Chapter 35: The Rooster and the Egg
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Chapter 35: The Rooster and the Egg
The Rooster and the Egg
Glunday passed with little excitement; as Manday came around, it promised to be eventful. It was the end of the spring faire. Besides the final revelry, the travelling players would perform their last play. But first, Martel had two lessons in theory of magic. The second of these could be a drag to get through, consisting of practical exercises to improve their magical endurance, but Martel looked forward to the first class of the day; every time, he learned about things he could never have imagined, and while the world seemed a little more frightening afterwards, it also felt more wondrous.
~
As soon as Master Fenrick entered the classroom, Martel raised his hand. "Master, I have a question."
"Ask away."
"Why is our magic different from what Tyrians do? Why isn't it the same?"
"A sensible question," Master Fenrick assented. "What could be the reason, do you think?"
"Well, a berserker uses the same magic here as he would in Tyria, so it's not about the place," Martel considered.
"Because they're different from us, barbarians," a novice declared. "Different blood."
"Yet children with Tyrian blood have no difficulty mastering magic the Asterian way," Master Fenrick countered, looking at Martel's blue eyes. "And our ways are simply what is remembered of the Archean ways."
"It's how we learn?" Martel suggested. "Our traditions are different."
The teacher nodded. "I believe so. You recall my lesson on humans having soul, mind, and body? To the Tyrians, there is no division. To them, it is like a man claiming he can walk across the river, as long as all water has been drained first. The river is the water, and the water is the river."
Several of the novices frowned or looked dismissive. Martel did not, digesting the words. He had the feeling that perhaps they contained a grain of wisdom; it was a different understanding of magic compared to the Asterian approach, intellectual and analytical. Martel recalled Regnar's words of using magic by instinct rather than will.This chapter made its debut appearance via N0v3lB1n.
"But we know it's true," another novice argued. "You told us about the undead, and how they lack one of the three parts."
"Undead created by Asterian magic," Master Fenrick countered. "Recall that we cannot use the magic of the mind or the soul, like the Archeans did, who knew powerful curses or splendid illusions. No mage born in Aster has succeeded in using magic born of the mind to affect the mind. Yet the Tyrian bards, or skalds, have songs that will make friends turn on each other, seeing an enemy where their brother should be."
"Really?" Martel exclaimed. "By singing?"
Master Fenrick nodded. "Galdr, they call it. Why do you think the Asterian legions stay south of the Frosten River? Imagine a regiment on patrol in the great forests of Tyria. A song reaches their ears from somewhere unseen, and they slaughter each other."
"My father says that the barbarians have nothing we want except mud hovels and dirty hides," a novice declared with an overbearing voice.
"Really?" Maximilian interjected. "I thought the egg was about the rumour of the emperor's constipation. Well, the sheep was definitely the war minister." He snorted. "Bit funny, I admit."
"Are they going to be in trouble?" Martel asked concerned. He did not feel confident he could do much if Regnar was hauled to the dungeons.
Eleanor looked around. "I doubt the praetorians will care much about a single performance for less than a hundred people, but it is probably for the best that the spring faire is over tonight."
"Hah, the sheep had so much wool because its shears were dull!" Maximilian exclaimed. "Just like how the war minister has a dull mind!" The others glanced at him. "I just got the joke," he added.
"That reminds me, I have a few things to buy," Eleanor remarked. "I need perfume and weapon oil."
"I'm getting something to drink. Martel?"
The novice threw his head towards the stage. "I'll say farewell to Regnar."
~
Moving beyond the stage, Martel quickly found the hedge mage. "What did you think of our little play?" the old man asked, digging out his pipe.
"It was fun. Well, the parts I understood."
"I guess it did require certain knowledge of Morcaster's elite," Regnar admitted. "Still, we made almost double tonight compared to last night."
"Are you going to be in trouble?"
"We leave tonight, going north for a few months. Give them time to forget us." The old man ignited his pipe and winked as he placed it in his mouth.
"Well, if you are ever back in Morcaster, I'll catch your next play."
"Count on it." The hedge mage dug one hand into his pocket and withdrew a small object. "This has protected me for quite some years." He let it drop into Martel's hand. "Now I hope it can do the same for you."
The novice examined Regnar's gift. It looked like a small stone, hewn and polished to have several flat sides. On each, a rune was inscribed. "What does it do?"
