Long Game 96: KKC in the Modern Age

[DrakeMarshall he/him]

29 minutes ago, Ashbringer said:

Issal's head perked up. "I think that would be called a disaster," he said suddenly. There were a few giggles in the attending students, but Issal just shook his head and kept going. "If something like that existed, it would transmute anything it touched unless it was properly treated, so if any got out it could consume a lot. Especially if whatever it transmutes keeps the same property. That's a grey scenario."

The professor - Master? El-the? he wasn't entirely sure - gave a side glance, but Issal thought he saw something besides irritation in his eyes, which would have been a first. But, best not to push his luck, so Issal stuffed his head down into his notes.

Gold. Of course someone else would ask about gold, it's the first thing that anyone needs. There were already enough people grumbling about tuition, and he had a feeling his pockets would be feeling light shortly. But it was still... he thought he'd done well in his early studies, but maybe he was just mimicking everyone else.

Of course, this talk of essences and regulus was new to him. His training was limited to draughts and potions, and the occasional phial of acid. So he just gave a shrug to the questioning student and wrote.

"Very good, yes." Conach nodded curtly. "While it may sound attractive in theory, a reagent that creates infinite gold would in practice be, in your words, a disaster. In any case, it's not possible within the scope of Alchemy. Only Namers can work outside the typical rules, and that comes with its own problems."

"In the year 262, Solace, there is record of such a thing being brought before the Modegan High King," Percyl spoke up, stringing the words together quickly. "The account doesn't specify what it looked like or how it was safely contained, but there is a clear description of the creation of gold, the most noble of metals. Did you know that?"

Conach looked annoyed.

"If it did what you say, then it would still be around. Clearly, it isn't. We are getting sidetracked. What I asked, was how one would go about safely handling regulus of iron. The answer is self-evident: the only reasonable way to store a reagent that transmutes anything it touches into iron, is in a container made out of iron."

Conach tapped the flask the compound had come out of, and it made a little metallic clink.

"Regulus of iron is only one of many alchemical reagents that work like this, effecting a transformation of some kind on anything it touches."

"Another popular example is azoth. Azoth dissolves impure substances, yes? Very expensive, very useful for extractions. But the only safe way to store it, is in a container made of a perfectly pure substance."

"Or, for a more complex example, take aqua tenues. It turns solids it touches into liquids, for a time. The only safe way to store it is suspended as a bubble inside another liquid, one with a significantly lower surface tension. No solid containment will do."

"If a reagent transforms matter in a predictable way, surround it by matter that is already transformed to its liking. This general rule of thumb is called the Precept of Affinity, and it's one of the first must-know lessons to learn about alchemical best practices and safety. It's how you protect yourself from some of the more unsightly manifestations of alchemy gone awry. A very skilled sympathist can hold a liquid suspended in the air for a time, and a particularly wealthy practitioner of the trade might obtain artificer-made equipment to do the same thing, but for most practical everyday alchemy, you need to be mindful of the Precept of Affinity. Towards the end of the term, I might even have you handle some of those reagents in this class."

"Just hearing about it isn't enough, of course. For it to really sink in, you need practice. As such, you all have an assignment to do before the next class meeting. Consult the list of transformative reagents on page xii in the appendix of your textbooks. If you don't have your textbooks yet, message me, and I'll put a scan of the relevant pages online, or just ask one of your classmates. I want you to pick 5 reagents from the list that weren't ones we discussed in class, and give a brief writeup for each about the safe storage and handling."

"Class is dismissed. I will stick around for a time if you have any questions."

Percyl lifted his head up from the desk and ran his fingers through his hair. He considered asking Conach even more questions, but thought better of it. Instead, he headed for the other student who had spoken up. The one who had talked about unlimited transmutation being a disaster.

"I'm Percyl," he stuck out his hand to shake. "Pleased to be of your acquaintance."

[|TJ| he/him]

Salva walked around the building looking impressed. He hadn't really wanted to attend the University but he was quite bored of the monotonous life he was living so far and wanted a changed. Oh, that and his father. He really couldn't take it anymore. Couldn't stay in the house any longer as it had become unbearable. 

It wasn't abuse in the literal sense of the word, it was more like he was frustrated with Salva's literal existence. Nothing he did could pacify his father, he'd always found fault in each and every thing, from possibly a daily chore all the way to major life decisions. He had to sit through his father's teeth-grinding lecture repeating the same things over and over again, but he couldn't snap. Oh no, if there's on thing his hypocritical father hated more that anything, it was showing anger towards him. Even the slightest raised voice would have him tearing his hair out. That is when things did get abusive so Salva never gave it a chance. He always reigned it in in front of his father and let it all go when he was alone. Be it punching the walls or screaming at the top of his voice, Salve needed to vent out his frustrations or else he'd either go crazy or snap at his father. He'd have run away a long time ago but his mother was a sweetheart. She would have been heartbroken if he'd left and father was nothing but a doting, loving husband for her. She had a strong sense of duty towards her family and her husband. She'd never have left with me and I would never made her choose. 

