[X] Spirit modification
The Last Daughter; Dragon-Blooded Sorcery School Quest
- Thread starter Gazetteer
- Start date
- Fantasy
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Elemental cultivation
Peony . . .
mynameisyouQQQ
Miss Brightside
- Location
- A Hell of my own making
- Pronouns
- They/She/He
[X] Spirit modification
Hampsterpig
I write stuff.
- Location
- Somewhere in my own head
[X] Spirit modification
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Knowledge of Sidereals in general -- their nature, how Arcane Fate works -- can help someone be more resistant to its effects, but that works best if you have some kind of connection or strong feeling to the Sidereal in question. Maia had the most complete understanding of Ambraea's childhood history and that Peony had been with her all her life, enough to make her second guess in the moment.
Of course, since we're not using dice here, who remembers what and when they remember it is largely down to whatever is most dramatically appropriate.
[X] Spirit modification
Agreeing with the general take that Deeper Snwitchery is the way to go.
Agreeing with the general take that Deeper Snwitchery is the way to go.
I figured her training gave her the stats/Charms (in an abstract way) to resist having her mind messed with, at least more than the others.
thelordofmango
may be stupid
- Location
- under a rock
æugh, all th options are so cool though…
- Location
- PA
[X] Spirit modification
Big Snek, hydra Snek, gorgon headed Snek that keeps hissing and pointing at blue flowers randomly..
I don't think that last but ACTUALLY works but…
I slightly wonder if we had taken the Amiti's research invoking her teacher when Peony ascended if we could have had…Eh, probably wouldn't have worked, and it's not that important in the end is it?
Big Snek, hydra Snek, gorgon headed Snek that keeps hissing and pointing at blue flowers randomly..
I don't think that last but ACTUALLY works but…
I slightly wonder if we had taken the Amiti's research invoking her teacher when Peony ascended if we could have had…Eh, probably wouldn't have worked, and it's not that important in the end is it?
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[x] Spirit modification
[X] Spirit modification
Despite wanting to revisit that watermason we summoned way back whose now a part of our patrons court, Elemental Modification doesn't quite have that possessive grasp of the subject that I would want for an academic thesis.
Despite wanting to revisit that watermason we summoned way back whose now a part of our patrons court, Elemental Modification doesn't quite have that possessive grasp of the subject that I would want for an academic thesis.
This is in reference to Terrestrial Exalts seeing females as emotionally stable and males as flighty, right? Hysteria was from the greek hystera (womb), so would Exalted have a word for male emotions derived from orkhis (testicle)?
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
The Realm, specifically, is matriarchal, it's not really about Dragon-Blooded in particular.
Ambraea has reflected on whether or not her attitude towards men is a little too dismissive:
If you directly accused her of being sexist or whatever she'd get defensive and insist that of course she can't be, because she respects her father.
Ambraea has reflected on whether or not her attitude towards men is a little too dismissive:
If you directly accused her of being sexist or whatever she'd get defensive and insist that of course she can't be, because she respects her father.
- Location
- Virginia
[X] Spirit modification
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
[X] Spirit modification
Snek++
Snek++
- Location
- USA
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Spirit modification
Vote closed, Year 5 01
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Year 5: Hard Lessons 02
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
So, this should not have taken as as it did to write, but unfortunately I abruptly no longer have a computer and had to type this up on my phone. It's kind of fucking with my creative process, a bit.
It takes you a moment to entirely recognise where you are.
The most convenient part of being Hearthmates with Maia continues to be the capacity to find each other at any time, no matter where you are in the school, with no prior arrangements. Today, your Hearth sense leads you to a door along an unremarkable passageway — it would have been unassuming, if it weren't for the advanced seal placed on it. As a fifth year, you know the sign however, tracing the appropriate pattern on the well-worn metal plate on the door's surface.
It clicks open, revealing a space you haven't seen since your first year — at the time, it had just seemed like a store room. Now, you recognise it as a small repository for artifacts in the Heptagram's possession that are not actively dangerous, but which can be misused in careless hands. Here the jadesteel spyglass, there the strange hourglass, a dozen minor oddities scattered around the room. There are also two Dragon-Blooded inside, and, of course, the deceptively harmless bird.
"Ah, Ambraea, it has simply been too long," says the demon in the cage. It looks exactly as it always did — a miniature raiton with red feathers and black scales, innocuous enough before it starts speaking. If you ignore the fact that the cage it's in is solid orichalcum, and has no obvious door or latch. Somehow, you're not surprised that it remembers your name.