Regnar smiled. "Protects you. Farewell, Martel, until our next meeting."
The spring faire had come to an end.
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Chapter 35: The Rooster and the Egg
The Rooster and the Egg
Glunday passed with little excitement; as Manday came around, it promised to be eventful. It was the end of the spring faire. Besides the final revelry, the travelling players would perform their last play. But first, Martel had two lessons in theory of magic. The second of these could be a drag to get through, consisting of practical exercises to improve their magical endurance, but Martel looked forward to the first class of the day; every time, he learned about things he could never have imagined, and while the world seemed a little more frightening afterwards, it also felt more wondrous.
~
As soon as Master Fenrick entered the classroom, Martel raised his hand. "Master, I have a question."
"Ask away."
"Why is our magic different from what Tyrians do? Why isn't it the same?"
"A sensible question," Master Fenrick assented. "What could be the reason, do you think?"
"Well, a berserker uses the same magic here as he would in Tyria, so it's not about the place," Martel considered.
"Because they're different from us, barbarians," a novice declared. "Different blood."
"Yet children with Tyrian blood have no difficulty mastering magic the Asterian way," Master Fenrick countered, looking at Martel's blue eyes. "And our ways are simply what is remembered of the Archean ways."
"It's how we learn?" Martel suggested. "Our traditions are different."
The teacher nodded. "I believe so. You recall my lesson on humans having soul, mind, and body? To the Tyrians, there is no division. To them, it is like a man claiming he can walk across the river, as long as all water has been drained first. The river is the water, and the water is the river."
Several of the novices frowned or looked dismissive. Martel did not, digesting the words. He had the feeling that perhaps they contained a grain of wisdom; it was a different understanding of magic compared to the Asterian approach, intellectual and analytical. Martel recalled Regnar's words of using magic by instinct rather than will.This chapter made its debut appearance via N0v3lB1n.
"But we know it's true," another novice argued. "You told us about the undead, and how they lack one of the three parts."
"Undead created by Asterian magic," Master Fenrick countered. "Recall that we cannot use the magic of the mind or the soul, like the Archeans did, who knew powerful curses or splendid illusions. No mage born in Aster has succeeded in using magic born of the mind to affect the mind. Yet the Tyrian bards, or skalds, have songs that will make friends turn on each other, seeing an enemy where their brother should be."
"Really?" Martel exclaimed. "By singing?"
Master Fenrick nodded. "Galdr, they call it. Why do you think the Asterian legions stay south of the Frosten River? Imagine a regiment on patrol in the great forests of Tyria. A song reaches their ears from somewhere unseen, and they slaughter each other."
"My father says that the barbarians have nothing we want except mud hovels and dirty hides," a novice declared with an overbearing voice.
"Really?" Maximilian interjected. "I thought the egg was about the rumour of the emperor's constipation. Well, the sheep was definitely the war minister." He snorted. "Bit funny, I admit."
"Are they going to be in trouble?" Martel asked concerned. He did not feel confident he could do much if Regnar was hauled to the dungeons.
Eleanor looked around. "I doubt the praetorians will care much about a single performance for less than a hundred people, but it is probably for the best that the spring faire is over tonight."
"Hah, the sheep had so much wool because its shears were dull!" Maximilian exclaimed. "Just like how the war minister has a dull mind!" The others glanced at him. "I just got the joke," he added.
"That reminds me, I have a few things to buy," Eleanor remarked. "I need perfume and weapon oil."
"I'm getting something to drink. Martel?"
The novice threw his head towards the stage. "I'll say farewell to Regnar."
~
Moving beyond the stage, Martel quickly found the hedge mage. "What did you think of our little play?" the old man asked, digging out his pipe.
"It was fun. Well, the parts I understood."
"I guess it did require certain knowledge of Morcaster's elite," Regnar admitted. "Still, we made almost double tonight compared to last night."
"Are you going to be in trouble?"
"We leave tonight, going north for a few months. Give them time to forget us." The old man ignited his pipe and winked as he placed it in his mouth.
"Well, if you are ever back in Morcaster, I'll catch your next play."
"Count on it." The hedge mage dug one hand into his pocket and withdrew a small object. "This has protected me for quite some years." He let it drop into Martel's hand. "Now I hope it can do the same for you."
The novice examined Regnar's gift. It looked like a small stone, hewn and polished to have several flat sides. On each, a rune was inscribed. "What does it do?"
