educator, start out with a number of coherent spells, comparable only to cantrips but still useful.

*In a short time, you may start to design more powerful invocations. Among the ones that come easiest to you are spiritual calls, summoning and binding a number of loyal entities to serve you; not unlike a fisherman casting a hook with a particular sort of bait to attract a certain form of catch. However, nothing is beyond you: automated workshops, alchemical wonders, divinatory seeing-stones, and other marvels untangling from your fingertips and reassembling at your behest.

*However, even a King mustn't contest the winds of fate. Against their prevailing touch, your plots may collapse like a house of cards. It is easier to move with them at your back and in your sail, letting them spur you onwards and then altering course only as you are about to land, within the circumscribed region of permissible outcomes. Even then, preferably you should only do so on another man's ship.

*Furthermore, your power is constrained outside of a particular sanctum that you must designate - outside, you can only cast so many spells in a day, command and control only so many spirits, stabilize only so many wonders and emplace only so many wards. Within it, your will is uncontested, and even fate is constrained to an obedient breeze.

[ ] Wheel of Fortune: Denial of Predestination - Fate is beyond everything. It does not regard you with hatred, but ultimately, fate is not your ally. Its designs are its own to decide, your destiny a mere grain on its desert tapestry. Men do not have any control over their fate.

And yet, for the Wheel of Fortune, nothing is predestined. For your entire life, you've been a slave to the whims of destiny. Time to make your own.

*The main focus of your initial lessons will be the crystallization of your predictions and channeling them into a new form of ability. Your eyes shall become a frightening green, capable of peering into the strands of fate, perusing strings, and even picking them out for advanced study. Given contemplation and learning, you'll learn to manipulate the strings: snipping out the ones you do not like, and shifting others into more positive alignment as you desire. A maligned foe may be slain forever by ripping out his entire cord, in a fashion that is almost impossible to defend against without mystical protections. Even weaving new strands isn't beyond you, in time.

*A more physical and earthly route involves directly using strings of fate, materialized, to intervene in mortal affairs, controlling them as implements: directed in a thrust, they can pierce supernal flesh; formed into a net they may ensnare a foe or intercept a missile; and directed by your endless sloth, made into a comfy hammock.

*The ultimate move of the Wheel of Fortune is the aforementioned Denial of Predestination, an invocation by which nations may be crumbled, high deities overthrown from their marble thrones, and even axiomatically undefeatable foes see the chance of being unmade. Even an entity on the level of a true demon encompassing every element of the full spectrum and subservient domains of life could, potentially, be affected by the touch of your strings; a fateless being yanked down from its flowerbed authority.

[ ] Wheel of Fortune: Gambler's Den [10 Will, 1 Credit] - A desire for control stems of absence, but you've never lacked for control: perhaps what you need most is the stark opposite, a surprise to render your life exciting?

*A power as terrifyingly addictive as it can be potent. Manifest a real Wheel of Fortune, pay an appropriate price in order to purchase a ticket, and then pray for luck as you spin the Wheel. Its potential results are endless and varied: anything from a pebble with an interesting color to a loyal companion from another universe to bottled divinity.

*There's nothing more to this. Just a wheel and an eternity of gachapon degeneracy. However, further Education does constrain cheap, bad, or undesirable results, and expands the range and upper limit of that which is desirable.

[ ] The Hermit: The Enlightener - A simple creed: dwell in darkness and emanate light, showing others the way, a lantern wrapped in shadow. Lead others to treasures you cannot possess, and in doing so, enrich the world.

*A fundamentally kindness-oriented Role, it focuses your predictions, making them less common, but also dazzlingly and terrifyingly brilliant whenever they do occur, flashes of ingenious discovery that can turn around seemingly hopeless situations. Even in the darkest pits of despair, you may find a distant and promising shimmer of light. However, most of them are now predilected to aiding others, rather than advancing your own interests, requiring you to support another rather than stand on your own.

*Has the capability to manifest an artifact Beacon, a brilliant tool of mystical enlightenment sealed within an iron-framed lantern. Passively, its light can serve as a fuel to empower mental lucubrations, making studying by its nightly shine an emboldened and augmented effort. Actively, it can show clairvoyant paths and divine truths, expending its brightness to reveal secrets or the vulnerabilities of foes. Furthermore, those curiously gazing into its depths can become subtly transfixed by the signs of a potential future. Its light can be unsparing in this capacity to both allies and foes, but you hold a degree of innate resistance.

*Almost no corporeal enhancements: a pivot and lever, rather than a rock or strongman; mentor rather than hero. On your own, your field of accomplishments is limited. With a capable ally, your combined range of possibilities is expanded geometrically. Form a cabal of loyalists or lead a callow youth, and you'll excel. Do not, and you'll stall.

[ ] The Hermit: The Cultivator [290 Will, 25 Credit] - In order to cultivate wisdom, one must comprehend the inner and outer worlds. Through comprehension, master them. Through mastery, control them. And through control, utterly and ruthlessly transcend them.

*Advancement is made through meditation and isolation. The inherent distractions of within and without are bothersome, plagues of material trapping to be ignored and eventually transcended. Through rigorous discipline, you cultivate not mere willpower, but a severance from temporal circumstance that lets you bypass your limits. Discard sloth, and become eternally sleepless; throw away attachment to life, and become eternally living; disrobe from greed and acquire matter limitless. For every temptation you refuse, you grow an ironic faculty related to its aspect. Begin with your inherent despair, and you'll find having motivation does not matter anymore.

*In doing so, you also cultivate reserves of inner wisdom and external strength, in a cycle that seems almost endless. A hardened and swifter body; mind sharper and more responsive than ever, and even the soul swelling with its primacy spilling out to reinforce the former facets.

*Inherent danger of callously shearing off too many parts of yourself. In a distant era from now, you may be a wise elder meditating in a sublime spatial grove, finding that you do not have or feel the need to do anything for the rest of eternity; having cloven away your attachment even to the Earth, and those you called friends and family. No more malevolence dreaming in your heart, but neither also the benevolence to do anything about evil. Nothing but a simple eternity of no attachments awaiting you...

[ ] The Devil: Paganism - Arts forbidden unfold at the fingertips of those who dare to raise them up, magics and evils revealed to a deity that doesn't care about moral impositions and society. Mind over matter, and matter over spirit: all drawn in a circle that binds. Do as thou wilt.

*In many of its aspects, the Pagan Devil is not dissimilar to the Arcanist, as simple infusions of willpower can alter reality. However, in our case, willpower is further enhanced by desire, and in turn constrained by ethics: attempt to coax the universe into you something you truly wish for above all, and you'll find your willpower acting with tenfold influence; fuss and blame, and you'll find your influence cut horridly short, not capable of stoking even a flame to harm someone. As long as you act within your conventions of morality, this won't be an issue. How long, however, before you start to alter your definition of what's moral to achieve what you desire?

*As a result of passively wishing to continue living a happy (?) life, you gain supernal longevity; potentially even immortality. For some reason, time manipulation comes to you with surprising ease as well, compounding to ensure you'll always have more of it.

*Additionally, you can enter binding pacts with mortals, conferring upon them similar capacities to yourself, or granting them wishes by your own power. The contents of the contracts are binding, although they don't have to know that. All that is needed to seal a contract is a verbal agreement made in truth, using no unnatural coercion.

[ ] The Devil: Demon King [10 Will, 1 Credit] - For every transgression, a reward. A Demon King arises when the rewards outweigh the consequences; the miracles rise above the screams; the wonders outscale any potential concern of the suffering caused. Apply care or embrace it, the Demon King cares not.

*Essentially, through the absorption of negative emotions such as fear, discord, hate, or shame, you gain power. This is a background feature, a process that occurs without any need for guidance or activation: simply by staying in the catchbasins of human emotion, you can accumulate endless might and magic. Negativity directed towards you, however, is especially potent: by styling yourself as an adversary and giving humanity reasons to despise you, you might become truly undefeatable, a patrician of godhood to rival even the likes of the Olympian or Once and Future King, and possibly even stronger than them.

*Even annoyance is sufficient to coax out some trickle of power; a hundred especially irritating pranks on a susceptible individual may equal weeks of training, and unlock minor supernatural capabilities, such as arm-range telekinesis, color alteration within your field of view, or facial shapeshifting. Often, the powers developed are related to the emotions you incited and the associations you created with them. Naturally, the strength swells in tune with the strength of the emotions.

*For all its stellar potential, the cost is truncated, as this synergizes extremely with your own desires and is therefore easier to argue for: a method of advancement that requires almost no activity from you, but potentially allows for sudden scaling in a case of dire exigence. Others do not see the use of this as easily as you do.

[ ] The Chariot: Gilded Path [100 Will, 7 Credit] - A Chariot must drive along a gilded path, away from the curses of the earth, and onward: through opposition, to achieve bright victory. It's not in your nature to go beyond, but if you have a vehicle to carry you, then you may still learn.

*The Chariot moves swiftly, no longer bothered by the vagaries of distance, only caring for the strength of its wheels, and the necessity carrying it onward. Distance no longer matters, as you can reach anywhere you wish to be within a reasonable amount of time, scaling with your own desire and need to be there, as well as the distance: reach a building one kilometer away in a similar timeframe to reaching a city on another continent, if you feel an urgent need to be there. As you move, you emanate a golden light that you can learn to channel even outside of travel. Anything the light touches too keenly is repulsed out of the path of your journey: in due time, you may learn to channel this effect for offense.

*In order to achieve victory, you can establish a clear and concise goal in the form of a short sentence. The goal must be attainable within a day's timeframe from when the decision is made. Once you select a goal and activate this power, your body and mind will be guided along the most direct and effortless path to accomplish it. You are unable to deviate from this path until you successfully achieve the designated goal. The path chosen will always be the one with the least resistance and simplest execution. Never can you deviate from your path, and in light of new discoveries, this may spell your doom.

[ ] The High Priestess: Keeper of Secrets [140 Will, 7 Credit] - The High Priestess is the matron of mystery. The connection between the supernatural and the normal and its deeper, hidden sides are something that is intrinsically known to her.

*Secrets come to you like moths attracted to an open flame, only to be consumed and grow the fire. By mere proximity hidden knowledge starts to stream into your mind, at first personal details about a person, and then with time and advancement the secrets of the world. The Metaphysicist's deepest confidential matters, maybe even the nature of the Educator will begin to be known to you. After all, what is a man, if not a miserable little pile of secrets?

*You are the bridge between the white pillar of Establishment and the black pillar of Strength. You understand that you can only be whole once the binary becomes the duality of the whole. You can form connections between people, ideas, and concepts with you as the chain holding them together. Two lovers only stay together because you are there to advise them, the sun and the moon give the earth day and night because you are on it, and so on.

*You are in the know and people seek you out, the other nincompoops in the class are your sycophants and they must be ones one worth your time, not the other way around. As such, you have a tendency to be relatively impassive and must really get off your ass if you want something done the right way. As such you aren't really the really the nuclear go-getter, but that's alright you have other people for that.

*People like you because know more than them, so it only makes sense that actively telling them the information you would know would only be detrimental. If the world was built on fair and clear communication then it would really be bad. The more you reveal about what you know to others, the weaker you actually get in terms of your power.

[ ] Write-in [250 Will, 25 Credit]
 
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The Code of Hermes
The Code of Hermes

His mind rose from the murk of comatose rest almost like a zombie awakening in a world emptied through nuclear fire. Its sluggish apathy shaken off like so much grime, it became a device of sharpness and acuity. The decision was rendered instantly and the devotion to its fulfillment maximized.

In the crucible of his incisive intellect, Solomon's thoughts whirled like a reel of film, propelled with the velocity of a racing automobile's wheel. An approximation of the precise steps required crystallized before him with unexpected clarity. The true weight of the situation had yet to penetrate the subconscious of some of his classmates.

It'd be, he realized, easier than stealing candy from a baby.

He spoke to Josh, over the chatter of the classroom. "Hey, Thompson." His attention was drawn immediately to Solomon. "Forget your debt if you help me claim Magician."

A smirk curved Josh's lips in response, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Heh, a Role's worth only fifty bucks to you? You know what, sure thing. That's a deal then."