"Hello, Ambraea," Maia says, looking up in pleasant surprise. She has a polish cloth in one hand, and is in the process of cleaning the massive hourglass's surface of dust or smudges. Still, she glances over at the other student in the room with a look of slight apprehension.
Ledaal Anay Idelle regards you coldly, an expression that ill suits the flickering red flame in her eyes. Moving carefully, she gathers up the blue jade spyglass, carrying it toward the door. "I shouldn't keep the dominie waiting," she says, briskly. "Goodbye, Erona. Ambraea." She gives you the shallowest nod that courtesy will allow.
"Ledaal," you say, returning the gesture. When she's gone, and the door clicks shut behind you, you glance back around at Maia and the demon. "I'm surprised to find you in here," you say.
It's not Maia who answers first. "You would be absolutely shocked," says Yoxien, the Directory Bound in Crimson, "how useful a source I am about demonically sourced magical compounds and reagents. And my rates for trading information are aggressively reasonable. Even if Erona Maia still won't give me the thing I'm really interested in."
Maia levels the little bird a dangerous sort of look. Yoxien has a fixation on names, you recall — presumably, he could always taste that the one Maia had given him in your first year wasn't the whole story, even if that doesn't tell him what the truth is. She glances back to you without responding to the provocation, however. "It's true," she says. "He's been giving me the names of obscure demons in exchange for the names of obscure books, believe it or not. Instructor Bashura noticed, however, and so she assigned me to maintain some of the artifacts while I'm in here."
You grimace. "The servants couldn't do that?"
Maia gives a helpless sort of shrug. "She says she doesn't trust the spirits with some of these. They're delicate instruments, so they usually assign it to an older student."
That makes some sense, although asking the one patrician currently in attendance is a little transparent. "You're certain trading information with the demon is a good idea?" you ask.
"I told you five years ago," Yoxien says, "I'm harmless like this. Bound in orichalcum and dread sorcery."
"It's true," Maia says. "Nearly all of his power is sealed that way. It's said he ran afoul of an Anathema demon queen who sealed him away for all time. He can only hoard knowledge, and dole it out when it suits him."
Yoxien clucks his tongue — a distressingly human sound from a raiton. "Lover's spat, if you can believe it. Never try to be the one to break things off first with a Solar — that's some entirely free wisdom for you girls."
"I'll remember that," you say, tone dry. Not letting yourself be seduced by an Anathema in the first place is obviously more intelligent, but even the most powerful of demons have very strange ways of looking at the world, and their judgment is not really to be trusted.
"It also wasn't meant to be forever, I don't think," he says, voice distantly wistful. "She couldn't bear the thought of anyone summoning me or winning my affections. I think she intended to let me out within a century or two — and in the event of her death, she very thoughtfully left a clause that the binding would fail the moment her successor came into their power. But, well, some issues with that mechanism were simply not foreseeable."
"Why are you telling us this?" you ask Yoxien.
The bird laughs, looking between you and Maia with a much slyer expression than he should have been able to manage with only raiton features. "I suppose," he says, "that young love simply makes me talkative, about certain things."
"I think I'm done," Maia says, stowing her polishing cloth in a particular cupboard. "Until next time," she says to Yoxien, with a passing amount of courtesy. You suppose she doesn't actually have a way to compel the demon to speak to her, if she gets on his bad side.
"I hope so," Yoxien says, pleasantly. "Lovely to see you again, Ambraea."
As you shut the door behind you and Maia begins the sealing rite, you admit: "I think I prefer Perfection's brand of insufferability to that thing's false friendliness."
"I don't think it's false," Maia says, "I think he's bored and lonely, most of the time. He enjoys conversation and hearing mundane details from beyond his prison. It might be more dangerous to give them to him if he ever got out."
"He's helping you find strange and unusual demonic venoms, I take it?" you ask.
"That's certainly something my research points me in the way of," Maia says, giving you a wry sort of smile.
You doubt you're the only one who's pieced that together. It's impressive, in a sense — your peers figure out, roughly, what Maia's intended career trajectory is with some basic scrutiny, and then proceed to wonder which Dynast her family intends her to spend her youth serving at the pleasure of without considering whether there's any more sinister secret at play.