It truly was a no-brainer when he had the opportunity to join the University. Anything to get away from this place which also gave a perfect excuse for Salva to get away without feeling guilty about running away from his mother. One final lecture to endure about the etiquette and behaviour in University from his father and he was off, tasting freedom like he never had before. 

[Kasimir he/him]

v. plant

Soren turned the pot about, adjusting the placement of the plant on the windowsill. Dusk had fallen: out the window, he could see the lights of the University, glittering across the Omethi river. Kevan hadn’t planned on moving out, but it’d been difficult to settle his accommodation plans, especially with his status as a student so recently in question. One thing had led to another, and the next thing he knew, he had to vacate the rooms he’d had at the Hammer and Anvil since he’d moved out of the Mews as an E’lir.

A year ago. Felt as though it had been longer. It was possible, wasn’t it? So much could happen in the span of a year: you could discover old dreams were dead, best laid to rest. You could discover you had to let go of childish dreams; could discover in yourself the capacity to do so, despite the pain that resonated in your chest. You could discover you liked other classes; had other talents worth exploring. Could discover that you believed in something, wanted to stand for something.

All of that, and yet, part of him wondered if he would ever have come to Master Anders’s notice, had he not been such an utter disaster in the Fishery.

Pointless to wonder now, Kevan supposed. But it wasn’t the sort of thing you could just will yourself not to think about or to pursue. Too many implications to the thought, after all. Too many alternate paths, down which we could stray. 

It was said by the elders that when a man met a ruselka, his path forked. 

It had not been a ruselka, that day he’d signed up for Master Anders’s classes, out of curiosity. But it had been close enough.

“How about now?” Soren said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. The small aloe stuck out of the sandy soil in the fired clay pot. Kevan caught sight of sygaldry scratched into the rim of the pot and bit back the pang of—wistfulness, he supposed.

“It’s fine with me,” he said. “Thanks, Soren.”

“I don’t want to come back to see you’ve killed it,” Soren said, warningly. “It is a living thing. It deserves more respect than you give your Fishery projects.”

“Ouch.”

“That was low, wasn’t it.”

“Yeah, quite.”

“I mean it,” Soren said. “Give it plenty of light and some water. It’s a succulent and rather hardy so I don’t think you can kill it.” Stepping back, he scrutinised Kevan’s new lodgings with a judgemental eye. “At least it looks more like a place to live in now. And you have a friend.” He gestured towards the potted aloe. “Valerra says she’ll be by after her shift in the lab is done. She has ideas for what to do with your walls. Between you and me—” he lowered his voice, so Kevan had to lean in to hear his whisper, breath tickling his ear, “—I think you should lock your door and bar your window. And save the plant first.”

[Ashbringer he/him]

20 minutes ago, DrakeMarshall said:

"Just hearing about it isn't enough, of course. For it to really sink in, you need practice. As such, you all have an assignment to do before the next class meeting. Consult the list of transformative reagents on page xii in the appendix of your textbooks. If you don't have your textbooks yet, message me, and I'll put a scan of the relevant pages online, or just ask one of your classmates. I want you to pick 5 reagents from the list that weren't ones we discussed in class, and give a brief writeup for each about the safe storage and handling."

"Class is dismissed. I will stick around for a time if you have any questions."

Percyl lifted his head up from the desk and ran his fingers through his hair. He considered asking Conach even more questions, but thought better of it. Instead, he headed for the other student who had spoken up. The one who had talked about unlimited transmutation being a disaster.

"I'm Percyl," he stuck out his hand to shake. "Pleased to be of your acquaintance."

"Issal," he replied, grabbing the offered hand. "Issal Jackson. Did you get the textbook early or something? I'd barely heard of transforming reagents before, I'd always thought of it as a process. And I'd never heard of the High King seeing a... a something like that."

He'd barely heard of a High King before, but he wasn't about to say that. He was... very new to this country, even still.

"Do you think something like that could really exist? Just, turns whatever touches it to gold? Seems like if someone dropped it it could end a world. Maybe if you kept it just in a bowl of gold no one could move..."

Issal shook his head. "That seems too simple."

He'd bet a lot on that being too simple. It didn't make sense. Things like Naming, they didn't need to make sense, but alchemy always did. Almost always. So if something didn't make sense, it should keep not making sense, right? Just don't tell anyone, because they'll think you don't make any sense.

"Anyway. I'm from kind of far, most of my alchemy training is about the crafting more than the ingredients. Hopefully they still consider that alchemy here, or I'm not going to do so well."

[Steeldancer he/him]

2 hours ago, Matrim's Dice said:

I’m here, kind of. Not fully for another 40ish hours, and I actually mean that this time, it won’t be like when I say I’m busy, I’m actually busy

I’ll do Archer’s job for him

Mat

On a different note, I’m finally village, so that’s cool >>

RP will be once I get home.