He extended a hand, to seal the deal, and Solomon shook it.

"And you two," he added, turning to address Noah and Francis. "In on this?"

Francis retorted, "Only if you help us, too."

"Won't work against you if you return the favor," he offered instead, as an acceptable concession, and it was swiftly agreed upon.

As much as Josh was a total bastard, he didn't have a reason to betray a promise. It was his consideration that Solomon was a potential friend among the lofty echelons, and this was a decent avenue to making that consideration a reality. Even if that was false, for now, he didn't have much reason to suspect that Solomon despised him, so he'd prop down a modicum of effort, and with the strength of his reputation, that'd be sufficient to drive support in Solomon's direction. And since neutrality was extracted from the others in his small faction, there'd be nothing to shake the foundation of certainty, internal strife buttressed by mutual agreement.

No rivals would come, and the Magician was practically his own to claim.

All that remained was swaying the Educator, but that could happen in a couple moments from now. Victory here was won in several steps, not a single overwhelming frontal assault. If he displayed too much open avarice for his Role, it'd incentivize others to take it away.

After that, he spent a couple of minutes speaking with Josh, and declaring to the Educator what he believed the Magician ought to be capable of - receiving overall levels of agreement, and then Solomon only stopped pushing when he started to detect any further extraction of abilities and magic would risk the loss of popular support.

It was better to claim uncontested godhood than chew at primordial power and risk losing any power whatsoever.

After that, Solomon decided to fold his arms, close his eyes and rest, and allow the remnant of the Enrollment to play itself out. Material conditions were secured, and he predicted that Josh wouldn't change his mind halfway through.

Arguments followed in a predictable cadence, distinct flows of conversation meeting each other like mutually annihilating sea waves roiling with fury, waters attempting to overwhelm each other. Even as some of the well-admired and powerful offered each other aid in return for aid, the powerless were forced to band for any hopes of acquiring what they desired. The Class carved its own divisions, while the Educator maintained an undercurrent of steadying commentary. As the ultimate arbiter, he held the authority to deny a Role based on any pretext, even if support for a particular candidate was nearly unanimous. In most instances, this extreme measure wasn't requisite.

Fishing out the deck of tarot cards he'd brought was sufficient to sway the Educator heavily to Solomon's side on becoming the Class' Magician, securing the Role with as much certainty as it could be - both earning the support of his classmates and the teacher.

It seemed that combining subtle threats or insinuations of future violence and overall charisma, Josh and Francis managed to wheedle enough support for themselves to claim the World and Judgement, the Roles held as some of the more esteemed, even if on paper every Role was equal for the fact their abilities could be defined and redefined.

Aside from that, almost everyone was receiving the exact Roles they wished for or were suited towards, except for Damien, who ended up with the Hanged Man as an element of an unsubtle witticism. He'd most likely desired to claim the Hermit for its ability to sneak off and remain unseen, but that one was handed out to Caleb instead.

After the dust had settled, the Enrollment was apportioned off, each piece of the Theme handed out to its respective luminary, and the supportive Role of the Fortune Teller falling into the lap of Ms. Parker, almost as if reifying the nature of her character, as one standing sidereal to her own students.

The Educator smiled and moved to stand in front of the Class, wiping the blackboard with the motion of a wrist.

"I am happy to announce our first lesson is over, my students," he announced. "You'll feel a strange sensation in a second, as your Roles are affirmed. I believe we'll start our first proper lessons tomorrow at eight, although a more precise schedule shall be handed out soon. Ms. Parker can show you to your quarters, I've given her a map."

And with that, the Educator disappeared. There was no event, no sound, not even a poof of smoke to punctuate the disappearance. He was simply standing there and then not standing there the very next moment. It was a little disorienting but Solomon was more focused on what was happening to his body.

A vibrant orange warmth coursed through Solomon's veins, a searing bolt of flame, almost a distant cousin of the earlier electricity he'd felt with its intensity turned up, as strange as it was unexpected. Heat, like a sun's incandescent rays, full and blooming like the ardor of spring, yet burning almost like a blowtorch. More than anything, it was revitalizing, as if realizing that you'd lived your entire life as a hollow and meaningless brick, only to now receive a spatula's worth of concrete filling and certainty.

Even after a couple of seconds had passed, the sensation of heat didn't dissipate, so much as settle down into a more solid and certain feeling: constrained and much better for its chains; energy made matter, potential made result. A form, mental and spiritual rather than physical, yet a form nonetheless.

Inside his mind, that form was a lever, and with its turning, an entire revolving carousel of new sensations was made available - distant, not yet within reach, more like outlines or silhouettes seen on a cave's wall, most of them nebulous and formless, and for that, also equally numberless. Almost limitless potential dreamt within them.

In front of them, between him and the cave on which they were cast, was a magnifying and altering lens, a portal that changed everything that moved on through, and its name was 'the Magician.' It was distorted and diminutive, only the size of a contact lens, its ability to shift the potential energy awkward and labored.

An instinct, a hunch brewing in his stomach, whispered it'd someday be a diamond-cut monocle transcending the world, if he ever lived that long, and it'd allow him to funnel all of that limitless potential. If he ever managed to reach that all-eclipsing level, it'd be millennia from now, and only through extremely difficult work and self-refinement.

Solomon, naturally, wasn't all that riveted. All he truly wished for was sufficient power to live in peace and be unbothered.

He looked around, momentarily, and noticed that while a number of his classmates had some reactions, none of them were as acute as his own. Interesting. He pondered whether the mechanism of his predictions and the nature of Enrollment had some connection. Given he seemed more aware of what was happening, it was somewhat likely.

"It's been a confusing day," said Ms. Parker, after a while, standing from her chair. The woman's forehead was matted with sweat, from some mixture of anxiety and animation. She looked distinctly out of her element.

It seemed she was afraid she wouldn't be able to maintain order in the future. A fair concern to have. Many Classes turned out to oppose the social order. Some cannibalized or killed each other. The ones that cooperated flawlessly and formed a united society, such as the Superheroes or Pirates, were only a few amongst a crowd.

"Let's head on up, kids," she offered, after seconds of hesitating. "We shouldn't tarry."

"He didn't give you a map, though, Ms. Parker?" asked Sandra, unusually talkative after the Enrollment. It might've been the nature of Solomon's insight playing tricks on his perception, but Sandra's skin appeared a shade more ashen and her eyes a touch more lifeless, as if the mere act of becoming Death rendered her more like the Role. He snapped out of it as she continued, "Not that I can see at least."

Ms. Parker offered back an ambivalent look. "I have it in my head. It's a little confusing but I think I can navigate us."

Harrison chose that opportunity to address the Class, standing from his chair and half-turning to look at everyone, raising a hand to prevent everyone from doing the same.

"Hold on. Shouldn't we discuss what happened instead?" He waited, looking around for reactions. "I mean, the Educator appeared out of nowhere and took us all to Neverland. Doesn't that merit at least... I dunno, discussing what to do now?" He looked a little hopeless, as if unsure whether what he was saying even made any sense.

"God, it's pretty obvious, Armstrong," said Mia, almost rolling her eyes at his question, "We learn from him and get superpowers. What else?"

"And then what?" Harrison elaborated.

"Then what?" asked Ethan in a harried tone, as if genuinely confused, "We'll make use of our powers."

"Alright," said Harrison, "And what guarantee do you have that Josh, Francis, and Noah won't use their powers to take over and become supervillains?"

"That's a considerable accusation, Armstrong," drawled Josh in exchange, sitting casually, almost leaning back on his chair. His voice sounded eerily calm. "But false and baseless accusations can only make trouble. Are you sure you don't wanna retract it?"

"See? That's what I'm talking about," Harrison declared, moving out into the rows. "This entire damn Enrollment, he's been intimidating you people into doing whatever he wanted. Insinuating you'd be in trouble with him and his cronies if you didn't fold. Carol?"

Carol offered only a modest shrug. "Don't drag me into this, big boy. It's your hill to die on."

Harrison, if he held any motes of resentment over not receiving support after handing over his favored Role of Strength with no resistance, didn't show it. Although he was decently well-liked, the Chariot was his second pick, after letting Carol take Strength.

He instead looked to the only other person in Class that might've offered support in the argument, if not because of her Role, then because of who she was.

As if disbelieving at first, and then realizing he wasn't bullshitting, Penelope stood and looked back at her classmates with a strange look. She folded her arms after a second, and some hunch told Solomon she was attempting to copy her mother's own stance when trying to look authoritative.

"Is that true?" She looked at Josh. "Is it?"

"He's bullshitting," Josh answered flippantly. "Mad that he didn't get the Role he wanted. Mad that we've got it better."

"Alright," Ms. Parker interfered, stepping forward to claim visibility. "Enough of this, please. There is no point in arguing. I'd like you all to stand up and come with me."

It couldn't be prevented, in case you were wondering, Solomon thought, cheek supported by a hand. Even if I didn't do anything, this would've happened. Even if I spoke to Harrison, it would've happened. In any case, our Class won't be able to plot together as a full group. At most, it'll be a couple of factions divided by interests.

After that, the argument - such as it was - died down, and they were led out of the Class.

The Educator's Academy was fabled in countless conversations and discussions across the world, the nature of its halls a subject of much debate and speculation. However, most of it was rendered needless with the release of more information in recent years, as the Survival Handbook to Educational Enrollment described it aptly. It even included a number of illustrative drawings, all photorealistic.

The Academy was a spire made of stone brick and ornamented with fluted columns and marble balustrades, thick-walled and decorated with statues and potted plants maintained by entities known as the Groundskeeper and the Janitor, both of whom rarely interacted with students outside the scope of their duties. It almost resembled a castle, if not for the fact it didn't have any hint of fortifications or even a single thought put to funneling enemies through choke points.

It was divided into a couple of levels, and the exterior world, all of which were mutable and could alter to suit the observer. Each of the levels was devoted to a different year, or a different Class, as there could sometimes - rarely - be multiple Classes in a year. In such cases, a level was said to be divided into halls.

Each level was decorated Thematically, its features shifted in a manner appropriate to its Class. The exceptions were extant in the form of shared locations, such as the Library, the Cafeteria, and the Gardens. All of these common areas were shared by the Enrolled in the Academy, regardless of Class, and required no access.

Solomon wasn't shocked or especially thrilled by the decorations on their level. It consisted mostly of violet and blue cloth hung around the ceiling, adorned with silver and golden stars and moons that appeared to shift across in strange constellations and galactic patterns. All of the windows seemed to allow in piercing shafts of pellucid, cool mint-blue light. There were crystal balls standing on pedestals and mystifying, abstract paintings in mostly cool colors on the walls, as well as statues and paintings depicting the characters and features of tarot cards done in a versatile number of styles.

The reactions of the rest of his Class were less muted, often admiring the decorations out loud, or on the lookout for ones that matched their own cards. Fingers were outstretched, strange curiosities pointed out, hushed excitement exchanged. He only wanted to sleep. The day had been surprisingly tiresome.

The exterior world of the Academy was an entirely different matter, according to what Solomon had read. An explicit permission was needed from the Educator or his assistants to exit the Academy's Gardens into the exterior, in which a special world existed, differing for each Class: none of them could access the others' worlds. The permission was difficult to obtain at first, although was allegedly almost automatically handed out in the second year, with the exception of special cases and situations.

He pondered what the Tarot World may look like. Could it be a kinder place than Earth? It didn't seem likely, although for once, his predictions were mercifully silent.

There were no more arguments or fights on the way, although some almost started after they were done ascending the staircase to the top of their level. Here, was a length of hallway, with a single overlooking window at the end with an elaborate metal frame and stained glass that showed the full tarot deck in sequence.

The reason for the sudden agitation was simple.

There were eleven rooms throughout the hallway's length, each clearly meant for two occupants with a shared bathroom, meaning a total of five rooms for the boys and six rooms for the girls.

Solomon was immediately annoyed on a deep and spiritual level - couldn't the Educator's Academy afford to create more space? He decided, there and then, one of his first actions as the Magician was to create a private wizard's sanctum, as secluded as it could conceivably be.