You've heard the names of several well-placed Peleps scions floating around when students think Maia is out of earshot, and your name when people think you are. The funds necessary to buy out an Exalted patrician's fostering agreement would put you catastrophically in debt and likely make you enemies in House Peleps besides, but you'd be lying if you told yourself that a part of you doesn't like the idea of having her at your side as you establish your household. It's a bad idea for other, more serious reasons as well, but those ones are hardly avoidable now.
"I just wanted a chance to see you before the lecture," you say, following her around a corner.
"Well, it's not for another two hours," Maia says.
"I finally managed to schedule that session with Instructor Ovo," you say, grimacing.
She gives you a sympathetic look. "He'll probably be genuinely helpful, at least."
"I don't imagine I'd seek out his company otherwise," you say.
Nellens Ovo is the first Heptagram instructor you met, the man who had been guiding the ship on your first voyage to the Isle of Voices, who first led you up the cliffside path from the jetty. He's also easily one of your least favourite instructors — irritable, impatient, and exacting to a fault. Unfortunately, he's also a master of demonology and other spiritual studies, with many decades of experience relevant to your chosen field of study.
"I learned quite a bit, when I managed to get ahold of him for half an hour," Maia says, helpfully. "Between him and Yoxien, I've learned about at least three useful kinds of anhules the books I found on my own barely touched on."
"That is probably more spiders than I need in my life," you say.
"One of them is particularly good for stealth and assassination," she adds. "Or at least giving a victim an untraceably unpleasant day or two. Paralytic venom."
She gives you a meaningful sort of look that tells you exactly who she's thinking about you using this information against, and you sigh. "I have the situation under control, Maia." Nalri can wait.
Maia frowns. "You're too forgiving, sometimes."
"I'm not forgiving her for anything," you say.
"Too willing to let someone who's hurt you have the chance to do it again, then," Maia says, shrugging. It's a small, uncomfortable gesture, like this has been something that she's thought many times, and is now regretting giving voice to it. "I don't want to have to hear about you going over another cliff."
"I'm not some naive idiot, Maia," you say, a little sharper than you intend.
To your frustration, she flinches, "My apologies then," Maia says, tone going up several notches of formality, "I did not mean to overstep." For a moment, you're reminded forcibly of—
"No, I'm sorry." You reach out to her, your hand brushing against the back of her neck, soothing against the exposed skin. "I didn't mean to sound angry."
You feel her relax under your touch. "It's nothing," she says. "Everything will be fine, I'm sure." Something about the way she says that worried you, just a little.
Nellens Ovo's study is much like the man who works out of it — narrow, fastidious, and difficult to get comfortable around. Hulking bookshelves are crammed into every wall, looming over you from floor to ceiling. What furniture there is is concentrated in the centre of the room, creating the effect of cramped aisles. You're aware of how much smaller this room is than instructor Bashura's study. You don't bother wondering whether or not this is a sign of house Cynis's greater prestige than House Nellens' — it obviously is. First Light's study is on the smaller side as well, thinking back, although her spartan decorating decisions do more to disguise this. Seniority matters, of course, but blood is inescapable, even in this academically minded corner of Dynastic society.
"The greatest limiting factor, obviously, is that conventional spirit summoning — demonic, elemental — either has a shelf life or requires one to give up a great deal of direct control over the creature in question," Ovo says, "this limits the practical utility of extensive modification. The major exception is task-bound demons acting as glorified guard dogs. I believe the sorcerer princes of House Simendor have a long history of such workings, but something tells me you won't be seeking out your classmate for his expertise on this matter."
He doesn't have to sound so amused by it. "No, I suppose not," you say.
Ovo's eyes flick to Verdigris on your shoulder. "I suppose you have a less conventionally bound spirit on hand already. That is helpful, but don't be careless about trying things you can't take back."
Verdigris gives a faint hiss of distress in time to the pang of indignation you feel going through you. "I had not planned on doing so, Instructor," you say.
"So I've heard from many who later came to regret it," he says. "Your initial planning is an acceptable beginning, but you require more research. There is an adequate collection of case studies on the subject of sorcerous experimentation on elementals on the upper floors of the library tower, last I looked. Anonymous author."
You wait for a moment, before asking: "Do you have a title, or a location to help me find it?"
Ovo waves this off. "You're a fifth year student, Ambraea. Either you know your way around the libraries by now, or you've been very convincingly pretending to be a halfway competent scholar this whole time."