Regnar smiled. "Protects you. Farewell, Martel, until our next meeting."
The spring faire had come to an end.
Chapter 35: The Rooster and the EggThe Rooster and the EggGlunday passed with little excitement; as Manday came around, it promised to be eventful. It was the end of the spring faire. Besides the final revelry, the travelling players would perform their last play. But first, Martel had two lessons in theory of magic. The second of these could be a drag to get through, consisting of practical exercises to improve their magical endurance, but Martel looked forward to the first class of the day; every time, he learned about things he could never have imagined, and while the world seemed a little more frightening afterwards, it also felt more wondrous.~As soon as Master Fenrick entered the classroom, Martel raised his hand. "Master, I have a question.""Ask away.""Why is our magic different from what Tyrians do? Why isn't it the same?""A sensible question," Master Fenrick assented. "What could be the reason, do you think?""Well, a berserker uses the same magic here as he would in Tyria, so it's not about the place," Martel considered."Because they're different from us, barbarians," a novice declared. "Different blood.""Yet children with Tyrian blood have no difficulty mastering magic the Asterian way," Master Fenrick countered, looking at Martel's blue eyes. "And our ways are simply what is remembered of the Archean ways.""It's how we learn?" Martel suggested. "Our traditions are different."The teacher nodded. "I believe so. You recall my lesson on humans having soul, mind, and body? To the Tyrians, there is no division. To them, it is like a man claiming he can walk across the river, as long as all water has been drained first. The river is the water, and the water is the river."Several of the novices frowned or looked dismissive. Martel did not, digesting the words. He had the feeling that perhaps they contained a grain of wisdom; it was a different understanding of magic compared to the Asterian approach, intellectual and analytical. Martel recalled Regnar's words of using magic by instinct rather than will.This chapter made its debut appearance via N0v3lB1n."But we know it's true," another novice argued. "You told us about the undead, and how they lack one of the three parts.""Undead created by Asterian magic," Master Fenrick countered. "Recall that we cannot use the magic of the mind or the soul, like the Archeans did, who knew powerful curses or splendid illusions. No mage born in Aster has succeeded in using magic born of the mind to affect the mind. Yet the Tyrian bards, or skalds, have songs that will make friends turn on each other, seeing an enemy where their brother should be.""Really?" Martel exclaimed. "By singing?"Master Fenrick nodded. "Galdr, they call it. Why do you think the Asterian legions stay south of the Frosten River? Imagine a regiment on patrol in the great forests of Tyria. A song reaches their ears from somewhere unseen, and they slaughter each other.""My father says that the barbarians have nothing we want except mud hovels and dirty hides," a novice declared with an overbearing voice."Really?" Maximilian interjected. "I thought the egg was about the rumour of the emperor's constipation. Well, the sheep was definitely the war minister." He snorted. "Bit funny, I admit.""Are they going to be in trouble?" Martel asked concerned. He did not feel confident he could do much if Regnar was hauled to the dungeons.Eleanor looked around. "I doubt the praetorians will care much about a single performance for less than a hundred people, but it is probably for the best that the spring faire is over tonight.""Hah, the sheep had so much wool because its shears were dull!" Maximilian exclaimed. "Just like how the war minister has a dull mind!" The others glanced at him. "I just got the joke," he added."That reminds me, I have a few things to buy," Eleanor remarked. "I need perfume and weapon oil.""I'm getting something to drink. Martel?"The novice threw his head towards the stage. "I'll say farewell to Regnar."~Moving beyond the stage, Martel quickly found the hedge mage. "What did you think of our little play?" the old man asked, digging out his pipe."It was fun. Well, the parts I understood.""I guess it did require certain knowledge of Morcaster's elite," Regnar admitted. "Still, we made almost double tonight compared to last night.""Are you going to be in trouble?""We leave tonight, going north for a few months. Give them time to forget us." The old man ignited his pipe and winked as he placed it in his mouth."Well, if you are ever back in Morcaster, I'll catch your next play.""Count on it." The hedge mage dug one hand into his pocket and withdrew a small object. "This has protected me for quite some years." He let it drop into Martel's hand. "Now I hope it can do the same for you."The novice examined Regnar's gift. It looked like a small stone, hewn and polished to have several flat sides. On each, a rune was inscribed. "What does it do?"Regnar smiled. "Protects you. Farewell, Martel, until our next meeting."The spring faire had come to an end.