He contained most of that annoyance, deciding to keep it to himself. In any case, he'd need to aim for the least irritating roommate. His options were painfully constrained. Most of them, even the more reclusive of his classmates already had a partner. That naturally left the extroverts, and of those, most were bullies or idiots. In a darker world, he might've contemplated murder: the thinning of the ranks, so to speak, to ensure he could have a slice of privacy in a world where no one blasted loud music early in the morning. He shook off the thought. There were only a couple that weren't totally hopeless.

---

And what sort of roomie are you aiming for? You've only some odd 90 Will to spare for your selection, and you're nearly out of Credit (.1)

Given you've expended inordinate amounts on King of Magi, for this choice alone, Credit may be converted at a rate of .3 Credit per 5 Will, and for every 15 Will purchased, the next purchase is discounted to .1 Credit, such that 1 Credit essentially nets you 20 Will.

[ ] Easier Selection - Low-tier, but easily acquired. Pick from amongst those who won't argue against it too much.
-[ ] Damien - An easy pick, as no one else wants to room with Damien; a condition much-reciprocated. However, you detect he won't have the strength to argue your selection of him. There are consequences: you'll most likely become a target by association down the line, and have your overall social credit decrease if you care about such things.
-[ ] Harrison - Although you're slightly disdainful of his can-do attitude, you don't actually mind him that much. The foremost issue is that Harrison will be a constant nag and push you into doing things you don't care for.

[ ] Medium-Tier Picks - Difficult to get, higher-quality roomies!
-[ ] Ethan [30 Will] - He'll be a similar bother to Harrison, but more easily distracted and maneuvered; with some clever steps, you may be able to ensure he's not a bother in a more permanent fashion.
-[ ] Ryan [70 Will] - An isolated, self-proclaimed piece of gamer trash. He won't bother you and you won't bother him, you're almost perfect for each other. That said, Ryan's already dead-set on rooming with Caleb for similar reasons...
-[ ] Caleb [75 Will] - Second verse same as the first. He's marginally quieter and more prone to doing nothing than Ryan, although you don't know him quite as well as Ryan or Ethan, so you may be surprised at some point.

[ ] High-Tier Picks - Extremely good roomies! Won't bother you at all!
-[ ] None
-[ ] Just sleep outside in the hallway - You've got your pillow and everything. Once you're a good-enough wizard, craft an illusion or something to keep people from stumbling onto you. Until then, pick whoever, as it doesn't matter. If anyone finds you in the morning, tell them you sleepwalk.

[ ] Unconventional - A different concept, if you will. Instead of attempting to acquire a roomie who'll be permanently reliable, acquire someone you can swap out for your super-private wizard's tower as early as possible!

-[ ] Penelope [200 Will] - For a boy and girl to share a room is inconceivable. However, Penelope and her chosen roomie (Grace) may be convinced with extreme effort and wheedling. You'll need to frame it correctly, portray yourself as a fearful citizen to Penny - as someone requesting asylum and to be bodyguarded rather than being a roommate - and almost beg on top of that, but you think it's doable. The issue is that it'll push Grace to having to room with another boy, which might not be a deal-breaker if you play your cards right. On the whole, this'll ensure your safety in the short-term so you can focus on making a wizard's tower where no one will bother you.

Some people might call you a weirdo or a pervert, though.

-[ ] Ms. Parker [180 Will] - Apparently, she gets her own suite. Become a socialist and demand she cough up some of that real estate. Mildly less scandalous. It's like rooming with your mom.
 
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Association
Association

He approached the musclebound athlete dourly and raised a hand in acknowledgment.

"Harrison."

"Solomon?"

"Room with me."

"Er," Harrison hesitated, astonished at Solomon's iron-solid certainty and overly casual approach, "Sure? Are you sure? Josh and-"

"Josh and Francis won't be a bother," he said, speedrunning through the conversation in a manner that came second nature. "They know you were Noah's buddy and won't trouble you for now. Even if that were the case, it wouldn't be an issue for me."

"Alright," Harrison said, nodding slowly, as if moderately surprised that Solomon had come to such a conclusion, but unwilling to argue. "As long as you're sure."

There. A conversation that might've otherwise lasted a minute cut down into a satisfying exchange of only a couple words.

Inside, the rooms were adequately furnished with exquisite furniture and a window that looked outside into the charming vista of the scenic Gardens, once-green leaves and perennial flowers colored with shades of early autumn, vestiges of withering manifesting on stem and petal. It was more than he'd expected from the Educator's facilities, more like a shared studio apartment or a lavish hotel room than a dorm with a bunk bed, as some of the Classes had experienced before them. There were separate areas between the beds, sufficient to delineate their spaces and establish a modicum of privacy, and everything looked comfortable and sturdy.

It wouldn't last. Harrison, as someone raised by overbearing parents and a brother with an apparent superiority complex, had little conception of privacy or space. It'd have to be drilled into him with numerous case examples and complaints over the course of a couple of weeks. He'd never roomed with anyone prior either.

That wasn't much of an issue. It was the inevitable consequence of selecting him as a roommate, and something that Solomon accepted at the outset. However...

There were no charger outlets, meaning his decision to bring along a solar charger was, at least, wise. More problematically, there was no fridge either, meaning he'd need to eat through his coffee jello stock fast. A shame, as Solomon hoped to save them for a time of need and consume prudently over time, either to reward himself or motivate himself to do hard work. An alternative was to figure out some form of magic to resolve the issue of absent refrigeration, an idea that seemed to unfold at his fingertips: a conception of channeling the limitless potential through the Magician's dross to create rime and frost. Sadly, it was insufficiently potent and lacking in permanence.

As Harrison explored the bathroom, Solomon scattered the array of random items he'd brought along, then laid down in bed and closed his eyes.

"Hey? You're going to sleep already? It's only..." Harrison, stumped, looked down at his wristwatch. "It's barely two in the afternoon!"

"Yeah," Solomon answered in stolid agreement. "It's been an exhausting day. I need to recharge my batteries."

"I've spoken with Pen and Sam," he said. "We were thinking about exploring the grounds a bit. Seeing what's there, you know?"

"Good for you," Solomon said like a scarecrow forced into animation, not interested in cracking open an eye for even a moment. "Wake me up if you find a fridge anywhere."

"Like..." Harrison slowly trailed off, "You don't wanna come with us?"

A most terrible chain of predictions came in a flash of fury. An innocuous exploration of the Academy would naturally lead into the Gardens, and there, an encounter with someone from a Class above them would result in another complex and unpleasant chain of events.

Apparently, the seniors had a tradition of coming over to speak with the freshmen and offering them advice and instruction in their Enrollment. This advisory consultation was in fact a cover for accumulating data on the Role to sell to various governments, Archetype, and other persons of interest. A freshman approached by a senior offering help would have little reason for suspicion and would share information on their Role and future plans eagerly, especially if the senior looked dependable or had a benevolent-seeming Role. There was no reason to suspect people in a similar situation to you, after all.

Most Enrolled found out somewhere into their second year, and then an element of their Class perpetuated the cycle as a mix of revenge and attempting to get ahead for the theoretical space they'd lost as a result of their own data leaks. And so on for eternity.

In other words, these exploring idiots would reveal the contents of their Enrollment discussion to the world, including the theoretical domain of what Solomon himself could eventually hope to accomplish. How utterly troublesome. Solomon's eyes opened, bloodshot with annoyance and preemptively tired of these peoples' shit.

He let out a deep rumble of a breath, more of a beastly than a human sound, to Harrison's consternation, as he considered the solutions to the issue. Telling Harrison, even in painstaking details, wouldn't produce any results, exactly the same as Solomon's comprehensive attempt to stop his parents' inevitable divorce with his predictions.

Instead of a million paths splitting off in every direction, the threads snapped into singular directions until the only thing left was a binary choice.

Stay here, on the comfortable bed, or...

Go with them.

His eyes stared at the ceiling in utter hatred. It hadn't even been a day.

"Damn you."

"Are you alright? Solomon?"

---

At the moment, you've got 90 Will and 1.4 Credit.

[ ] Stay In Bed [+5 Will] - Nah. Not your monkeys, not your circus.

Inform Harrison that you'll be extremely unhappy if he ever mentions anything about you to anyone, then promptly give him the wooden baton you'd carved, citing self-defense in case they encounter anything dangerous. He'll thank you, and won't think much of it, but it'll serve as a mnestic device for your conversation later on, reminding him not to mention anything. His sense of honor will drive him to prevent others from doing the same. Out of the entire Class, your safety, alone, will be ensured.

[ ] Punish Scamming [60 Will] - Although you're only a modest magus for now, you're also a genius.

Go with the exploration team and subtly practice magic on the way to the Gardens. By your approximation, you can steer the group to buy yourself a lot of extra time, but you can't dissuade them from visiting a public space where they'll encounter a scammer entirely. If you focus and apply your incisive genius, you should be able to figure out a cantrip of moderate potency, sufficient to resolve the issue through social manipulation or simply to threaten your senior with your surprising talent. A scammer would definitely not expect someone on their first day to have access to outright magic, no matter how weak.

On the other hand, you'll be revealing the talent you possess early on, shining a blinding spotlight down on yourself. In complete irrelevance, you're relatively secure. Are you ready to discard this advantage for a charitable deed others won't even acknowledge?

[ ] Write-in - There are some tactics, conversational approaches, and actions that can enhance your odds of success, minimize Will loss, and reach success in other ways. Tactics that Solomon predicts as deleterious shall be ignored.
 
Epistrophe
Epistrophe

He started with an obdurate heave, driving himself out of bed like an inhuman colossus roused from its ancient slumber, ennervated and vigorless.

Harrison froze for a fraction of a second, as in Solomon's eyes was held a disdain for action so deep and heartfelt it was almost scary. He rummaged around the backpack for a second and fished out a wooden baton, hand-carved and heavy. It was not made from a mere random branch, but out of professional craftsman's wood: lignum vitae.

"Here, I'm not coming, but this is in case you encounter danger," he explained to Harrison, handing it over to the athlete's remarkable confusion.

"Danger?" asked Harrison, looking dubiously at the self-defense implement in his hand.

"The Academy can have weird creatures, sometimes. I've read about it. It's not completely unknown for a new Enrolled to be attacked. It's not much but at least this way you're not empty-handed when running away from a demon or whatever."

"Thanks." The appreciation seemed sincere. It wasn't what Solomon was after, though. He pressed on, boldly pursuant of that one conversational thread.

"Oh yeah, in case you encounter any other students, I'd appreciate if you didn't mention me or what I might be able to do to them. I want to make my own debut."

"Alright, sure. Won't betray your secrets, man."

"Also..." Solomon offered him a square, emotionless look.

It was a complete shot in the dark. A darkness he didn't even truly expect to hold any monsters. A bullet potentially wasted on deaf ears. An impulsive and ultimately meaningless attempt: something he'd learned to steer away from, as the crushing defeat of its failure to meet its target was only that much more embittering.

Solomon wasn't certain why some part of him even felt the drive to bother with the attempt.

Regardless, he attempted to channel as much sincerity as he could, and said, "Don't trust them."

Imagine, for a moment, the feeling of being completely blind from birth, and yet accustomed to living in such a manner. Comfortable with it, as you recognized your own house and its shape innately through a mixture of proprioception and touch, every step of the staircase leading to the porch as familiar to you as the contents of your pockets. Capable of telling if the couch had been moved based on the acoustics of the living room. Able to liberally move around, clothe yourself, and cook meals without issue.

A certainty would exist even with this utter blindness, that you understood the artifice of your own universe.

And then one day, coming back home, you take a step inside and your foot immediately sinks down into an endless pit where there should've been a floorboard.

It was that feeling that coursed through Solomon's entire being, in the second after those three words left his mouth. As if thinking on it, Harrison looked down at the baton, and then did something unexpected as the fabric of the future seemed to change - catching Solomon completely flat-footed.

"Alright. I'll keep that in mind. Why?"