That is both unhelpful and also startlingly close to being a compliment. You're not entirely certain how to take it, at first. "Very well," you say.
"Give yourself as much ground work as possible before you start on actual rituals. You have three years to get something fruitful out of this, after all." He leans back in his chair, frowning a little deeper as he recalls the details of what you'd wanted to consult with him about. "The quasi solidity of elemental Essence," he decides.
"Yes," you say. "You brought it up in your lecture last month, but not in any great detail."
Ovo sighs. "Yes, I remember my own lectures," he says. "Listen closely, I don't like repeating myself..."
"Ambraea. Always a pleasure."
You don't let your shoulders visibly stiffen, although it's difficult. You recognise the voice before you see her standing there, infuriating smile on her lips, one hand playing with one of the kelp fronds that twists through her hair. "Peleps Nalri," you say.
"I don't know why you taunt her," her companion says. A young man of House Mnemon, one of the handful of other seventh year students, along with Nalri. "We'll all be done with school soon enough, you may live to regret it."
"Taunt her?" Nalri says, pressing a hand to her chest, "As I've told her before, I wish Ambraea nothing but the best."
The two of them are standing in an alcove off the main hallway, apparently comparing notes ahead of the coming lecture. Their work is illuminated by a nearby window half blocked by the snow that clings to its glass.
The Mnemon boy glances back the way you've just come, and at the notes in your arms. "You've been speaking to Nellens Ovo," he says. "My condolences." His tone is a little wry in a way you'd find passingly amusing, if Nalri weren't present.
"It was a productive consultation," you say, tone stiff.
"Hardly pleasant, though, I imagine," Nalri says. "I for one will be glad to have graduated, if only to not have to deal with him anymore. Careful about paying too close attention to his advice — The chip on that man's shoulder is exhausting to deal with."
It's a popular opinion among many students that the reason Instructor Ovo is as unfriendly as he is is because of how unprestigious his house or bloodline is compared to theirs. Privately, you doubt it; you've seen him bey as unfriendly or worse to those students of his own house. Sometimes, a man is just unpleasant on his own terms. You almost respect it. So instead, what you ask is: "Is that what happened to your research, Nalri? Bad advice?"
Her companion stifles a laugh, the sound causing Nalri's shoulders to stiffen as, for just a moment, all her false affability boils away. She glares at you with genuine, open dislike. "Something like that," she says, at length.
"Well, I wish you good luck in the future," you say. "I hope to see you both at Professor Bashura's lecture." You feel her glare on your back as you walk away down the hall. This is how you know you've won the exchange.
You try to hang onto the glow of the petty point you've just scored as you make your way down to the lecture hall, as opposed to Maia's more worrisome earlier sentiments.
It flees your mind entirely as you near the entrance to the lecture hall, noting the small knot of students hovering around it rather than entering. You realise that they're standing by to watch a confrontation between two students in particular. With a flash of irritation, you recognise that one of them is Sola, and the other is Cathak Garel Hylo.
"I was only repeating the tactical appraisal of my honoured grandmother, which she delivered in public. I'm certain you wouldn't dispute her qualifications to offer an opinion on the matter." Hylo carefully adjusts his glasses, not moving an inch or betraying any fear or alarm. Which is a little impressive, all things considered.
"I don't care what third hand gossip you've got about your grandmother," Sola says, "my mother is not careless just because she's moving with haste to carry out the Empress's will. You will apologise." Her hand is hovering treacherously close to the hilt of her sword. You've been training with Sola for going on five years now — you can tell just from the set of her shoulders that this is no idle threat, that once that daiklave clears its sheath, this will not be a petty squabble. The last thing Sola needs is for Instructor Bashura to arrive in the midst of that.
You hurry forward, not quite interposing yourself between the two of them, but placing a hand on Sola's shoulder. She tries to flinch away, but you stand firm, leaning in to murmur into her ear: "Not the time or the place. Whatever he said."
Unfortunately, you're not quiet enough for Hylo to avoid overhearing, and he's not smart enough to pretend otherwise. "Listen to Ambraea," he says. "Try to show a bit of feminine restraint, if you can."
Electricity crackles in Sola's eyes, and you're entirely convinced that she's about to cut Hylo in half after all — you're dramatically less inclined to stop her.
"Put the sword away, Tepet." a weary voice says from behind you.