Edit: I have just discovered that the turn ends in 40ish hours. I guess I’ll find time to take the vote off before then, but I won’t promise it’ll end up somewhere else.

Sounds like something e-mat would say. Mat

[JNV]

It had been hard to scrape together the funds to even make it to the University grounds, let alone stand for admissions. It had been harder still to amass enough knowledge to have a scrap of confidence in their ability to face the Masters in a test of their knowledge while on the road. Give them a flute or a fiddle, and they could stand before the largest of crowds with calm down to their bones, but the troupe was in their blood. Academia was a sporadic gift, sought as moths seek the flame. They knew enough to know the infinite sea of all that they did not. At least their Alar was a bright and shining thing, holding firm in beliefs while needed and discarding them once done. It was acting, in a way, the ability to know something so well as to embody it, to ingrain something so deep into the soul that it can never be cut out. To know that the candle will stay burning despite the wind. To know that the stone will fall up. To know that truth is as it is made, not as it is. Hopefully, that iron-sharp will would be enough.

As they walked on campus grounds, someone ran into them, knocking them off their feet. The stranger hurried on past, a muttered "Sorry" crossing their lips. That was... Seth? Zed? A face they had seen a few times before but did not truly know. Well, they had been looking for a reason to submit a complaint. Though they felt just slightly guilty about lodging a formal complaint against someone they had not heard from at all, there were rumors that lodging complaints reduced tuition, and they needed every drab they could save to pay for both tuition and a place to stay while attending the University. So, Seth [OOC Szeth Pancakes] it was. Besides, it took more than one complaint to really get a student in trouble with the Masters. 

At least the first round of admissions had gone well enough. Low enough that they'd managed to afford a decent roof over their heads and pay tuition with the little hoard they'd amassed, but without the coin from performing on the road, money would never cease to be an issue. The nobles were wealthy enough that money was more a concept of trade than anything of actual value, and the commoners had enough to get a decent place to stay without pinching every penny. Still, they were finally at the University, the place of their dreams for years and years. They had a place here. They'd do anything to keep it.

[DrakeMarshall he/him]

2 minutes ago, Ashbringer said:

"Issal," he replied, grabbing the offered hand. "Issal Jackson. Did you get the textbook early or something? I'd barely heard of transforming reagents before, I'd always thought of it as a process. And I'd never heard of the High King seeing a... a something like that."

He'd barely heard of a High King before, but he wasn't about to say that. He was... very new to this country, even still.

"Do you think something like that could really exist? Just, turns whatever touches it to gold? Seems like if someone dropped it it could end a world. Maybe if you kept it just in a bowl of gold no one could move..."

Issal shook his head. "That seems too simple."

He'd bet a lot on that being too simple. It didn't make sense. Things like Naming, they didn't need to make sense, but alchemy always did. Almost always. So if something didn't make sense, it should keep not making sense, right? Just don't tell anyone, because they'll think you don't make any sense.

"Anyway. I'm from kind of far, most of my alchemy training is about the crafting more than the ingredients. Hopefully they still consider that alchemy here, or I'm not going to do so well."

"That's right, I ordered it online," Percyl said. "You can borrow my copy, if you need. It's not very interesting, just between the two of us."

"I think it does exist, yes," Percyl said fervently. "The Green Lion. The Dragon That Eats Its Own Tail. Our Matter." He leaned in closer, speaking in a bare whisper. "The Philosopher's Stone." He made an obscure hand gesture.

"Modern alchemists don't believe it exists, but I mean to prove them wrong by tracking it down. That's one of the threads that bring me to the University, you see. After all, the Archives keep excellent historical records. Few collections could rival it, and all of those are behind locked doors, hah!"

"If the ancients really had the technology to create such a thing, even though it's impossible by modern standards, they might have also had the technology to keep it from going out of control," Percyl reasons. "So it isn't necessarily as disastrous as you'd think. You think well about these things, though." Percyl remarks. "It's good."

"Anyways, don't sweat it too much about those fancy reagents. I think he was just putting on a show for the first day of class, you know? I doubt most of Alchemy is like that. I may have drifted off for parts of the lecture, but hopefully I absorbed the important bits through osmosis," Percyl laughed. "Anyways, what parts do you hail from? I'm not really from around here myself. The University is that kind of place, isn't it?"

[Ashbringer he/him]

21 minutes ago, DrakeMarshall said:

"That's right, I ordered it online," Percyl said. "You can borrow my copy, if you need. It's not very interesting, just between the two of us."

"I think it does exist, yes," Percyl said fervently. "The Green Lion. The Dragon That Eats Its Own Tail. Our Matter." He leaned in closer, speaking in a bare whisper. "The Philosopher's Stone." He made an obscure hand gesture.