It broke the world. It broke the house. As if a mad scientist had kidnapped you to inject you with an experimental medicine, allowing you to see for the first time. The reassurance of nothingness was gone, stripped away like so much padding, and you were left cold and alone in a dreadful wind. No more refuge from the blinding enlightenment the world offered for those with eyes. No more could you walk slowly, but now you were expected to run ahead, to sprint and compete for advantage.

Solomon, for seconds, felt rudderless, like an engine with all impetus lost, a once-perturbed patch of water returned to perfect silence. He stared at Harrison for what felt like an eternity, but was really only a second.

"You're not supposed to ask why," answered Solomon with a slight stammer. "You're meant to shrug, or blow me off, or make a comment about paranoia, and then..."

He pressed a hand firmly to his forehead, and found sweat accumulating like moisture on a cold bottle. His eyes widened, and Solomon's sight expanded beyond measure. His eyes widened and widened, until they could not widen anymore.

And then widened more, beyond width, consuming all that could be seen. Drinking in every sight in the world and more. Avariciously grasping for every morsel of sight.

He felt sick, almost down to the bone, as if a string made of pure biliousness were flailing throughout his innards, snarling organs and crushing the fluids out of them. His balance flipped over, he stumbled back and almost fell down like a clumsy skater on ice, before Harrison reacted and caught onto his shoulder and lapel, dropping the self-defense baton to prop Solomon up on his feet. Solomon couldn't see Harrison, as he was far too busy perceiving everything, attempting to adjust to it.

"Holy shit, you alright?" Harrison asked, on the border of being terrified. He'd call medical aid if Solomon didn't answer. "You look like you've seen Jesus."

"I'm... good," Solomon answered, if barely - a combination of breathlessness and brain-deep nausea making the words more like choked-out grunts. "Set me down."

Harrison moved over a foot and planted Solomon's ass on the edge of the bed. Solomon allowed himself to rest down on the bed and looked at the ceiling, analyzing its color.

It revealed a structure, a hint of the meaning of the color white, and the paint that acted as its medium. It revealed secrets to him, as the barriers of physical reality corroded off. He could not see the individual molecules of the paint, but in a way, he almost didn't need to. Holistically, the structure revealed more about its details than any microscopic analysis ever could. In that wholesomeness, he found answers he'd never dreamt of: secrets inherent to color white, and inherent to ceilings, that if plumbed for even their merest scraps could be utilized to change the course of civilizations: to render every prior invention of mankind utterly worthless and meaningless.

He moved from seeing the ceiling to seeing the rest of the room.

After realizing that Solomon's pupils had shrunk down to mere to pinpricks, and were moving rapidly as if observing a thousand events, Harrison ran off to call help. He suspected a seizure, and Solomon could see that suspicion: as a cloud of emotions and thoughts over his mind. Peering beyond them, he could see the finest moments of Harrison's football career, and its shaping influence on him as an individual. He could see the relationships and correspondences between Harrison and his friends.

Solomon moved on to view the near-future, and saw the Educator arriving, cloaked and hatted, yet still faceless, to sit down at the bedside and mutter something to him. Instruction. How to control the mirages, to not become enslaved to them.

"There is no such thing as fate, for men like us," said the Educator, both in that moment, and in a moment several years ago, and then in a moment of his youth, before he was known as the Educator. A hand wavered in the air, and branched off in a million directions, fingers like so much twine, and Solomon could not see the youthful Educator anymore, his existence a hidden thing, a secret beneath the surface of whatever he was viewing. The ones in the present and near-past continued: "Only the sheer hubris of hoping to change God's design to suit our image. And in due time, we may achieve that dream. For now, rest and see what Eden has to offer us."

And he saw.

Across the world.

In a ruined city overcast with grey skies and black trails of smoke from pits of fire, an orphaned youth sheltered under a torn blanket, sleeping and dreaming, his face contorting full of hate and hunger. He dreamt of revenge. He dreamt of murder on the man who'd done this to him. He dreamt of the sister who'd died. And in his dreams, the youth and Solomon could both see a black lamb, as fragile and delicate as a newborn baby, its forehead adorned with a blood-red mark, a bestial mark that promised salvation. And behind the lamb stood four shadowy figures, cloaked and clad in seals of honor, all on horses. His coming to power would presage the apocalypse. There was absolutely nothing that could stop this, not even the uttermost efforts of the Olympian, the Educator or Solomon himself. It was needed for the world to move onward.

Across the worlds.

On an Earth already ruined long ago, he saw a man in featureless armor as white as an eggshell, perfunctorily slashing down with his hand in a chop, to remotely detach the skull of a horrific and truly evil hell-abomination from its neck, flames spluttering out instead of blood. He was intent on studying the bodies, reverse-engineering the pure evil within them in order to locate its theoretical opposite coordinate: pure goodness. In another slash of the hand, he did the same to a thousand other monsters, and then his face slowly turned in Solomon's direction, as if noticing his presence. Solomon looked elsewhere before the vision could develop beyond that.

Across the everything.

He saw the universe was a spiritual alchemy, a decoction of an elder power, an alien star, started by a primordial flame: his existence a shard of magnified dross, a castaway of the process charred into being unrecognizable and worthless. It was the process of making something out of nothing, an infinity carted from oblivion.

He saw... himself vomiting into a bucket.

The Educator's voice returned into focus, like a rainstorm gaining sudden volume and resolution as you stepped outside into it. Distant, still, standing across the room.

"-and gets plenty of water, as..."

His voice trailed off as everyone in the room - the Educator, Harrison, and Ms. Parker - turned to look at Solomon, throwing up into the conveniently provided container, as if realizing he were conscious once more. They politely looked away to let him do his business. It took Solomon almost a full minute to get everything out of his stomach. He felt deeply sick nonetheless, for entire seconds after, as more images came running through his mind: vistas of horror and warfare, delight and redemption, of everything and-

"Mr. Lancaster," said the Educator, approaching. "I need you to look at me."

He did, and saw a thousand faces, each one an indistinct blur: the faces of everyone he'd ever met, and people he'd never met, and would meet and would never meet and-

"Not like that," said the Educator, resetting the arcane process before the faces could resolve into something else. He did so with nothing more than a flick of his index finger, holding absolute, godlike power over the visions. "Just at me. Concentrate."

He tried. He tried and it was difficult and he surrendered immediately, incapable of carrying on through the hardship of it. He wanted to cry and couldn't manage even words of self-pity at his immediate failure.

"I see we'll need to employ special measures. Very well." The Educator leaned down and pressed a thumb to Solomon's forehead, and in a snap, everything was focused, aligned and normal suddenly, and the secrets of reality were completely walled-off once more, and the things he'd seen were distant and not here with him. He was sitting in a room, listening to the ticking of the clock on the wall, the Educator, his homeroom teacher, and Harrison standing in front of him. "There. It should be better now."

"What happened?"

"I had to seal off a section of your third eye," said the Educator, and it felt almost like a lie, its shade a touch whiter than most such fibs. "For your own psychological well-being, of course. Rest assured, we'll add handling its power to your remedial lesson schedule." That, in turn, wasn't a lie whatsoever.

"Third eye?" asked Ms. Parker, clearly not recalling a mention of anything like that among the discussions circulating about the Magician.

"Sometimes, an Enrolled can develop spontaneously, usually in a maladaptive manner," said the Educator, and it felt once more like an innocent misdirection, although only a modest one, not injurious or intentioned maliciously. "Fear not, I am experienced with such events and I've handled the issue here reliably. Mr. Lancaster won't experience any more adverse reactions so long as he limits his insight to viewing the immediate threads around him, and avoids shuffling them around too much."

It had the furtive cadence of doublespeak, a second meaning beneath the first. It seemed the Educator was telling him it was fine to continue making predictions, as long as he didn't do the same thing he'd done with Harrison a couple of minutes ago, and didn't cast his sight out too far and beyond.

It wasn't sight, Solomon corrected himself. He'd experienced those scenes with the fullness of his being, like a sponge drawing in moisture. Its translation to a mundane human sensorium and memory was something his body did automatically, in an attempt to make sense of channeling those experiences without a physical sensory medium. The complete and utter confusion of so much additional input was part of the reason behind his physiological weakness and loss of equilibrium.

It didn't change the facts of what he'd experienced. Entire universes beyond his own, even if his memories of them were already faded like ghosts, only a couple precious scenes clutched onto like coruscant gemstones. It felt as though his entire life, Solomon had been a fish swimming in a pond, unaware of the world beyond the water.

And then, by accident, he accelerated himself at Harrison at such speeds he'd leapt right out of the water and into the fresh air and brisk sun, experiencing its incandescent and blinding rays for the first time. He'd seen dry land, even touched it with a fin. Maybe in a million years of evolution, he could even walk upon its sands.

It almost hurt to realize the Educator's instruction of not seeking out the sun and dryness above was crucial to his own wellness. It was like receiving an ideal gift, a resolution to all of one's problems, only to have it snatched away in the next moment.

After all - not through manipulation and not through magic - he'd changed Harrison's mind.

He'd always made his words sincere when giving out advice, and nothing about that changed this time.

Yet this time, somehow, the structure of Harrison's mind accepted the deviation from its intended course, and weighed Solomon's words with the due gravity they deserved.

To know Solomon was not permitted to do so again was crushing. It felt like having the Gate of Heaven in front of him, its tantalizing entrance studded with cumulonimbi and a fence wrought of silver, only to realize he still had to wait in line.

"I hope you can be patient until then," the Educator said, almost as a final warning - softly-spoken yet hiding a depth of fright, as if carrying a portent of doom were Solomon to do otherwise. The Educator turned, in one step, to address the other boy in the room. "Mr. Armstrong, I'd very much like if you didn't harry Mr. Lancaster too much. He'll need some bedrest for the upcoming future. A lot of bedrest and time to contemplate. Healing begins in the mind, after all. And a tired mind is an injured mind."

"Yes sir."

"Superb. Ms. Parker, I'll leave the rest of this affair in your capable hands." He offered the woman a respectful nod, then clacked his cane against the floor. "Excuse me."

And like that, he disappeared. Solomon could see almost a thread, annoying, flailing right in front of his eyes as if attempting to grab his attention. He knew it was a bare remnant of whatever means the Educator used to translocate himself, and that by tugging on it with sufficient force, he could follow to see where he'd gone.

He didn't. Instead, the back of his head slammed against the pillow in exhaustion. He'd really wanted to sleep before. Now, he was dead-tired.

"Ugh."

"I'll... uh, empty out the bucket," said Harrison after a second, looking at Ms. Parker. She only offered a stiff nod.

---

After the incident, you've managed to keep the entire thing on the down-low: Harrison's firmly on your side, so as far as your Class is concerned, you were sick after eating some expired food you brought with you for lunch. No one knows you'll be receiving special lessons unless you tell them.

Aside from that, you've managed to maintain the secrecy of your Role.

For the moment, your entire sense of self is shaken up, and you have 120 Will (+10 from last action, +5 from resting on your pillow, +15 from default turn income] - although the discovery was a shocking and life-changing one, you're upset you'll need training to engage in the fullness of your new sight.

At the moment, you have seven (7) Coffee Jello packets left, and you must ration them wisely. They restore a variable amount of Will, increasing and decreasing dependent on circumstances as well as your current amount of Will (more is restored if low) and can provide discounts to certain actions, such as Classwork and Exploration.

Select a maximum of three Actions:

[ ] Classwork [-15 Will] - Standardized and individualized. At least a single action should be devoted to this each turn, unless you wish to fall behind: more if you wish to excel.

-[ ] Standardized - Attend classes, turn in your homework on time, and prepare for the upcoming pop quizzes and tests. Learn Tarot history, mysticism, occult meanings, and more standard subjects! Modest advancement in your Enrollment.

-[ ] Individualized [-15 Will] - A set of more individualized one-on-one sessions with the Educator, focused almost solely on improving the nature and powers of your Role. Highly preferable. Requires a special dispensation from him, issued only to the best students who excel in standardized examinations. The extra Will cost represents effort spent on studying and cramming to earn these sessions. Awesome advancement in your Enrollment, as efficient as ~2.5 classes of standardized Education.

-[ ] Remedial Classwork - The Educator invited you in for remedial classwork focused on your 'third eye.' You're free to take his offer whenever. Almost no effort expended on Enrollment, if any.