You all turn around to see Cynis Bashura approaching, scrolls under one arm, a trail of smoke drifting up from the corner of one mouth. Here at precisely the right moment and not a second later. "Murder each other on your own time, if it pleases you, and not where I have to be responsible for it."
For a dangerous moment, you think that Sola isn't going to listen, and you're not sure how things are going to go after that. Slowly, she releases her grip on Storm's Eye's hilt, deliberately looking away from Hylo.
"Now, is there a problem?" Bashura asks.
"None, Instructor," Hylo says, turning on his heel to enter the lecture hall.
Bashura stares after him for a moment, shaking her head. She looks like she wants to say something, but she thinks better of it, entering the lecture hall herself.
"He needs to be taught a lesson," Sola says, voice quiet, but with a dangerous iron certainty, "sooner rather than later. I cannot let this slide — I'm not as patient as you, Ambraea."
You frown, but don't contradict her. Verdigris coils a little tighter around your throat. Does everyone think of you this way? You don't voice the question out loud, however. "Why do I feel like I'm going to get dragged into this?"
Sola laughs, although it's not entirely pleasant. "Because you have good instincts, sometimes."
You elect not to be offended by the qualifier.
Spirit modification: 24
Elemental cultivation: 12
Spell tracings: 3
Elemental cultivation: 12
Spell tracings: 3
It takes you a moment to entirely recognise where you are.
The most convenient part of being Hearthmates with Maia continues to be the capacity to find each other at any time, no matter where you are in the school, with no prior arrangements. Today, your Hearth sense leads you to a door along an unremarkable passageway — it would have been unassuming, if it weren't for the advanced seal placed on it. As a fifth year, you know the sign however, tracing the appropriate pattern on the well-worn metal plate on the door's surface.
It clicks open, revealing a space you haven't seen since your first year — at the time, it had just seemed like a store room. Now, you recognise it as a small repository for artifacts in the Heptagram's possession that are not actively dangerous, but which can be misused in careless hands. Here the jadesteel spyglass, there the strange hourglass, a dozen minor oddities scattered around the room. There are also two Dragon-Blooded inside, and, of course, the deceptively harmless bird.
"Ah, Ambraea, it has simply been too long," says the demon in the cage. It looks exactly as it always did — a miniature raiton with red feathers and black scales, innocuous enough before it starts speaking. If you ignore the fact that the cage it's in is solid orichalcum, and has no obvious door or latch. Somehow, you're not surprised that it remembers your name.
"Hello, Ambraea," Maia says, looking up in pleasant surprise. She has a polish cloth in one hand, and is in the process of cleaning the massive hourglass's surface of dust or smudges. Still, she glances over at the other student in the room with a look of slight apprehension.
Ledaal Anay Idelle regards you coldly, an expression that ill suits the flickering red flame in her eyes. Moving carefully, she gathers up the blue jade spyglass, carrying it toward the door. "I shouldn't keep the dominie waiting," she says, briskly. "Goodbye, Erona. Ambraea." She gives you the shallowest nod that courtesy will allow.
"Ledaal," you say, returning the gesture. When she's gone, and the door clicks shut behind you, you glance back around at Maia and the demon. "I'm surprised to find you in here," you say.
It's not Maia who answers first. "You would be absolutely shocked," says Yoxien, the Directory Bound in Crimson, "how useful a source I am about demonically sourced magical compounds and reagents. And my rates for trading information are aggressively reasonable. Even if Erona Maia still won't give me the thing I'm really interested in."
Maia levels the little bird a dangerous sort of look. Yoxien has a fixation on names, you recall — presumably, he could always taste that the one Maia had given him in your first year wasn't the whole story, even if that doesn't tell him what the truth is. She glances back to you without responding to the provocation, however. "It's true," she says. "He's been giving me the names of obscure demons in exchange for the names of obscure books, believe it or not. Instructor Bashura noticed, however, and so she assigned me to maintain some of the artifacts while I'm in here."
You grimace. "The servants couldn't do that?"
Maia gives a helpless sort of shrug. "She says she doesn't trust the spirits with some of these. They're delicate instruments, so they usually assign it to an older student."
That makes some sense, although asking the one patrician currently in attendance is a little transparent. "You're certain trading information with the demon is a good idea?" you ask.
"I told you five years ago," Yoxien says, "I'm harmless like this. Bound in orichalcum and dread sorcery."
"It's true," Maia says. "Nearly all of his power is sealed that way. It's said he ran afoul of an Anathema demon queen who sealed him away for all time. He can only hoard knowledge, and dole it out when it suits him."