"Modern alchemists don't believe it exists, but I mean to prove them wrong by tracking it down. That's one of the threads that bring me to the University, you see. After all, the Archives keep excellent historical records. Few collections could rival it, and all of those are behind locked doors, hah!"

"If the ancients really had the technology to create such a thing, even though it's impossible by modern standards, they might have also had the technology to keep it from going out of control," Percyl reasons. "So it isn't necessarily as disastrous as you'd think. You think well about these things, though." Percyl remarks. "It's good."

"Anyways, don't sweat it too much about those fancy reagents. I think he was just putting on a show for the first day of class, you know? I doubt most of Alchemy is like that. I may have drifted off for parts of the lecture, but hopefully I absorbed the important bits through osmosis," Percyl laughed. "Anyways, what parts do you hail from? I'm not really from around here myself. The University is that kind of place, isn't it?"

[OOC: we have Wi-Fi here?]

Issal couldn't keep his eyes from widening. That name he recognized. "The Philosopher's Stone... I never thought of that as a reagent. It's... a legend. A thing, that you can activate. Like a relic." He let Percyl keep going, nodding along. He didn't want to sound too eager, not to the first person he met...

"And I think you're right, it wouldn't be that dangerous. The Master's reagent didn't replicate itself, and even if it didn't expend itself it wouldn't... how do I put this. If it just made gold and you rolled it down a mountain, it'd just leave a trail of gold however big, but it would stop? The world only ends if it turns everything to gold, or turns things into something that turns everything to... a recursion loop of making gold, I guess. Grey goo scenario." He was rambling a bit, but he'd gotten his point around.

"I'm from Latria. It's... not sure how far away. Spent a long time on a boat. I went to a school there, for a while, but they weren't really Alchemy specialists, so here I am." He paused, smiling. "And also their Archives. If you're searching for legends, it's a nice place to be."

[Kasimir he/him]

vi. rug

The markets of Imre were bustling; a riot of noise and colour. It had hit him like a sheep’s kick the first time he’d come to Imre, fresh from Tarbean. (Tarbean had been another shock to a Yllish country boy, one way or another. So many people and houses packed together. And all that noise. The sailors had laughed at him, gawking, fresh off the docks. “Try not to act so green, country boy,” one of them had said. “The cut-purses will get you.”)

Two years removed from that Kevan, he felt…odd. There was a strangeness here: a distance in time that separated you from the ghost of a past self that you could barely inhabit, any longer. Or perhaps it was the other way around: you became the ghost of your future self. Or you grew into that ghost of your future.

Odd, walking through the markets, knowing how much had changed. And how little had.

“C’mon,” said Valerra, yanking at his elbow. “The rugs are that way.”

“Why do I need a rug again?” he asked, bemused. The whole point was that the innkeeper furnished the room, in any case. Both Soren and Valerra had taken one look at the bare, whitewashed walls and spartan furnishings and immediately insisted he make his new lodgings feel a little more like home. “Or you’ll find yourself in the Crockery within a span,” Valerra’d said back then, ominously.

“That exact shade of white would drive any man insane in a month,” Soren said, dismissively.

“It isn’t that bad,” Kevan had protested—oh, alright, he had to admit that it sort of got on your nerves after a while, set your teeth on edge. It was a bright shade of white, the sort any travelling apothecary sold cleaning twigs for and made spurious claims about. And it was utterly bland. Maybe that was why he’d gotten reasonably affordable lodgings, at this time of the year.

“Because your room right now is a disaster,” Valerra declared. “The sort that generates further disasters in its wake.” Her tone implied there was a story there, but when Kevan asked, she’d merely said something about a pair of E’lir in Introductory Reaction of Principles, which meant it was alchemy, and Kevan knew absolutely nothing about alchemy and furthermore, wasn’t minded to know more about it.

Drawn in Valerra’s wake, Kevan followed, and the two of them moved through the rug market. He dismissed most of the woolen rugs as too expensive for his budget, she dismissed a fairly bland cream rug he’d paused at with a disdainful, “You’ll be crocked faster,” and finally, eventually, they both settled on an inoffensive grey rug. It seemed bland, but then you noticed there were geometric patterns woven into it, and because it wasn’t remotely colourful, it was selling for far cheaper than Kevan expected it to be.

They haggled the seller down by two talents, but eventually, they left the market, Kevan carrying the rolled up rug under an arm.

“I still think you could use a tapestry,” Valerra said, thoughtfully. “Or a painting—maybe something in blues, to blunt the monotony a little.”

“Soren would accuse me of trying to murder the succulent,” he said, startling a laugh out of her.

“Oh, he absolutely would, wouldn’t he?”

She wasn’t wrong, though. Having spread the rug on the floor, it did soften the harsh sparseness of the room a little, but something on the walls wouldn’t have gone amiss. It was a little better though, and he was grateful enough for the improvement.

For the next few years, if things didn’t change, he would be calling this small room home.