[ ] Bonding [-5 Will] - Deepen your bond with a student or faculty member you know!
-[ ] Harrison
-[ ] Damien
-[ ] Penelope
-[ ] Write-in

[ ] Interaction [-10 Will]
- Attempt to make contacts with your upperclassmen. Gain social advantages and earn favors!

[ ] Exploration [-20 Will] - Apparently, your Classmates are putting together an exploration group that aims to receive the Educator's dispensation to explore the world outside the Academy! An exciting opportunity, as these worlds can hide arcane secrets that lead to furthering Enrollment, as well as the occasional artifact or potential ally. Many of these can be kept post-graduation. Infamously, the Mars Colonization Class brought the entire Martian civilization with them after graduation!

[ ] Decompression [+10 Will] - Default if nothing is selected. Just slack off.

[ ] Write-in
 
Architectural Lessons
Architectural Lessons

After that started the dreadful drudgery of daily struggle. For a number of reasons, hard work was anathema to Solomon; his most despised bane, the annihilator of mortal will; the distinctive allicin of his brand of vampirism. It was almost impossible to work himself out of the comfortable rut, even though he understood on an intellectual level that the formation of positive habits was the basis of diurnal progression. After all, once a groove was cast, it could only deepen.

Still, even with the dangling carrot of controlling the Secret Structure of the World and no longer being accursed with secret knowledge everyone seemed frankly contented to ignore, he found the demands asked of him downright excessive. Not merely to study and pull himself along with the rest of the crowd, but to excel above and beyond them? It was insanity at its finest. Just the thought was enough to make him shudder and blanch as he ate breakfast - which, in turn, caused several concerned parties to separate themselves from him by several centimeters, as they recalled the purported events of last evening.

"I'll need something to motivate me," he decided, clutching the spoon.

After returning to his room, Solomon opened the stash. He'd intended to reserve all of them for a time of real need and never expected the desperation to come so soon.

He consumed a whole packet of coffee jello, allowing its bittersweetness to roll over his tongue. His eyes cried small tears of joy. He made a silent promise, not to eat more until he'd earned it, and then, with a sense of deep and discerning purpose, Solomon got to work.

And so - in an awe-inspiring feat of courage, bravery, and determination - almost the entirety of the first week of September was spent entirely on nothing but slacking off. Alas, Solomon's steel-clad willpower had hopelessly wilted into a corpselike pallor almost within moments of entering the classroom.

However, even with the dregs of motivation, Solomon was capable of inventiveness and unusual perspicacity. He still managed to osmose enough information through his own form of half-hearted listening to completely ace the entrance examination on Friday with a score of ninety-nine out of a hundred. The Educator didn't even have to check the papers, as they were self-grading, providing accurate breakdowns of answer accuracy and incisively soulful commentary on knowledge demonstrated, often with one or two humorous or snide remarks, and at least one encouragement to keep working hard.

"Hey, Sol, what did you get?" asked Damien, whispering at his back.

"Hrm, ninety-nine," he answered, half-mumbling in his midday nap.

"What?!" Damien yelled out, such that it drew attention even through the buzz of the class. He immediately snapped forward and snatched the paper from Solomon's desk, and started reading it with a progressive distortion of facial features and an orchestra of emotions. As if sensing the unfolding drama, half the class flocked immediately behind him as spectators, with a shocked Josh snatching the test out of Damien's hands in sheer disbelief to read it himself closer up. An eruption of mutters, congratulations, disbelieving remarks, and quiet screams proceeded. It drew the attention of their erstwhile teacher.

"Indeed!" said the Educator cheerfully, clearly in good spirits. "Mr. Lancaster has certainly earned every special privilege this month."

"Can I have candy?" asked Solomon, at the volume of a mutter. "That's my privilege."

The Educator appeared next to him, extending a gloved hand with a number of foil-enveloped dark amber cabochons, each of them almost opaque to light.

Solomon's right eye widened slightly. "Huh?"

"Honey candy," the Educator said, with deep, profound, fervent, emotional encouragement. "Organic and healthy!"

After Solomon failed to extract them from his hand, the Educator deposited the candies on the desk and patted the boy on the back, and then addressed the Class. "Excellent news! This overall level of performance is sufficient to earn each of you a special dispensation. Everyone, write down a modest wish and pass it on to me by Sunday. I'll fulfill anything that's not too egregious, although I'd appreciate it if you focused on educational - or at least, not too fatuous - ventures! I shall be in my office."

Swaying his cloak, he disappeared. As if sensing easy and defenseless prey, Grace and Stella immediately moved forward and sweetly spoke to Solomon about his candies, asking if they could have a couple. And before he even bothered to answer, Stella, playing dismissively with a hair - as if attempting to be seductive but not caring enough to put any effort into it - said, "It's okay to take a lot, right? You like us and we're friends, right? Cool. I like you a lot, Solomon. You're a cute boy."

And in the end, they stole all except one of Solomon's candies, believing they might have secret powers. After a minute, Solomon reclaimed his paper from Damien's desk and decided to attempt even harder next time. If he was so close to a downright perfect score, it was worth it.

"What are you reading?" he asked Damien, looking over to see he'd withdrawn a book with a light gray cover.

"Uh, Murkborn." At Solomon's flat look, he added, "Y'know, by Sander Finn Branderson? Acclaimed fantasy and science fiction writer?"

"That kitsch?" hissed Samantha from a nearby desk, as if she were a cat sighting a water sprayer with a nozzle aimed at her. "Yikes."

Damien shrunk at the castigation. It was fated to happen anyway, Solomon thought. Although, he was forced to at least give himself a point for trying to prevent it.

After that, a mostly uneventful weekend passed, spent largely on sleeping and loafing. Harrison started to participate in exploratory activities of the outside, and attended a couple of social gatherings for the younger Enrolled, organized by the Bible Class. Solomon visited the Educator on Monday for the individualized lessons.

"The Magician!" started the Educator with an excited exclamation, on what was slowly becoming known as one of his signature educational soliloquies. As he went on, he was shuffling a tarot deck, and every card he pulled out came out to be something from the arcana of wands. "Ah, yes, a Role of potential and mystic wisdom! The discerning, unplumbed depths of knowledge and mystery! It's such an exciting Role, I simply adore the magical ones. I assume, Mr. Lancaster, that given your asocial proclivities, you did not ask your peers or upperclassmen more about Enrollment?"

"No," he answered. It was difficult to predict the Educator. The man's visage was oblique both metaphorically and literally, every forecast of behavior soon distorting beyond recognition until the actualized event was almost completely different. However, the fastest answer was often contained in a single word.

And, accurately, it was the fastest to continue the conversation.

"In short, for the convenience of students and myself, it can be said that Roles are often divided into Aspects. These aptly-named devices are convenient shells of contained and narrowed Thematic essence. Do not misunderstand!" He raised an index finger, and waved a hand, as if dispelling any notion arising at the idea. "It's entirely possible to Enroll without Aspects and contrive theoretical devices even more apt and fitting for an individual's desires and purposes. However, Aspects have served all of us faithfully ever since the times of the Superheroes, and seen the highest popularity among the Enrolled."

"Aspects," muttered Solomon, a hand supporting a cheek as he mumbled and considered. It slowly dawned on him. "I think I'm starting to understand. It's like... The Knight has an Aspect that makes him better at wearing armor, and one that makes him learn knightly skills, and one that lets him conjure up weapons? Each one a different Aspect."

"Precisely." The Educator nodded in eager agreement. "Now, as I've said, Aspects are convenient and most efficient! However, they are hypothetically unnecessary for Enrollment. If you prefer another basis for advancement of your Enrollment, we can discuss that."

"Huh... well, I dunno, how good are these Aspects? Can I have like a case example?"

"I'll assure you even the likes of my Metaphysician attempted to invent a more efficient device and failed," the Educator said with something resembling smug pride. He took on a more discerning air, as he continued, "There were some cases in which other constructs were attempted, and while I won't call any of them failures, it is difficult to say they are inherently any superior, even if individualized. In my personal opinion, it is often only slightly better if successful. And rarely without tremendous risk! Standardized Education is most reliable, Mr. Lancaster."

Solomon nodded in understanding. More of a curio than an acceptable path, then. It'd take a serious idiot to go for anything other than Aspects, based on the convenient description. After some more discussion of the merits and demerits, they settled on the first Aspect of the Magician that Solomon would attempt to study. And the remnant of the week was, in large, spent on practice to achieve that Aspect, to develop its features, to demarcate its capabilities. These lessons were in equal part a refinement of the lens that Solomon could utilize to access the Magician's power and a discussion of what he should be capable of achieving once done.

In due time, he started to see the first signs of progress, the Aspect starting to come into fruition and shape. Having already experienced the individualized modus, Solomon carried some expectations for his special private lessons. However, the remedial lesson was much different than expected.

For one, instead of his ostentatious Thematic outfit, the Educator was dressed in a common professor's attire: a brown tweed jacket and dark pants with polished shoes, and a red bow. His face continued to be indiscernible, and he stood facing the window of the office as Solomon came in.

"Solomon," said the man in calm welcome, instead of Mr. Lancaster, already setting off a couple of alerts. "Good to see you. Take a seat."

He did, and without further ado, the conversation started. The Educator's paradigm shift was an unsettling experience, although his straightforward demeanor as he spoke was almost more so.

"I assume you have questions."

"I do," Solomon answered. "How can I predict things so well?"

"You don't make predictions," the Educator answered correctively. "The universe is a structure. Elements of that structure correspond on an abstract and metaphysical level. It'd be accurate to say you're extrapolating. Your sight is acutely attuned to perceiving this structure. Perceiving one element, you can deduce the others, much as a man can make a calculation that two plus two is four."

Although Solomon was about to ask yet more questions, the Educator suddenly took out a Newton's cradle, with its many clackers, and then firmly positioned it between them. The metal balls shone in the slight light coming from the window.

The Educator pulled away the rightmost clacker and released it, starting the reaction. They clacked for a couple of seconds, a pendulum carried through the medium of small metal spheres, almost hypnotic, like a metronome.

"The reason why your advice falls on deaf ears so often, my boy, is simply because the structure doesn't account for the ability to perceive it." The Educator stopped a clacker, pinched between two fingers. The sound, too, arrested, leaving the room empty of anything save breath. "Giving advice to a man to change his actions, you are momentarily stopping the cog he represents in the grand mechanism of everything. The moment your hand lets go..." He released the clacker and the cradle restarted its action.

"The mechanism continues on as it was," Solomon said in realization. "But how?"

"It doesn't matter," the Educator answered with a shrug, seeming more honest and straightforward than usual. "The structure is all-overriding. The universe is merely its component. It'll achieve its shape without intervention. Maybe your words simply dim within the minds of whoever's listening to you, until they forget or discard them as irrelevant. Maybe they simply start to dislike you for no reason, because it is easier. Brains and complex systems are subject to significantly more chaos. It's easier for the structure to alter an unfolding thought than an event already set in motion."

Solomon then slumped in his chair. "This entire time I've been pushing against a machine."

"Indeed," said the Educator. "But."

With a motion of the hand, the clackers stopped, as if frozen in time - the leftmost at its furthermost extension away from the cradle, about to begin its return movement that'd conclude with it slamming into its closest neighbor.

"As you know," the man continued, "With effort, the structure can be changed by those who understand it. I'll teach you to perceive its totality without going insane. Once that's done, you'll no longer be a slave to it. It'll bend to your predictions as they become a part of its chain of logic. The machine will move and stop at your will. And in due time, you'll understand the true shape of the world."

"Let's start then," Solomon said, looking down at the frozen clacker.

He understood it didn't freeze because of the Educator's control over physical matter as a result of his title. It came from the Educator's control over the universal Architecture, so precise and extreme he could even stop physical matter in its tracks, a level of mastery that seemed almost impossible.

"First, you must understand the world's inherently anthropocentric."

"Anthropocentric?"

"Human," the Educator answered, as if the fact were axiomatic: self-evident. "The world is a human being."

"I..." It didn't happen often, and so when it happened, its effect was magnified but Solomon was truly confused. "I don't understand."