Yoxien clucks his tongue — a distressingly human sound from a raiton. "Lover's spat, if you can believe it. Never try to be the one to break things off first with a Solar — that's some entirely free wisdom for you girls."
"I'll remember that," you say, tone dry. Not letting yourself be seduced by an Anathema in the first place is obviously more intelligent, but even the most powerful of demons have very strange ways of looking at the world, and their judgment is not really to be trusted.
"It also wasn't meant to be forever, I don't think," he says, voice distantly wistful. "She couldn't bear the thought of anyone summoning me or winning my affections. I think she intended to let me out within a century or two — and in the event of her death, she very thoughtfully left a clause that the binding would fail the moment her successor came into their power. But, well, some issues with that mechanism were simply not foreseeable."
"Why are you telling us this?" you ask Yoxien.
The bird laughs, looking between you and Maia with a much slyer expression than he should have been able to manage with only raiton features. "I suppose," he says, "that young love simply makes me talkative, about certain things."
"I think I'm done," Maia says, stowing her polishing cloth in a particular cupboard. "Until next time," she says to Yoxien, with a passing amount of courtesy. You suppose she doesn't actually have a way to compel the demon to speak to her, if she gets on his bad side.
"I hope so," Yoxien says, pleasantly. "Lovely to see you again, Ambraea."
As you shut the door behind you and Maia begins the sealing rite, you admit: "I think I prefer Perfection's brand of insufferability to that thing's false friendliness."
"I don't think it's false," Maia says, "I think he's bored and lonely, most of the time. He enjoys conversation and hearing mundane details from beyond his prison. It might be more dangerous to give them to him if he ever got out."
"He's helping you find strange and unusual demonic venoms, I take it?" you ask.
"That's certainly something my research points me in the way of," Maia says, giving you a wry sort of smile.
You doubt you're the only one who's pieced that together. It's impressive, in a sense — your peers figure out, roughly, what Maia's intended career trajectory is with some basic scrutiny, and then proceed to wonder which Dynast her family intends her to spend her youth serving at the pleasure of without considering whether there's any more sinister secret at play.
You've heard the names of several well-placed Peleps scions floating around when students think Maia is out of earshot, and your name when people think you are. The funds necessary to buy out an Exalted patrician's fostering agreement would put you catastrophically in debt and likely make you enemies in House Peleps besides, but you'd be lying if you told yourself that a part of you doesn't like the idea of having her at your side as you establish your household. It's a bad idea for other, more serious reasons as well, but those ones are hardly avoidable now.
"I just wanted a chance to see you before the lecture," you say, following her around a corner.
"Well, it's not for another two hours," Maia says.
"I finally managed to schedule that session with Instructor Ovo," you say, grimacing.
She gives you a sympathetic look. "He'll probably be genuinely helpful, at least."
"I don't imagine I'd seek out his company otherwise," you say.
Nellens Ovo is the first Heptagram instructor you met, the man who had been guiding the ship on your first voyage to the Isle of Voices, who first led you up the cliffside path from the jetty. He's also easily one of your least favourite instructors — irritable, impatient, and exacting to a fault. Unfortunately, he's also a master of demonology and other spiritual studies, with many decades of experience relevant to your chosen field of study.
"I learned quite a bit, when I managed to get ahold of him for half an hour," Maia says, helpfully. "Between him and Yoxien, I've learned about at least three useful kinds of anhules the books I found on my own barely touched on."
"That is probably more spiders than I need in my life," you say.
"One of them is particularly good for stealth and assassination," she adds. "Or at least giving a victim an untraceably unpleasant day or two. Paralytic venom."
She gives you a meaningful sort of look that tells you exactly who she's thinking about you using this information against, and you sigh. "I have the situation under control, Maia." Nalri can wait.
Maia frowns. "You're too forgiving, sometimes."
"I'm not forgiving her for anything," you say.
"Too willing to let someone who's hurt you have the chance to do it again, then," Maia says, shrugging. It's a small, uncomfortable gesture, like this has been something that she's thought many times, and is now regretting giving voice to it. "I don't want to have to hear about you going over another cliff."
"I'm not some naive idiot, Maia," you say, a little sharper than you intend.
To your frustration, she flinches, "My apologies then," Maia says, tone going up several notches of formality, "I did not mean to overstep." For a moment, you're reminded forcibly of—
"No, I'm sorry." You reach out to her, your hand brushing against the back of her neck, soothing against the exposed skin. "I didn't mean to sound angry."