[DrakeMarshall he/him]

14 minutes ago, Ashbringer said:

[OOC: we have Wi-Fi here?]

Issal couldn't keep his eyes from widening. That name he recognized. "The Philosopher's Stone... I never thought of that as a reagent. It's... a legend. A thing, that you can activate. Like a relic." He let Percyl keep going, nodding along. He didn't want to sound too eager, not to the first person he met...

"And I think you're right, it wouldn't be that dangerous. The Master's reagent didn't replicate itself, and even if it didn't expend itself it wouldn't... how do I put this. If it just made gold and you rolled it down a mountain, it'd just leave a trail of gold however big, but it would stop? The world only ends if it turns everything to gold, or turns things into something that turns everything to... a recursion loop of making gold, I guess. Grey goo scenario." He was rambling a bit, but he'd gotten his point around.

"I'm from Latria. It's... not sure how far away. Spent a long time on a boat. I went to a school there, for a while, but they weren't really Alchemy specialists, so here I am." He paused, smiling. "And also their Archives. If you're searching for legends, it's a nice place to be."

[OOC: why not! it's the Modern Age :eyes:]

"Ah, you've heard of it! It is said to be like a reagent, but also like many other things. It has many shapes, many names. According to an order of ancient hermits of the Eld, it is the essence of change and perpetuity, that which opens doors to other places along the Chain. According to a renegade scholar of Ademre, it is the visceral embodiment of the Lethani."

"There is a question of permeation, yes. Even if it were to transform whatever it touches, how far does that transformation propagate? Does it spread through different materials at different rates?" Percyl asked excitedly. "There are no hard numbers on anything like that in the histories, of course. It would be something that requires experimentation, assuming it could be tracked down in the first place. A find like that would be one for the books, wouldn't you say? Of course, there is also the fabulous wealth that it would entail..." Percyl's eyes glazed over.

"Latria? That is a ways away. I hope the voyage was pleasant."

Percyl had no idea where or what Latria was, but wasn't about to let on to this fact. Mayhaps it was one of the Small Kingdoms? It was easy to lose track of them all.

"I'm from Ralien. Do you know where Ralien is? It's a rather large city to the North of here."

[Archer he/him]

6 hours ago, Matrim's Dice said:

I’ll do Archer’s job for him

 

Scab >. >

Quote

Besides, it took more than one complaint to really get a student in trouble with the Masters

Jincs took it upon themselves to empty the suggestion box outside the Administration Offices. They tossed the ones written on paper, of course. Those were made by people with poor taste. 

"Funny that. They've all been filed by people with poor taste today. This one has so little conviction it looks fake. Be free, little papers!" 

They hustled up the walkway, spying a dropbox for exams deserving of the same treatment. 

JNV 

[Devotary of Spontaneity]

9 hours ago, The Known Novel said:

@little wilson, @Elbereth, I cannot vote the same person with both votes, correct?

You can vote for the same person both times.

[Kasimir he/him]

vii. story knot

No one spoke Yllish anymore, not outside of small pockets on Yll that stubbornly tried to recreate a prelapsarian paradise from the old days of the kings, before the Aturan Empire had come and crushed all resistance and smashed Yllish culture, Yllish language, Yllish memory with a warhammer.

What it meant to be Yllish today was an eternity of tortured reflections in a fractured mirror, seeking to reclaim some state that had been lost to them, that continued to be lost to them, for ever and ever. 

Kevan’s grandmother was a traditionalist. She taught him Yllish, but he spoke Aturan with his parents, and quietly resented the lessons whenever he struggled with one of the fourteen indicative verb tenses. Almost no one could read the story knots these days, but the traditionalists kept the glimmerings of this knowledge, and part of him resented that as well, dreamed of the open roads.

You could know this, could know you were taken by empire, could still be seduced by it anyway, could still turn away from those dry old lessons of your heritage, could still be turned off by the task of rediscovery, of painstaking reclamation, couldn’t you?

The first time he felt the home-longing, acutely, was the first night in the Mews, with Soren, Jarvik snoring, and the strange air of the mainland, the Commonwealth. It took him long moments to realise he was missing the warmth, the hint of the sea. Dusty buildings everywhere he looked. Less space.

He was walking his own road, on his way to fulfilling his dreams. He clenched his hand around the luck knot his grandmother had woven for him before he left, a small cord of a bracelet, taught him to read. Luck, she shaped. He read the next few more slowly: more painfully. He disliked story knots. Safety. Health. Success. Knowledge.

And the last, because all proper blessings, he had been taught, came in strands of six:

Happiness, but if you twisted the knotted cord just so, closed so it was oriented as a bracelet instead:

Love.