The Educator considered for a moment, hand slowly tapping out a rhythm on the surface of the desk. He started, in slow, arching tones, "To use an apocryphal example, the Bible says that God created man in his image. That man's name is Adam. A manifestation of God in the flesh. His counterpart, the uppermost manifestation, is 'Adam Kadmon' or 'Adam Elyon.' You and I are both imperfect reflections of God, created in his image. In other words, we are the splinters of his totality. And what is God? In simple terms, God, Solomon, is the Architecture of the universe. The universe is God, and we are God's spitting image, and what do we have in common?"

"We are human beings."

"Ergo, God is a human being, and so is the universe, because God, being omnipotent and in everything, is the universe," the Educator concluded. "Adam Kadmon, coincidentally, is the kabbalistic name for the structure we are discussing."

"I see."

"A perfect encapsulation of what we do," agreed the Educator. "God is infinite and perfect. We, being mere fragments, are not. Still, we can alter parts of him - emanations of him, to be more accurate - to suit our needs, if we are sufficiently wise in understanding how the universe works. There are helpful diagrams and lesser structures we can utilize to visualize this process. To look at the Architecture is to look at everything, and to use yourself as a mirror for that process. One is contained in all, and all in one. It'll be some time before I can teach you the actual depths of the process. Before you even start to learn the techniques of looking, you must learn to not go insane."

"You've mentioned that, I think," Solomon said, finding himself uncertain. "That I could go insane."

"It's only natural, when one is exposed to everything," concluded the Educator, as he stood from his chair. "We'll start with a meditative exercise. You'll like it. It requires almost no effort."

---

It'll be some time before your control over the Architecture is anything resembling good enough to control circumstances.

For now, select an Aspect to focus on. It'll be some time before you can fully develop it. Regardless of your chosen Aspect, you can put minor focus into the others, diluting your progression in a proportional fashion.

Aspects can synergize, and cover broad or narrow domains. For instance, Arcanum provides some combat-oriented capacity of its own, so having Arcanum 2 and Destroyer 1 allows you roughly equivalent combat power with your spellcraft: in other words, Arcanum 2 is equivalent to Destroyer 1. Other Aspects can be invented.

[ ] Aspect: Sanctum - The ritualistic creation of a sacred space: a wizard's tower, a thaumaturge's temple. In a devoted sanctum, you possess fewer limits as a magician: energy constraints loosened, generation redoubled, efforts quintupled. Although outside you may be a mere magus, within you are the King of Magi, every wonder of the world availed and accessible. It can be moved with effort, eventually.

Current Level: n/a
Next Level: 1

For now, a single month of study lets you demarcate a single room-sized space in which your spells are almost twice as strong, and you have slightly more laxity in what your spells can do. As you don't have many spells yet, aside from cantrips, this isn't as great.

[ ] Aspect: Arcanum - Invocation and spellcraft, orthodox. Also the magical processes of enchantment and alchemy, albeit to a lesser degree.

Current Level: .01
Next Level: 1

A single month of progress allows you to reach an appreciable degree of basic spellcasting: a ray of fire that can set curtains on fire across a room, a clod of earth fired from your hand with the strength of a slingshot, minor arcane invocations and utilities, and maybe a single animal familiar.

[ ] Aspect: Hermes the Destroyer - A combat-oriented Aspect, all relegated to ensuring security and capabilities in combat. Focused on releases of pure destructive energy and entropic shielding. A more powerful Aspect.

Current Level: n/a
Next Level: 1

Allows you to maintain an aura that shreds enemies within a couple of meters from you, and fire rays that present the same amount of danger as a longbow.

[ ] Write-in
 
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Mystic Arcanum
Mystic Arcanum

As the rays of dawn peeked from the curtains in columns of vivid amber-gold, Solomon's eyes cracked open with pained hesitation, sclerae shot through with red creepers, bleary and enervated after a full night of doing almost nothing productive, save poring over an old book containing diagrams of magical correspondences.

The Educator prescribed him a strict intellectual diet of the likes of Francis Barrett, Lemegeton, Stanley Redgrove, and Cornelius Agrippa. Most of it made for dry reading, as the occultists had a tendency to expound on simple concepts with religious fervor. After absorbing several hundred pages of mystical glossolalia, he remembered smashing his own head repeatedly against the book in a desperate attempt to comprehend the difference between kabbalistic, cabbalistic, and qabalistic, all of which seemed to be different.

However, there were evident results of that learning. Although seemingly innocuous, the book-reading opened a channel the Educator widened to sharpen Solomon's magical lens, allowing for broader control over reality. For now, he was constrained to a handful of elemental invocations and fairly uninspiring if occasionally useful rituals. Most of the remnant phenomena were mere curios: a ritual that used a small vial of treated blood to massively quicken a person's pulse, a mixture that could allow one to smell werewolves from a great distance, and a method that could transmute the branch of a willow tree into a static, semi-permanent orb of light. Indeed, useful. If occasionally.

Alas, there were limitations as well. As above, so below: the spirit of a being reflected its body and mind. For Solomon, his sloth, laziness, and pneuma of despair seemed to clothe every spell he cast; his internum ran out of magical essence within moments, and he especially struggled with anything resembling a concentrated burst of influence. His most singularly successful exercise to date was easily maintaining a matchstick's flame with barely any focus spent for about an hour.

It didn't bode well for the future, but at least the Educator was optimistic, so maybe it wasn't hopeless.

As graceless as a flightless bird, Solomon stood and decided to start the day.

He stood in front of a mirror and brushed his teeth, motions slow and pendulous, as Harrison - uncharacteristically, got up a minute after him.

The Surveyor Club was the decisive cause of that anomaly. After becoming a member, Harrison now spent most evenings and nights on exploration, his freshly-developed capabilities as the Chariot granting him virtually unmatched swiftness and mobility, making him an awesome scout: he was a premier member of the Surveyors, among their most valued and influential. He was, in fact, the Vice Captain, with only Penelope looming over him. It made for some admittedly interesting late-night conversation, as even Solomon struggled to predict what could be found outside the Academy.

Apparently, the external lands were called Fortuna, and they were a fantasy world of medieval kingdoms on a continent reminiscent of folkloric Europe, and most of the nations were divided among the royal houses of Rider, Waite, Visconti, and Sforza, all of whom struggled for influence. The Surveyors managed to establish a moderately friendly rapport with House Rider and the nation of Fortuna that corresponded most closely with England, although Solomon hadn't asked for more explanations beyond that, already sleepy.

"Another day, another dollar, eh?"

"Mhrm," Solomon mumbled, unhurried toothbrush scratching away at his teeth and evenly spreading paste. Looking over at Harrison, he spat out into the sink, and then rinsed his mouth. "What's with the outfit?"

Harrison was midway through dressing in something reminiscent of a military officer's attire, dark navy blue in coloration, with lapels adorned with stylized five-pointed star buttons and a golden card badge on his breast declaring him the Chariot.

"Oh, this? Sam made some outfits," he clarified, tying his laces. He looked up at Solomon's flat look. "For the Club. And you should join, Sol, we could use someone like you."

"Nah. Thanks for the offer, though." Turning off the water tap, Solomon finished his daily hygiene routine.

After that, the day's lessons were a relaxed sprawl of discussions, lectures, and slow reading, almost boring for Solomon even with the Educator's unusual and bombastic flair and inventively novel exercises. It was a portent of something evil and truly bothersome, and Solomon struggled to predict what, constant proximity to the Educator and close interference from anti-diviners acting as a constant hindrance. It was during lunch he discovered the source of his consternation - along with everyone else.

It started, as many terrible events did, with a thundering explosion that shook the entire room, its timbered columns vibrating with the force of whatever blast was responsible. Everyone stood and began to look around, while others ducked for cover instead.

Another blast shook everything, and coterminously with it, a young man was flung through the doors of the mess hall, propelled by a blast of white steam. He landed on the floor, sprawled out, and immediately reacted as his attacker - a mechanoid construct over eight feet tall, adorned with markings of sky blue and black, and clockwork mechanisms, connecting rods, pistons, and cylinders - readied another blast from its palm. Immediately, dozens stood across the room and moved to intervene, then stopped in hesitation, as if realizing that attacking a giant, perhaps literal locomotive, of a being wasn't smart.

"Apologies, freshmen," it said, in a faintly feminine voice, lowering its hand. Steam pooled heavily from its shoulder-mounted exhausts, rising with shrill whistles. It looked around, scanning the room with a face remarkably similar to a black, triangular grill, the spaces between shining red. "Private issue with Judas here."

"Judas?" came the muttered answer, as the hall broke into considerations.

Penelope, ever dauntless, stepped forward. "Hold on. What's the situation here?"

"She's crazy," said the young man on the floor, almost three years their senior from the looks of it. He was clutching onto a clearly broken arm with a pained expression, teeth grit with sweat rolling down his cheeks and forehead. "Wants something from me I don't have anymore."

Solomon was the only one in the room continuing to eat at this point in time. Damien shot him a disbelieving look, to which he shrugged. "I'm hungry."

"Can I ask what this is over?" asked Penelope, attempting to act the mediator. It'd fail, as Solomon started to predict.

The locomotive entity let out a whistling laughter, steam emerging from beneath the grill. "Afraid not."

It's over some collected artifact, Solomon reasoned out in moments, casually. She'd done a favor for him, and he promised some relic from his world in exchange, and failed to deliver because of external circumstances. Probably, the artifact proved so useful his Class didn't allow him pickings for it.

"I have nothing against you," said the Engine, or such was its name as far as Solomon could recall - the Engine That Could. It shrugged its shoulders, opening arms to the sides, as if in a show of diplomatic serendipity. "How about you step aside and no one else gets hurt."

"Except him, you mean," continued Penelope, addressing a look to the man who continued to cower at her feet.

"Except him."

As he ruminated on this, Solomon shoveled another mouthful of fries into his greasy maw, spurred into further contemplation as the situation developed. Its conclusion, if unaddressed, was fairly obvious: Penelope and the Engine would engage in combat, and despite experience and relative proficiency, Penelope would lose. There weren't a lot of ways even a trained peak-human could defeat a mechanized suit, and Solomon wasn't even sure if Penelope counted as being at that level yet. It was clear that 'Judas' over there wouldn't be an active implement in his own salvation, as it seemed his Role didn't lend itself to combat's vagaries.

Solomon decided to ask himself:

Can I do anything here?

Yes.

Like what?

The Engine's locomotive body had several weaknesses. Crucial, if abused. Even with an utterly meager control over magic, if given slight proximity, a little luck, and provided an opening, Solomon could overheat one of the circuits, or even block a central exhaust to make the suit completely shut down in moments. Or explode. Or something.

However, Solomon didn't much feel like doing anything. It seemed bothersome to save an idiot who'd made a deal he couldn't keep. Penelope... was a good girl, though, so he considered stepping in on her behalf, even if she'd never know about the depth of effort and trouble he'd gone to. On the other hand, it'd also be comical to see a girl attempt to fight a locomotive. Then it'd become sadder and sadder as she was beaten black and blue into unconsciousness. It was quite a horrifying little dilemma.

It was, therefore, a debate with himself: entirely self-contained and internal argumentation developed and deployed to eliminate its antithesis, both produced from completely opposing directions of thought.

Hm, I don't really care much for Penny...

She's a good person, though, and she might help me out in return.

It'd also paint a target on my back to intervene.

She's cute.


He immediately shook his head. Anything but physical attraction as a basis for argument!

Firstly, don't think with your dick. Secondly, instead of a target on your back, you can foster a dangerous reputation. No one would ever mess with you if you defeated a second-year, and it'd lend you some gravitas. Our predictions support this theory, even accounting Architectural interference.

Is surviving such an encounter even viable?

Yes, as we've just discussed-


Another explosion resounded as combat began - Penelope moving to avoid a burst of steam that seemed, anomalously, to act more as a physical force than a thermal danger. It was only a hunch, but something told Solomon that entering its flight path wouldn't sear the skin from his flesh, so much as smash him into a wall.