You feel her relax under your touch. "It's nothing," she says. "Everything will be fine, I'm sure." Something about the way she says that worried you, just a little.
Nellens Ovo's study is much like the man who works out of it — narrow, fastidious, and difficult to get comfortable around. Hulking bookshelves are crammed into every wall, looming over you from floor to ceiling. What furniture there is is concentrated in the centre of the room, creating the effect of cramped aisles. You're aware of how much smaller this room is than instructor Bashura's study. You don't bother wondering whether or not this is a sign of house Cynis's greater prestige than House Nellens' — it obviously is. First Light's study is on the smaller side as well, thinking back, although her spartan decorating decisions do more to disguise this. Seniority matters, of course, but blood is inescapable, even in this academically minded corner of Dynastic society.
"The greatest limiting factor, obviously, is that conventional spirit summoning — demonic, elemental — either has a shelf life or requires one to give up a great deal of direct control over the creature in question," Ovo says, "this limits the practical utility of extensive modification. The major exception is task-bound demons acting as glorified guard dogs. I believe the sorcerer princes of House Simendor have a long history of such workings, but something tells me you won't be seeking out your classmate for his expertise on this matter."
He doesn't have to sound so amused by it. "No, I suppose not," you say.
Ovo's eyes flick to Verdigris on your shoulder. "I suppose you have a less conventionally bound spirit on hand already. That is helpful, but don't be careless about trying things you can't take back."
Verdigris gives a faint hiss of distress in time to the pang of indignation you feel going through you. "I had not planned on doing so, Instructor," you say.
"So I've heard from many who later came to regret it," he says. "Your initial planning is an acceptable beginning, but you require more research. There is an adequate collection of case studies on the subject of sorcerous experimentation on elementals on the upper floors of the library tower, last I looked. Anonymous author."
You wait for a moment, before asking: "Do you have a title, or a location to help me find it?"
Ovo waves this off. "You're a fifth year student, Ambraea. Either you know your way around the libraries by now, or you've been very convincingly pretending to be a halfway competent scholar this whole time."
That is both unhelpful and also startlingly close to being a compliment. You're not entirely certain how to take it, at first. "Very well," you say.
"Give yourself as much ground work as possible before you start on actual rituals. You have three years to get something fruitful out of this, after all." He leans back in his chair, frowning a little deeper as he recalls the details of what you'd wanted to consult with him about. "The quasi solidity of elemental Essence," he decides.
"Yes," you say. "You brought it up in your lecture last month, but not in any great detail."
Ovo sighs. "Yes, I remember my own lectures," he says. "Listen closely, I don't like repeating myself..."
"Ambraea. Always a pleasure."
You don't let your shoulders visibly stiffen, although it's difficult. You recognise the voice before you see her standing there, infuriating smile on her lips, one hand playing with one of the kelp fronds that twists through her hair. "Peleps Nalri," you say.
"I don't know why you taunt her," her companion says. A young man of House Mnemon, one of the handful of other seventh year students, along with Nalri. "We'll all be done with school soon enough, you may live to regret it."
"Taunt her?" Nalri says, pressing a hand to her chest, "As I've told her before, I wish Ambraea nothing but the best."
The two of them are standing in an alcove off the main hallway, apparently comparing notes ahead of the coming lecture. Their work is illuminated by a nearby window half blocked by the snow that clings to its glass.
The Mnemon boy glances back the way you've just come, and at the notes in your arms. "You've been speaking to Nellens Ovo," he says. "My condolences." His tone is a little wry in a way you'd find passingly amusing, if Nalri weren't present.
"It was a productive consultation," you say, tone stiff.
"Hardly pleasant, though, I imagine," Nalri says. "I for one will be glad to have graduated, if only to not have to deal with him anymore. Careful about paying too close attention to his advice — The chip on that man's shoulder is exhausting to deal with."
It's a popular opinion among many students that the reason Instructor Ovo is as unfriendly as he is is because of how unprestigious his house or bloodline is compared to theirs. Privately, you doubt it; you've seen him bey as unfriendly or worse to those students of his own house. Sometimes, a man is just unpleasant on his own terms. You almost respect it. So instead, what you ask is: "Is that what happened to your research, Nalri? Bad advice?"
