Greed, Like A Virus: First Iteration.
Posted: Thu Aug 12, 2004 5:27 amThere are certain afflictions of the human spirit which seem to function with a life of their own. They grow, they respond; they propogate, spreading their spawn to those around the original sufferer. Occasionally, they even evolve...
Witness, for example, one Sol Gaede, recent arrival to Myrken Wood. Twenty-three years ago, he served as Second to Caelen Lord Necromancer, a long-standing member of E'strielle's Ensemble of sorcerors. While his research into the tangible nature of souls was considered revolutionary, practical application of the theory was required, in order for him to challenge his superior's seat; all very well to write paper after paper, the Ensemble deemed (quoting the King of their time), but our business is Effect. All of this amounts to nothing but ink and paper, if a use can't be made of it, they explained. Leave the hypothetical to juniors, who lack the skill to ascend in our order, they insisted.
In other words: Give us proof, or be damned.
And so he doubled his efforts. His busy-work for the Lord Necromancer became neglected, but for such gain! A host of invocations and ointments, new work with salts and ash that left his senior a little unsettled; within a month, he'd commandeered the main portion of juniors for his studies, and the air surrounding their workshops had become clotted with magical discharge. Within another, theory had become fact -- or partway had, at least; it was no longer just the young necromancers who worked at it, but menials gathered from the whole of the city-state, chosen for both their skill and their discretion.
Fully seven months passed before the work was complete, by which time, despite his best efforts, Gaede's work had become the talk of the Ensemble -- and its subsidiaries. Rumour had reached the ears of the rulership itself, with the end result that, at the unveiling, a sizeable audience was in attendance.
The theory originally presented had astounded Gaede's peers -- and yet proven insufficient. All effort had been made to ensure that, on this occasion, his work would prove to be far more than simply adequate; this time, his skills would be seen as exceptional. This time, his peers would be left gasping. In short, ascension to Lord Caelan's seat was no longer sufficient an ambition; the entire Ensemble must now acknowledge him as their better.
The chambers in which the presentation was made were filled with a palpable hush, amazing from so large a gathering. Explanations were made, theories recounted for the benefit of those not in attendance for the original exposition. And finally, as the crowd began to grow restless, two items were unveiled. The frst was immense: the Animam Edere Magnanimitas, known commonly amongst the juniors as the Spirit Mill. It was a complex device, bristling with gears and garish with arcane engravings; when activated, the sensitive amongst his audience could quite literally taste the power that it radiated. A delighted hum of murmurs arose.
The second was smaller by far, and set with some care upon a sturdy table; a velvet cloth was drawn away, revealing a simple globe in which an image wavered. After a bit of urging, it spoke, too. Quite audibly. Indeed, it did a commendable job of explaining matters: identifying itself inarguably as Lord Caelan's father, it embarked on a detailed explanation of the forging of spirits like himself into materials such as this, mentioning now and then the words Infallible, Irrevocable, Eternal.
Sol Gaede, necromancer and malcontent, had wanted his audience to gasp; seized by greed, he had wanted them awed -- and they were. So great was their awe, in fact, that the globe was destroyed scarce moments after they'd comprehended it, and the Mill removed from the building, to later suffer a similar fate. Receiving the King's furious condemnation, he chose exile over execution, and that evening was escorted to a ship setting sail for the distant continent of Amasynia.
He did not discover until much later that his rival, Lord Caelan, suffered a stroke three days later, from which he would never recover. Nor did he realise that this debacle set in motion a series of events which, twelve years later, would lead to the destruction of the Ensemble -- and a fair bit of E'strielle, too, for that matter. After all, during his first night upon Amasynian shores, he heard stories of Myrken Wood....
Witness, for example, one Sol Gaede, recent arrival to Myrken Wood. Twenty-three years ago, he served as Second to Caelen Lord Necromancer, a long-standing member of E'strielle's Ensemble of sorcerors. While his research into the tangible nature of souls was considered revolutionary, practical application of the theory was required, in order for him to challenge his superior's seat; all very well to write paper after paper, the Ensemble deemed (quoting the King of their time), but our business is Effect. All of this amounts to nothing but ink and paper, if a use can't be made of it, they explained. Leave the hypothetical to juniors, who lack the skill to ascend in our order, they insisted.
In other words: Give us proof, or be damned.
And so he doubled his efforts. His busy-work for the Lord Necromancer became neglected, but for such gain! A host of invocations and ointments, new work with salts and ash that left his senior a little unsettled; within a month, he'd commandeered the main portion of juniors for his studies, and the air surrounding their workshops had become clotted with magical discharge. Within another, theory had become fact -- or partway had, at least; it was no longer just the young necromancers who worked at it, but menials gathered from the whole of the city-state, chosen for both their skill and their discretion.
Fully seven months passed before the work was complete, by which time, despite his best efforts, Gaede's work had become the talk of the Ensemble -- and its subsidiaries. Rumour had reached the ears of the rulership itself, with the end result that, at the unveiling, a sizeable audience was in attendance.
The theory originally presented had astounded Gaede's peers -- and yet proven insufficient. All effort had been made to ensure that, on this occasion, his work would prove to be far more than simply adequate; this time, his skills would be seen as exceptional. This time, his peers would be left gasping. In short, ascension to Lord Caelan's seat was no longer sufficient an ambition; the entire Ensemble must now acknowledge him as their better.
The chambers in which the presentation was made were filled with a palpable hush, amazing from so large a gathering. Explanations were made, theories recounted for the benefit of those not in attendance for the original exposition. And finally, as the crowd began to grow restless, two items were unveiled. The frst was immense: the Animam Edere Magnanimitas, known commonly amongst the juniors as the Spirit Mill. It was a complex device, bristling with gears and garish with arcane engravings; when activated, the sensitive amongst his audience could quite literally taste the power that it radiated. A delighted hum of murmurs arose.
The second was smaller by far, and set with some care upon a sturdy table; a velvet cloth was drawn away, revealing a simple globe in which an image wavered. After a bit of urging, it spoke, too. Quite audibly. Indeed, it did a commendable job of explaining matters: identifying itself inarguably as Lord Caelan's father, it embarked on a detailed explanation of the forging of spirits like himself into materials such as this, mentioning now and then the words Infallible, Irrevocable, Eternal.
Sol Gaede, necromancer and malcontent, had wanted his audience to gasp; seized by greed, he had wanted them awed -- and they were. So great was their awe, in fact, that the globe was destroyed scarce moments after they'd comprehended it, and the Mill removed from the building, to later suffer a similar fate. Receiving the King's furious condemnation, he chose exile over execution, and that evening was escorted to a ship setting sail for the distant continent of Amasynia.
He did not discover until much later that his rival, Lord Caelan, suffered a stroke three days later, from which he would never recover. Nor did he realise that this debacle set in motion a series of events which, twelve years later, would lead to the destruction of the Ensemble -- and a fair bit of E'strielle, too, for that matter. After all, during his first night upon Amasynian shores, he heard stories of Myrken Wood....