Solomon speared another couple of fries onto his fork, dipped them in ketchup, and warred ardently with himself. The better quadrant of his human nature urged him to provide aid, and he knew as a matter of fact that no one else was planning on stepping in, either not caring, or not desiring to involve themselves in upperclassmen's affairs.

---

It's your choice, in the end, as most things are.

Will: 90

[ ] Mediate [-100 Will]
- The Architecture yields fewer answers where Enrolled are concerned: they are an abnormality on the weave of Kadmonic logos, an alien element introduced by a sapient mind intended to bend God's designs into a new direction: a manmade paradise, the details of which are murk in your eyes. The Educator didn't explain beyond that, although you understand relying on Architecture to foresee the actions of the Enrolled is as close to folly as your predictive capabilities can get.

Still, they are not completely opaque. And even if they were, you are still an unmatched genius. If you put in the effort to create a solid schema of action, you can ensure a satisfactory and non-harmful conclusion for everyone here. However, you may have to end up making some promises or concessions of your own later on...

However, the rewards can be immense: you'll accumulate sympathy with virtually everyone in the room. +++Penelope, ++Engine, ++Judas (?).

If selected, you'll drop into negative Will and enter burnout.

[ ] Intervene [-50 Will] - It's simple, isn't it? There's a madwoman dressed as a locomotive running around hurting people. Stage an intervention before one of your dear classmates gets hurt. Although everyone around you is either too afraid, too indifferent, or too uninterested to involve themselves, you can deploy some quick rhetoric to get a few reliable allies before you leap into the fray, Harrison and Damien featuring chief among them.

Around 50% odds of victory if you can ambush the Engine. Can further decrease level of harm to yourself in return for even lower odds of success.

+++Penelope, ++Judas (?), -Engine.

Tactics can improve effectiveness modestly, and lower Will cost by a maximum of 10 Will.

[ ] Don't Intervene - Just sit and watch.

Also, an important question - what else were you eating with those fries? The consequences of this choice are incomprehensibly vast and far-reaching!

[ ] Steak
[ ] Cheeseburger
[ ] Fish
[ ] Write-in
 
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The Liar's Engine
Content Warning: disturbing imagery.

---

The Liar's Engine

As much as Solomon desired to attenuate the issue, intervene somehow, and make it less chaotic, it didn't seem viable to inform Penelope - currently in the middle of dodging condensed blasts of hot steam - about the fact she was protecting Judas Iscariot, and therefore a probable pawn in some half-cocked scheme. Even if he attempted it, Solomon could tell it'd be drowned out over the sounds of complete pandemonium in the mess hall. If he attempted to stand and save Penelope, he'd become another target.

In truth, Solomon didn't have much interest in making an effort at intervention here - not when only danger and trouble awaited the daring. Especially not in the name of a Biblical traitor. He simply sat and ate more honey-glazed tilapia, occasionally aided by munching down on some fries.

Judas was still looking half-petrified with fear, lying down on the floor. There was not even a hint of courage in him, barely any signs that he could stomach the idea of running and making it worse for himself. He wouldn't attempt to escape, at least not on his own. And if he tried, Solomon intended to prevent it.

From the looks of it, given she couldn't harm the assailant on her own, Penelope's main idea was to exhaust the Engine's steam tank, and then attempt to pick up Judas and run. However, that wouldn't have a chance to happen, as only a second later, after an unlucky movement, Penelope, stumbled and screamed in pain as she received a blast of heated steam right to the chest. Half the room winced as she was sent flying down onto the floor, skidding and eventually hitting a seat, a mist of condensation wafting off her. Almost immediately, Stella moved to check on her, although Solomon knew she'd be alright.

In the meantime, the Engine ambled over to Judas and seized him by a lapel with a clawed mechanical hand.

"Made a real mistake, crossing me today, J," it said, bringing its other arm to point directly at his wide-eyed face. "Let's make an educational lesson out of it."

Immediately realizing what the Engine was about to do, Solomon shut his eyes and looked away, down and off to the side. Still, even then, the horrid scream that Judas let out in concert with the whistle of steam was spine-chilling, an agony so complete it made Solomon's hairs instinctively stand up. There were screams, mutters, and movements from the other freshmen, at the shock of seeing someone become so utterly scarred. It lasted only about two seconds, although felt almost twice as long.

After that, the cafeteria was filled with half-choked sobs and hoarse cries from Judas.

In the grim aftermath of punishment, the Engine discarded him onto the floor. Although Solomon couldn't even contemplate the idea of looking at him directly, out of the corner of his eye, he caught the nightmarish visage of a face that was more a large, bloodied, discolored welt than any standard assembly of human facial features.

"Be a lesson to you as well, froshes," the Engine said, ominously, as it turned away, "Don't cross me, or my Class. We'll make you regret it."

After she left, the interior of the cafeteria was fearfully silent, except for the ragged, desperate breaths of Judas. His lungs must've suffered some internal burns. No one dared speak a single word. Even if they weren't on the receiving end of the Engine's retribution, the sound and sight sufficed to affect everyone to some degree. Josh was dreadfully pale, staring down at the receiver, looking rather unlike himself. Even Maximilian didn't have the capacity in him to make a single humorous remark about what happened.

Already, Harrison was moving to aid Iscariot in moving away, and probably intended to immediately bring him to a doctor. Off and away, still lying with Stella knelt over her, Penelope's fist was curled in disappointment at herself. Inside, Solomon could sense a slight click in the Architecture, as events fell into place..

"I need to... I can't." Damien stood and then sprinted across the hall, stopped by no one. Headed for the nearest bathroom.

Even Solomon had lost any form of appetite. He pushed the plate of tilapia and fries away, thinking.

---

Winner: [X] A Thief's Justice

How do you feel about the thief's justice?

[ ] Justified [+10 Will, decreased maluses from similar experiences in the future] - All cultures and individuals have their own innate sense of justice. In this case, the Engine and culture of the Enrolled made the choice.

[ ] Resolved [+5 Will, slightly decreased maluses from similar experiences in the future] - The realpolitik of the Enrolled marches on. If you'd intervened, you would've been next on the chopping block. It is what it is.

[ ] Guilty [decreased Will regeneration for several turns, slightly increased Enrollment progression for identical duration] - No one, even someone with the Role of a Biblical traitor, deserves to be scarred in such a manner over a magical trinket. You should've helped.

[ ] Write-in

---

Will: 105

As a result of seeing and experiencing a disturbing event, your Will regeneration suffered a malus for the duration of this turn.

At the moment, you have six (6) Coffee Jello packets left. They restore a variable amount of Will, increasing and decreasing dependent on circumstances as well as your current amount of Will (more is restored if low) and can provide discounts to certain actions, such as Classwork and Exploration.

It's recommended you take some form of Classwork this turn, as Solomon feels on the verge of a minor breakthrough in developing his magic!

Select a maximum of three Actions:

[ ] Classwork [-15 Will] - Standardized and individualized. At least a single action should be devoted to this each turn unless you wish to fall behind: more if you wish to excel.

-[ ] Standardized - Attend classes, turn in your homework on time, and prepare for the upcoming pop quizzes and tests. Learn Tarot history, mysticism, occult meanings, and more standard subjects! Modest advancement in your Enrollment.

-[ ] Individualized [-15 Will] - A set of more individualized one-on-one sessions with the Educator. The extra Will cost represents the effort spent on studying and cramming to earn these sessions. Awesome advancement in your Enrollment, as efficient as about 2.5 classes of standardized Education.

-[ ] Remedial Classwork - Almost no effort expended on Enrollment, if any.

[ ] Bonding [-5 Will] - Deepen your bond with a student or faculty member you know!
-[ ] Harrison
-[ ] Damien
-[ ] Penelope
-[ ] Write-in

[ ] Interaction [-10 Will]
- Attempt to make contacts with your upperclassmen. Gain social advantages and earn favors!
-[ ] Visit Judas [-20 Will] - Maybe you should visit Judas and learn more about the dispute that led to this?

[ ] Exploration [-20 Will] - The Surveyors are looking for new members, although you don't have to be a member to get in on explorations. An exciting opportunity, as these worlds can hide arcane secrets that lead to furthering Enrollment, as well as the occasional artifact or potential ally. Many of these can be kept post-graduation.
-[ ] Join the Club - Commits a single action to Exploration, although at half the cost in Will. Leaving costs a variable amount of Will.

[ ] Decompression [+10 Will] - Default if nothing is selected. Just slack off.

[ ] Write-in
 
The Problem of Evil
The Problem of Evil

After the cafeteria demonstration, most of Solomon's peers became inwardly focused, occupied foremost with themselves and their own business.

Although conversations and meetings hadn't shut down to a complete nothing, the social circles narrowed down into something lesser than pinpricks, and became more isolated from each other, almost like a reactive lockdown. As if everyone had suddenly become afraid of everyone else's potential power.

It was an incredibly terrifying sight for Solomon to witness, as human trust crumbled into its foundations, and the foundations themselves became shaken. His prognostications of the future turned a note darker, harbingers of potential doom at every corner; barely avoided or turned aside.

The Engine's demonstration had sparked a terrific realization in almost everyone who'd witnessed it. It was the realization they weren't in some storybook in which everyone worked hard to earn power and then selflessly constructed a better future. They were locked in a twilight realm, a wild and uncivilized zone full of uncertainties and conflict. They were Enrolled: the freshest and least bloodied inclusion in a series of so-called Classes historically known for competing with each other more than anything.

And instead of cooperating, everyone simultaneously decided there was more safety in pretending they were far too busy to interact. Although the Surveyor's Club continued its regular outings, reports became more scarce, and Penelope had allegedly become sullen and depressed, more focused on improving herself.

A hatred of weakness is starting to poison her mind, Solomon's predictions whispered. An unveiling of the darkest face of Justice, as blind as her all-consuming Wrath.

Solomon had, much as everyone else, drawn inwards. His reasons, however, weren't entirely self-motivated. As much as security mattered to him, there was something else driving him. Gnawing at every thought like a dog insistent on picking a bone clean.

"Mr. Lancaster, I cannot help but notice that you're distracted," the Educator said after Solomon lost track of the lesson for the second time in a row - admittedly unusual, given the Educator could tailor a regimen to account even for Solomon's slovenly distractedness. The Educator slowly lowered the book he'd been citing examples from, closed it, and then looked at Solomon. "I don't think we'll be able to accomplish anything substantial with your mind stuck in a groove. Instead, let's spend the remainder of the lesson's allotted time decompressing. Can you tell me about what's bothering you?"

Embittered, Solomon felt a spark of desire to lash out at the man's earnest attempt to reach out. It didn't help in the slightest that for all the assiduous genuity, it was difficult to sense the man's expression. All because of the blurred and indistinct features, the redaction surrounding every characteristic of his face, even dressed as he was in his boisterous Thematic outfit. Historically, none had ever broken the censorship of the Educator, none ever successfully beheld the man's true and unobscured countenance. Even the Metaphysicist never made a claim to the contrary.

However, even through it, Solomon could detect a tenor of concern. His bitterness spiraled down and collapsed on itself like the rungs of a broken ladder clattering in a dark alleyway after it gave way to pressure.

For a second, it seemed hopeless to even try sharing. Ingrained habits and well-worn experiences whispered of the uselessness of meaningful attempts at communication. Yet the Educator was the one and only individual Solomon knew who could see the Architecture same as him. If there was anyone who'd understand, it'd be him.

He'd already taken a chance with Harrison. This was even less than a chance. Might as well.

"You've heard about the cafeteria incident?"

"I have," said the Educator, unperturbed. "I know of almost everything of note that happens within my Academy the moment it occurs."

"Then why didn't you do anything to stop it?" Solomon asked, starting off neutral, yet quickly diverting to a more upset tone, as if casting an accusation at the man's feet, "It's clearly evil. Even if your amazing power is nullified outside of a classroom, you still wield authority over your students and could've done something. Could've told the Engine that you wouldn't teach her anymore if she did that. Or... I don't know, asked the rest of us to do something. You could've made a lesson out of it, even."

For a minute or so, the Educator pondered how to answer the accusations. There wasn't even a hint of tension or shame at being accused of silently approving of evil deeds, only a slight contemplation of the most accurate framing of his answer.