Her companion stifles a laugh, the sound causing Nalri's shoulders to stiffen as, for just a moment, all her false affability boils away. She glares at you with genuine, open dislike. "Something like that," she says, at length.
"Well, I wish you good luck in the future," you say. "I hope to see you both at Professor Bashura's lecture." You feel her glare on your back as you walk away down the hall. This is how you know you've won the exchange.
You try to hang onto the glow of the petty point you've just scored as you make your way down to the lecture hall, as opposed to Maia's more worrisome earlier sentiments.
It flees your mind entirely as you near the entrance to the lecture hall, noting the small knot of students hovering around it rather than entering. You realise that they're standing by to watch a confrontation between two students in particular. With a flash of irritation, you recognise that one of them is Sola, and the other is Cathak Garel Hylo.
"I was only repeating the tactical appraisal of my honoured grandmother, which she delivered in public. I'm certain you wouldn't dispute her qualifications to offer an opinion on the matter." Hylo carefully adjusts his glasses, not moving an inch or betraying any fear or alarm. Which is a little impressive, all things considered.
"I don't care what third hand gossip you've got about your grandmother," Sola says, "my mother is not careless just because she's moving with haste to carry out the Empress's will. You will apologise." Her hand is hovering treacherously close to the hilt of her sword. You've been training with Sola for going on five years now — you can tell just from the set of her shoulders that this is no idle threat, that once that daiklave clears its sheath, this will not be a petty squabble. The last thing Sola needs is for Instructor Bashura to arrive in the midst of that.
You hurry forward, not quite interposing yourself between the two of them, but placing a hand on Sola's shoulder. She tries to flinch away, but you stand firm, leaning in to murmur into her ear: "Not the time or the place. Whatever he said."
Unfortunately, you're not quiet enough for Hylo to avoid overhearing, and he's not smart enough to pretend otherwise. "Listen to Ambraea," he says. "Try to show a bit of feminine restraint, if you can."
Electricity crackles in Sola's eyes, and you're entirely convinced that she's about to cut Hylo in half after all — you're dramatically less inclined to stop her.
"Put the sword away, Tepet." a weary voice says from behind you.
You all turn around to see Cynis Bashura approaching, scrolls under one arm, a trail of smoke drifting up from the corner of one mouth. Here at precisely the right moment and not a second later. "Murder each other on your own time, if it pleases you, and not where I have to be responsible for it."
For a dangerous moment, you think that Sola isn't going to listen, and you're not sure how things are going to go after that. Slowly, she releases her grip on Storm's Eye's hilt, deliberately looking away from Hylo.
"Now, is there a problem?" Bashura asks.
"None, Instructor," Hylo says, turning on his heel to enter the lecture hall.
Bashura stares after him for a moment, shaking her head. She looks like she wants to say something, but she thinks better of it, entering the lecture hall herself.
"He needs to be taught a lesson," Sola says, voice quiet, but with a dangerous iron certainty, "sooner rather than later. I cannot let this slide — I'm not as patient as you, Ambraea."
You frown, but don't contradict her. Verdigris coils a little tighter around your throat. Does everyone think of you this way? You don't voice the question out loud, however. "Why do I feel like I'm going to get dragged into this?"
Sola laughs, although it's not entirely pleasant. "Because you have good instincts, sometimes."
You elect not to be offended by the qualifier.
Article: Sola intends to teach Hylo a very pointed lesson — it will get out of hand. What circumstances does she choose to carry this out?
[ ] During a horrible storm
[ ] In the dead of night
[ ] During a demonstration that has the entire school distracted
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Oh boy.
Well. At least it seems more likely to result in a problematic favor than an outbreak of violence, and either way it's a warning about something just having gone very wrong.
Raiseth
I Find Your Lack of Memes Disturbing
- Location
- Russia
Aaah, Maia is going to take the matter in her own hands… does it count as yandere if Nalri isn't a romantic rival in any way?
Ah yes, shittalking and making completely unnecessary enemies, a staple of a magical school.
I like how Ambraea considers herself above any pettiness when she's so obviously not.
But also, this is a much healthier way to deal with this nonsense than is expected from her, and I'm having a cognitive dissonance sometimes, over just how more mature than her fellow Dynasts she acts.
Like, Hylo seems to be digging his own grave practically. I can understand him being frustrated with the current system, but he should know this isn't helping with that at all and places him at practically guaranteed danger of retaliation.
[X] During a horrible storm