Edited July 28, 2023 by Kasimir
I can't count

[|TJ| he/him]

Salva was always a quiet boy while growing up. He didn't make friends easily, but once he did, they were family. He'd grow so comfortable with them, they'd be more closer to him than his own family. And now he had to do it all over again. The beginning is always the most difficult part - the insecurities, fear of judgment, the awkwardness - everything made Salva just want to go hide in a corner and do his own thing. But no, what was the point of his new found freedom if he just repeated his life from before. He did not know any of these people, why would he care for their judgment? So what if he did something embarrassing? They'd find it funny for a moment and then forget about him. The upsides would be far greater and worth the risk of mild humiliation from the people he'd likely not care about. He could run away, he supposed, but he wanted to create a life for himself away from his family. He'd have to find a family for himself here and he finally did not care if he was too socially inept to try. He would make an effort nonetheless. 

[Kasimir he/him]

viii. skindancers

There were whispers of skindancers at the University. Part of Kevan wanted to dismiss them: there were always whispers of skindancers, and rumours that Seoras himself had been taken by one. (“Don’t worry about the skindancers,” Master Artificer had said then, gruffly. “Worry about your grades, E’lir Kevan.” Which was a fair assessment of the situation, given he’d come to the University to learn to craft things, buoyed by the memory of the old Aturan roads, the memory of ancient endurance, and that unarticulated desire to make something; something that lasted, something that made the world a better place.)

By the time he’d pulled his grades out of their relentless death spiral and re-emerged, a readmitted, fresh-faced E’lir, there were whispers again of skindancers, and that the Masters had hired some sort of security expert to deal with the problem. 

It wasn’t his problem, Kevan told himself.

But the skindancers. They were going to drive people insane, kill them, or expel them. He figured there were maybe two of them, maybe three. He wasn’t sure about the particular numbers, but he dug quietly into the Archives for accounts of the last few skindancer incursions. (Really, by this point, you’d expect everyone to be more prepared for skindancers. Holly and iron, neither of which he had.)

(Seneca had written of duty; part of it spoke to Kevan, even as he didn’t want to get involved. It was Tehlu-cursed stupid of him: he’d been given his second chance, he was here to learn all he could, to make the best use of his time at the University, to drink deep from the cup of knowledge, rather than to…apparently, fight a war against the Fae. He knew all of that, and yet a small voice inside told him he could do no less.)

The Fae preferred to act in small numbers. He dipped his reed pen in ink and wrote that down in a steady hand. This meant they acted covertly as well: by his reckoning, they were more likely to get rid of the students first than to destroy the University. At least, since they were apt to target Naming, Alchemy, and the Archives (and he couldn’t help that relief there: they weren’t interested in Master Anders’s classes at the very least), he supposed one way or another, they would simply target those fields rather than go for extra credit. If they did at all. It felt easier to sabotage or to kill or to expel rather than to speedrun the University to replace the Masters, which meant that they were dealing with nine months before they could expect to be overwhelmed.

Nine months. Damnit, he wasn’t going to graduate in nine months. Wasn’t even sure if he wanted to. This meant they had to get off to a good start—they couldn’t afford to waste too much time—and that in and of itself was a whole can of wyrms.

He wanted to learn everything Master Anders had to teach. He didn’t want this. It wasn’t fair. He tamped down on that emotion, realised his grip on the pen had turned white-knuckled as ink dripped onto the page in blots. Ah, screw that. At least it wasn’t on the records, or Master Alys would probably have him banned from the Archives as well. Wouldn’t that be something?

Suppose the skindancers were already among them. The security expert certainly seemed to think so: Inesta’d said that some of them were probably already possessed. He pressed the pen to the paper—hesitated, and then scrawled a few names. Jincs. Percyl. (More sentiment, he supposed, than true reason to think that Percyl hadn’t been compromised. But did you really go for a crazy E’lir who was all about alchemy?) More hesitation before he added Francis to the list.

Was woefully aware of how out of his depth he was. He had kept his head down the last incursion. Had, as Master Artificer suggested, focused on his studies.

And here he was, writing a list he didn’t have time to think too hard about, not when he had at least three term papers due. Not when he’d sworn not to disappoint the Masters, not when the thought of letting Master Anders down was more than Kevan could quite bear.

One final hesitation, before he inked the last name, a different name.

Steel.

You should keep quiet, and keep your head down, he told himself. You lived longer that way, if you pretended. If you didn’t see. If you told yourself you were just here to learn and graduate.

But. What good was the pursuit of knowledge, if it did nothing for the world, for the place that had, over the span of two years, become his home?

Kevan ground his teeth together and underlined that final name.

Time enough to pursue that strand when the term papers were done.

Edited July 28, 2023 by Kasimir
forgot to title

[Araris Valerian he/him]

Aralor left the Alchemy lecture equal parts disturbed and concerned. The demonstration of turning wax into metal had been fascinating until the lecturer warned about touching such an extraction. And supposedly there were Skindancers loose on the grounds. If one of them was studying alchemy... He stopped the line of thought before it reached any gruesome conclusions. He still wasn't entirely convinced that the Fae were real, but it was becoming clearer that the world was a much larger place than he'd originally suspected, and that it wasn't all like in the Taborlin the Great stories. The alchemy demonstration was the most visibly impressive thing he'd seen thus far, but he'd caught glimpses and heard whispers of far more potent magicks even in just the short time he'd been at the University.