Finally, the Educator steepled his fingers, looked Solomon in the eyes, and started off, "Imagine if you could assign an accurate number to every being, corresponding to said being's ability to exert influence. A power level, if you will."

A demonstrative explanation or an exercise of the imagination. Solomon couldn't imagine it as anything other than tiresome. Still, he decided to play along. "Alright, so what?"

"If all of my students spent equal effort on learning from me, you'd all be necessarily level with each other," the Educator said. "And yet clearly, that is not the case. The Little Engine That Could is a whole year behind Judas Iscariot, and yet easily defeated him and your classmate. Do you know why?"

Solomon considered that. The Educator raised a fair point. How come some of them were stronger than others, even with less time? The naive answer was that some of them worked harder over a more limited time, although that seemed unlikely to be universal.

"I'm not sure," he answered honestly, even as some inklings of an idea danced in his head.

The Educator's blurred mouth curved into a smile. "It's simple. Hard work doesn't serve as an accurate determiner on its own. Judas has applied himself diligently over the course of his Enrollment. Alas, strength has its vectors. The sinuous interplay of supernatural power revolves on the same basis as the children's game of rock-paper-scissors. A man with a killing hand slays the strongman who lifts and throws boulders, and yet the strongman can destroy a military platoon, whereas the man with the killing hand will simply be shot prior to getting in range. A bit of a crude example, I'm assuming the killing hand can get the drop on the strongman... but you get the idea."

"So Judas isn't weak," said Solomon, summarizing the explanation. "He's simply invested in a different sort of strength, one that's essentially worthless when a metal monster is shooting blasts of steam at you. How does that mesh with the question I asked you?"

"I am invested wholly into being a teacher, Mr. Lancaster," the Educator said. "I am most excellent at my profession. I can teach a man or a woman to see through walls, or conjure up fire without flint or tinder, or even take flight among the birds. However, investment implies a cost. I have invested myself into this mantle so utterly, so thoroughly, I am now constrained to a mien of strict lawful neutrality in the face of both good and evil. To intervene would've ruined impartiality, and shattered any pretense of free will that my students have - important Aspects that I've carefully cultivated. Even so, I still believe my decision was worth it."

It was almost an admission of hubris. The Educator believed the formation of supernatural Aspects, even devoid of morality, was more than worth its investment cost to mankind. That human civilization could rein in the evil side of that reified power and eventually emerge as a utopia.

And, more than anything, it was also an admission that he believed it was worth pursuing more power in the face of adversity.

It didn't help as much as he'd hoped. If anything, the Educator's abiding neutrality only made Solomon even more abundantly ashamed, feeling his culpability was evident as one of the strongest among the Tarot Class.

"As your Educator, Mr. Lancaster, I should recommend more learning from your mistakes and less moping about them," said the man, seemingly amused at the silent response. "I won't force you to study more tonight, although I heartily suggest looking at what you have available, and what you could accomplish with it."

Solomon nodded with a sigh.

"Hey, Sol," Harrison said after Solomon returned. The muscular athlete was sitting at a desk, earbuds blasting some fashion of rock stuffed into his ears, poring over a book full of diagrams and notes on the margins. It was clearly borrowed from the Academy's Library. "Anything good from Mr. E?"

"Just stuff to think about."

"Hmm, yeah, tell me about it," Harrison muttered non-committally. "Thanks for borrowing me your solar, by the way."

"No problem," said Solomon, before muttering something unfocused and incoherent about not bothering him; a verbal spewage that Harrison, being Solomon's roommate for over a month now, thankfully seemed to comprehend.

After Solomon dropped into the embrace of a familiar bed, he further contemplated the Educator's words. The soothing comfort of the cool sheets provided lubrication to every thought and brought with it a gentle extrusion of novel ideas. He needed to experiment, and some easy methods came to mind.

His eyes cracked open, as he raised the stylized deck of cards he'd brought along for the Enrollment.

He focused. The Architecture of the cards was opaque, the involvement of their material form minimal within the structure of the universe. And yet, the Magician's Role was to connect the above to the below, the heavens to the terrestrial fundament. The cards themselves were trivial, easily discarded; the meaning hidden within the configurations on them, however, was a reflection of higher ideals. He struggled for a second, to express and externalize the inherent meaning of his Role, and forged a resonant sympathy between material and the abstract it represented.

Although it took a moment, it happened.

From every card, slowly, undulated a string of white mystical light, an ethereal cord. Like a spider's web, the strings exploded into the air, each leading away to somewhere else, most of them either out the window or through the door.

Solomon absentmindedly shuffled through the deck, as Harrison didn't seem to notice anything.

The Chariot's string was connected to Harrison's heart. The Magician's, to Solomon.

The ideal connects to the real.

After that, Solomon had slightly less trouble falling asleep.

---

Now that you've reached the second (Year 1, October) turn, and acquired some minor experience and sophistication in your Role, it's time to discuss the matter of Techniques, and expand on the power expansion mechanics.

In short, Techniques are efficient condensation of skill in applying your Role, meant to achieve specific outcomes. Often, they are more granular than Aspects, and develop in a straightforward fashion. Most of them be divided into three broad categories:

Aspectless - A Technique that doesn't require any particular Aspect, only your Role, or something else inherent to you. Varied limits.
Aspected - A Technique reliant on the cultivation of an Aspect. It cannot be raised above twice the number of its Aspect's level.
Combination - A Technique reliant on an Aspect and an Aspectless quality of some kind, or two different Aspects.

In most situations, you cannot raise a Technique higher than double its Aspect level, or the overall refinement of your Role in the case of Aspectless, or refinement level of its specific Combinatorial skills or prerequisites in the case of a Combination Technique.

As a result of your hard work, you've managed to develop the following Techniques:

Arcanum Technique: Comfort's Embrace (Level 2) - An efficient regimen of invocations meant to assure your comfort: regulation of temperature, minor alteration of tactility, and autohypnosis that optimize your sleeping experience frightfully well. Gain +5 Will every turn.

Combination Technique: Connections (Level 1) - A combination of your insight into Architecture alongside your Role as the Magician. Allows you to draw on and perceive semi-real connections between abstract or real things, and follow them. Currently, limited to your personal tarot deck and classmates.

Now, for the efforts you've expended this month, you're given 825 XP to do with as you please.

Will: 65
Credit: 5.2
XP: 825


It's recommended you attempt to vote by plan, as otherwise, this could get messy. Also, you should note Aspected Techniques aren't shown for Aspects at n/a level, not even for theoretical Techniques you could obtain later.

[ ] Combination Technique: Connections (Level 2, 100 XP / Level 3, 250 XP) - Expand your sight further, allowing you to visually trace the connections and 'perceive' what is happening on the other end. Furthermore, you can now see your personal connections, on top of those inherent to your tarot deck. / Connections may now be traced with less effort, and you may perceive the connections of other people and things in your environment, aside from your own and those of your deck.

[ ] Aspect: Sanctum - The ritualistic creation of a sacred space: a wizard's tower, a thaumaturge's temple. In a devoted sanctum, you possess fewer limits as a magician: energy constraints loosened, generation redoubled, efforts quintupled. Although outside you may be a mere magus, within you are the King of Magi, every wonder of the world availed and accessible. It can be moved with effort, eventually.

Current Level: n/a
Next Level: 1 (250 XP) / 2 (500 XP)

Allows you to demarcate a single room-sized space in which your spells are almost twice as strong, and you have slightly more laxity in what your spells can do.

/ Allows you to demarcate an area the size of a small family house, in which your spells are twice as strong, cost one-third less to cast and maintain, and you have slightly more laxity in what you can do. Furthermore, hostile effects in the area are minimally less potent and attenuated to harm you or yours less.

[ ] Aspect: Arcanum - Invocation and spellcraft, orthodox. Also the magical processes of enchantment and alchemy, albeit to a lesser degree.

Current Level: 1
Next Level: 2 (500 XP)

Acquire further sophistication in spellcasting, comparable to a mid-level non-Enrolled wizard. Can, with effort, shoot rods of electricity that cross a street and incapacitate a human, or form a ball of fire that covers a small room and mostly deals with everyone inside. For utility, can near-effortlessly levitate or conjure small objects, clean and alter colors of items instantly, produce minor cosmetic or illusionary effects, and transfer yourself spatially across a room. Can accomplish minorly impressive feats of alchemy and enchantment, as well as other similar deeds on this scale.

-[ ] Technique: Arcane Focus (Level 1, 300 XP / Level 2, 600 XP) - A fundamental alteration of your Arcanum, altering the casting style you employ to follow a certain precept. It also enhances and grants special capabilities endemic to each of the Foci. For more details, read their descriptions below. Can either be employed as a minor specialist boost, or 'locked in' with full devotion for dramatic benefits, in turn preventing you from picking any of the others. Devotion can always be selected later, although un-devoting yourself is an involved and lengthy process, and shouldn't be done without due consideration.

--[ ] Sword - Air and Reason. Aerokinesis, electrokinesis, eventual 'pure' telekinesis and command over the electromagnetic spectrum, enhanced cognition, the summoning of Djinni, and offensive magics, including those which act as proactive defense.
*Casting Style: Hermetic Magic.

---[ ] Minor - Slight increase to Technique effectiveness.
---[ ] Devoted [7 Credit] - Monumental increase to Technique effectiveness, grants a Specialist Bonus. Locks out the other sub-Techniques.

--[ ] Wand - Fire and Creativity. Pyrokinesis, the summoning of Ifrit, Thematic flame magics (cauterization, creation of passion, damage over time effects), and all fundamentally 'creative' magics - from inciting a wellspring of inspiration to creating a barrier against incoming harm, to the creation of life itself.
*Casting Style: Wand Magic.

---[ ] Minor - Slight increase to Technique effectiveness.
---[ ] Devoted [7 Credit] - Monumental increase to Technique effectiveness, grants a Specialist Bonus. Locks out the other sub-Techniques.

--[ ] Cup - Water and Emotion. Hydrokinesis, including eventual control over ice and all other liquids; the creation of supernatural potions, poultices, salves and tinctures, the summoning of Marids, and all fundamentally transformative magics - from altering someone's emotional state to increasing their strength to transforming them into a newt.
*Dual Casting Style: Raw Manifestation and Potioncraft.

---[ ] Minor - Slight increase to Technique effectiveness.
---[ ] Devoted [7 Credit] - Monumental increase to Technique effectiveness, grants a Specialist Bonus. Locks out the other sub-Techniques.

--[ ] Pentacle - Earth and the Material. Terrakinesis, including ferrokinesis; the creation of artifacts and vestments, the manufacture of Golems and other material servitors, and all magics related to matter and the material world, including the summoning of actual individuals from, theoretically, any physical realm.
*Casting Style: Ritual Magic (including Artifice).

---[ ] Minor - Slight increase to Technique effectiveness.
---[ ] Devoted [7 Credit] - Monumental increase to Technique effectiveness, grants a Specialist Bonus. Locks out the other sub-Techniques.

-[ ] Technique: Arcane Induction (Level 1, 125 XP / Level 2, 250 XP) - Can take on a single non-Enrolled apprentice, conferring the potential to reach half your overall talent and level in the Arcanum Aspect and your Arcane Focus Technique / Can take on three apprentices of a similar level.

-[ ] Technique: Comfort's Embrace (Level 3, 400 XP) - Requires Arcanum (Level 2).

-[ ] Create New Technique - write-in, variable (high) cost

[ ] Aspect: Hermes the Destroyer - A combat-oriented Aspect, all relegated to ensuring security and capabilities in combat. Focused on releases of pure destructive energy and entropic shielding. A more powerful Aspect.

Current Level: n/a
Next Level: 1 (250 XP) / 2 (500 XP)

Allows you to maintain an aura that shreds enemies within a couple of meters from you, and fire rays that present the same amount of danger as a longbow.

/ Shoot entropic rays that present the same amount of danger as a squad of trained and accurate crossbowmen, cloak yourself in destructive energies that can slay or at least permanently maim a baseline human within three meters of you in several seconds, make focused, charged releases and blast-waves that can throw or crush cars.

[ ] Write-in
 
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