While the threat of the potential weapons the Skindancers could wield through the Arcanum was horrifying, the comment about gold in the lecture had also struck a chord with Aralor. Of course, if you could just make gold like that, it likely wouldn't be much help for paying tuition, but that didn't stop him from wondering which of his classes would be useful for covering his fees. His parents were helping there as much as they could, but the treasure of the Ruh didn't lie in their coin.

As Aralor's thoughts became more consumed with how he was going to keep his tuition at a manageable level, he recalled that one of the measures the Masters had taken to thwart the Skindancers was to encourage students to file complaints. Seemed a bit cutthroat, but nobody could blame him for jumping at a fast cut in his fees. Jincs (Archer) was a noble, surely he could afford some unwanted attention from the Masters.

[Kasimir he/him]

ix. kinsmen

He knew her, even before she first spoke. That shock of flame-red hair—nothing screamed Yllish more—and he felt that instant jolt of recognition, even before she said, “Cyae tsien?”

Was it possible to both love and hate something? Kevan didn’t know. He felt sick to his stomach for a moment; the longing after that taste of home, the memory of dreaded Yllish lessons, when his grandmother refused to answer anything that wasn’t spoken in Yllish. Was it possible to hate your own history, your own culture, imparted to you with desperation, to preserve the desiccated bones of something that had been long devoured by empire?

“Atae tsien,” he said, and then swapped back to Aturan. “I haven’t seen you around, I think.”

“I could say the same for you,” the Re’lar said, and the Yllish lilt to her voice, despite the flawless Aturan, was another brush against the home-longing, unexpected and unasked for.

“I used to study under Master Artificer,” Kevan said, by way of explanation.

“Oh, that explains it, then!” she said, cheerfully. “I was elevated by Master Alys and have been taking classes with Master Linguist. We probably haven’t really overlapped in classes.”

“Probably not, yeah.”

“Eithne Lorcaen,” she said. An introduction. “Out from Dhoiall.” Which put her as originating from more or less the other coast of Yll, towards the Reft, rather than the Centhe Sea.

“Tirnagh,” he replied. Watched as she placed that on her mental map of Yll as well. “I’m Kevan.”

“Braigh?” she ventured.

“Adairen,” he said. Most people didn’t bother with tribe lineages any longer; not after all these centuries. In his application for admission to the University, he’d just dropped it altogether and gone with the more common ‘son of Jair’ appellation.

Reciprocity: it always came back to this, you couldn’t own a country, couldn’t make it yours, and not alter its nature and your own in the bargain, not even years later, the particular aspect of Yllish grammar both frustrating and comforting in the connections and interdependence it asserted, in a nation that, in long memory, captured the way one life jutted to intersect another, the way blood ran through and between the tribes (and the Aturan generals had exploited this, had exploited tribal interests to advance their own, of course.)

“What brings you here then?” he asked.

“The University or the Medica?”

Kevan shrugged. “Yes.”

“I wanted to learn, same as you.”

“The University or the Medica?”

“Yes.”

He had asked for this one, he supposed.

“With the rumours of the skindancers, I thought it best to pick up some knowledge of basic medicine,” Eithne explained, taking pity on him. “I guess I just don’t want to have to watch someone I could save die.”

That was something he viscerally understood. 

“I’m clearing some electives,” Kevan admitted. “But I hadn’t done much physicking and thought it was a good time to pick up some classes in the Medica.”

“I think that’s nearly everyone right now,” she said, glancing at the students filing into the lecture hall. “I don’t remember the introductory class ever being this packed.”

He really hadn’t been paying attention outside of his travails at the Fishery, so he took her word for it and started preparing to take notes.

“Guess everyone feels the same way,” he said, neutrally.

“Think so.”

[Archer he/him]

1 hour ago, Araris Valerian said:

, he recalled that one of the measures the Masters had taken to thwart the Skindancers was to encourage students to file complaints. 

Just remembered that was a canonical aspect of the world building. Oh well :D. Why do you think I'm a noble? If you join my PM gang I'll confirm or deny it 

*

Jincs enjoyed paper mâché. Sorry, paper *machete. They liked using a large knife to chop up complaints. It was cathartic to make people's problems disappear. "And more bounty money for me, tee hee!" 

[Araris Valerian he/him]

10 minutes ago, Archer said:

Just remembered that was a canonical aspect of the world building. Oh well :D. Why do you think I'm a noble? If you join my PM gang I'll confirm or deny it 

Jincs, your nobility (referring to your social class rather than your character, of course) is quite obvious. Your spending habits are quite ridiculous, you seem to have an infinite set of different clothes, and, perhaps without intending it, you talk down to nearly everyone. And, of course, there is this list that was posted earlier in the day:

18 hours ago, little wilson said:

Player List

1. Matrim's Dice - Ruh
2. Kasimir - Commoner
3. The Known Novel - Noble
4. Steeldancer - Commoner
5. JNV - Ruh
6. Wonko the Sane - Commoner
7. Archer - Noble
8. Drake Marshall - Commoner
9. Ashbringer - Commoner
10. TJ - Commoner
11. Araris Valerian - Ruh
12. Szeth Pancakes - Noble
13. Stink - Commoner
14. Sart - Commoner

[The Unknown Medallion he/him]

The man who taught me to smith called me Re'lar because I had a penchant for not listening. My first real friend called me Keendriller for the rhyme with "Kingkiller," and for my skill with a drill. I have been called Rustless, Quickhammer, and Two-Tap. I have earned those names. Crafted and paid for them myself.

But I was brought up as Cavothee. My father once told me his grandfather had carried a letter to a man named that, and that he just liked the sound of it.

His pen ran out of ink. "Oh, krist, krayle, en kote." Cavothee looked around his desk. "Where did I put that blackened pen?" Hesaw it right as scooted his chair out to get up to look for it somewhere. 

He picked up the pen and started writing again.

I have, of course, been called many other things. Most of them uncouth, although very few were unearned.

I have stolen apples from sleeping merchant-men. I have burned down the horse stables of the King himself. I have spent the night with Toothless Jenna and left with both my sanity and my life. I was accepted into the University at an older age than most men graduate. I tread paths by moonlight that most are too sensible to travel at all. I have talked to priests, flirted with women, and sung songs that make the dogs howl.

You may have heard of me.

[Archer he/him]

1 hour ago, Araris Valerian said:

 And, of course, there is this list that was posted earlier in the day:

Jincs fished their tuition cheque out of their pocket. "Oh that money. I'm really not that rich. How much is this beer, by the way? Ten, twenty talents? Just put it on my tab, thank you, rabble man."

*

I was planning on putting all my info out in the open, but now I don't like it. >:(

Putting my second vote on Kas in defense of Steel 

[STINK he/him]

Right I'll get to this tomorrow ok everybody give me just a little bit more

[Wonko the Sane he/him]

41 minutes ago, STINK said:

Right I'll get to this tomorrow ok everybody give me just a little bit more

Just remember there's a 12-hour rollover! The month ends in just over 13 hours, at 2 PM for you (assuming you're still in the UK).

EDIT: Also, hey, Stink! I'm back in town, haven't said hi to you yet. 

Edited July 28, 2023 by Wonko the Sane

[DrakeMarshall he/him]

Several Hours Displaced From ALC102 In No Particular Direction

Percyl sat alone in his small second-story room in the Golden Pony, late in the evening, supping a cup of chamomile tea. A half-finished assignment scrawled across lined paper lay abandoned on the floor. In front of him was a digital form.

Student Complaints

Apparently, the school was taking the rumors of Skindancers seriously. There were hints that regularly filling out complaints was a way to get a lower tuition fee. This was the sort of opportunity Percyl had been waiting for, a chance to put his sleuthing skills to the test.

Who was there to complain about, though? He didn't know anyone yet. The only other student he really interacted with was Issal, and he didn't particularly have any ill will towards Issal. Could he be a demon in human guise? Maybe. Inconclusive. That was what the disguise was for. He would need to find a way to surreptitiously try out some of his talismans on the other student, or somehow slip him holy water to drink. He had read about a Tehlin Justice catching a demon in that way once. Granted, the work of literature was fictional, but stories have a grain of truth to them, right? And surely there would be no harm in putting it to the test.

Was there another avenue to investigate?

Experimentally, Percyl edited the address of the form.

"Aha."

The Head of Security's expertise apparently didn't extend to cybersecurity. Or maybe the University just didn't care about keeping the complaints anonymous. Either way, a minor path traversal attack did the trick. It wouldn't hurt anyone. A little bit of finagling, and he could see what complaints the other students had filed all tallied up in one place.

Vote Tally
Archer (3): Araris Valerian, The Known Novel, Drake
Matrim's Dice (3): Matrim's Dice, Steeldancer, Drake
Steeldancer (1): Kasimir
Kasimir (1): Archer
Szeth_Pancakes (1): JNV
JNV (1): Archer

Archer Matrim fight fight fight

note that due to lower player counts and no day/night split the game is actually going to be pretty darn fast-paced so maybe get those votes in

this observation is not mine it is courtesy of Kas tbh but Kas is basically the textbook definition of why there are tuition rules about heavy PM activity so there u go

[Archer he/him]

JNV Kas

Drake Drake

9 minutes ago, DrakeMarshall said:

Who was there to complain about, though? He didn't know anyone yet. 

"Since apparently everyone knows I'm the expert on the subject, I can authoratively state that that's rich."