[NoR] - [03] - Memoir of Bones

A gentle mist floated lazily along the interior of the spherical cavity. Brief glimpses of the space between spaces flashed through the fog, granting inspiration and madness. Within the bubble was suspended a great shard of crystal, the top cleanly removed to create a large, rectangular stone platform. Atop the crystal sat two buildings, each facing the other. A small shrine sat upon an island of steps which descended into a pool of jet black.
The void extended halfway along two edges of the plot, cutting a large rectangular shadow out of the surface. A single bridge crossed the emptiness, marked at small intervals by magically suspended flames. At the end of the bridge the black met a sheet of ice that had grown over the planed crystal. Matching the pool in size, a grand manor ran a horseshoe along the two sides of the plot opposite the shrine. The roof in the front dropped to half the height of the wings, betraying the presence of a terrace above. Two hands rose from the smooth stone of the platform holding the shrine, themselves a creamy porcelain. A second pair followed behind them, all raised to the creature depicted above. A Purple flame blazed between the far pair, leaving violet patterns to dance across the fabric draped over the statue against the back wall. A white mask of the same porcelain as the hands kept vigil over the shadows, and was the lone witness to the space between the hands rending itself apart, coalescing much as water into cracked ice before resolving into Razel. The planeswalker bowed slightly, a sign of respect to the patron before him. With a momentary change of wardrobe, he turned to make his way to his retreat.

Razel floated lazily across the bridge, the black marble door before him growing larger as he approached. There was no visible seam, yet the frost around the steel ring embedded in the center of the door betrayed its existence. A wave of his hand split the door down the middle, bisecting it to reveal the room beyond. A light gust of air snuck into the room. The main foyer was a large, circular affair, surrounded on all walls by books. The floor, where it was not covered by the large rug in the center, was a white marble, contrasting the black of the front door. The transition from the ice outside to the floor beyond was seamless. Great shelves ran up to the floor of the second level, which extended out in a ring along the full length of the room. The floor above was also lined with books, although from the ground much couldn't be seen past that. In the center of the high ceiling was suspended a large filigree sphere, containing within itself a miniature sun. The raw, seething mana produced by the small star was collected by enchanted steel, only to be redistributed elsewhere. The residual light served to illuminate the room, casting harsh shadows along the higher shelves of the first level. Another door stood opposite the front, with two much less impressive doors to the far sides. The far door was raised above the ground on a platform halfway to the second level, against the far wall. Stairs followed the curve of the wall to the doors on the sides, while the wall made by the platform was covered in sconces, statues, and various knickknacks. A small office was set up against them, allowing Razel to step from the front door directly to his desk. The door closed behind him, the grind of marble against marble ignored in favor of reclining in a fine hide chair to enjoy the few moments of solitude. A quick glance to his desk revealed his journal, blown open by the breeze to the very beginning. He smiled as he gestured at the book, pulling it towards him to levitate it before his face. The smile persisted as he skimmed the first few entries.

[Continued from the journal of Razel Korr, Planeswalker;]

I opened my eyes, and doubted them for the second time that day.

The visceral insanity had subsided, replaced by a cold stone floor. The chamber, close as I could tell, was circular. There were no windows, no portals. Only a single door. The floor was scuffed in several places, and the murals on the ceiling were...uncomfortable. I stayed in that oubliette for at least an hour, shivering and cracking. My body felt different. I felt clearer. I felt cleaner. I felt stronger. I felt smarter. I swore I was dead, as it was the only way to explain the sudden disappearance of all my pain. My mind began to wander, and I began to forget. My thoughts eventually turned to home. The ice, the cold...I could still feel it. Even as my mind began to blossom, shedding memories and sloughing off attachments to the mortal coil, the frost persisted. I focused on it, vainly trying to retain a memory of my origin. The ice that grew from my fingers was the first visible sign that I was ‘different’.

I screamed, I think. The first time I froze, I shrieked as only one convinced of their own death can muster. The noise seemed to encourage it, as instead of vanishing, it grew. Within moments it had consumed my arm in a block of faintly glowing ice. The shards of snow kept going, and as I watched my Rime encase me, I lost consciousness.

My next memory is of the boot nudging my side. I cracked my eyes open, and saw a tall male with what appeared to be random stone or steel portions to his body. Where his flesh turned to mineral, it glowed as a warm coal, giving him the impression of being molten within. His appearance was not what surprised me, however. What surprised me was the new avalanche of sensory input I had suddenly obtained. I saw his energies, I felt them weaving about him, and yet I saw nothing.

“It’s always a bit overwhelming your first time.”

He spoke as if he were well versed in whatever had happened to me. This served to spur me out of my malaise and into a sort of action.

“Ha...how do...what?”

I fear I was not quite ready to speak. The newcomer seemed to expect this as well. He spoke clearly and proudly.

“Congratulations, Planeswalker. You’ve ignited.”

A quiet clattering stirred Razel from his memoir, his head turning to face the purple-clad skeleton shambling towards him. The old set of bones clacked as he approached, not really saying anything yet conveying precisely what he meant. The book floated gently back to the desk, setting neatly in place as the Planeswalker stood to greet his House Guard. The tight purple fabric clung to its ribcage, betraying a slight bellows as the creature pulsed with magical breath. Bone clicked against bone as it brought itself to a stop, bowing deeply before its master.

“There you are, Woodhouse. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Clickety-clack.

Razel smiled as the mute creature spoke.

“The inquisition goes well, thank you for asking. We had a client who was...shall we say...hesitant to pay, but I made sure to leave no trace of doubt in his mind as to what he’ll be doing.”

Clakety-click.

“If I had thought of that at the time, I may have. Still, I did see the Boarmage afterwards.”

Clatter clatter clatter.

“Yes, I did! Oh, you should have seen the look she gave me afterwards. I could literally taste the hatred seething out of her. No, literally. It was delicious.”

Woodhouse creaked as it bent over slightly, somehow pantomiming laughter. The mage placed a hand on the skeleton’s shoulder.

“I need you to fetch me something before I head out again.”

Unnaturally fast, Woodhouse was at attention.

“Bring me my Witchbane Orb. I fear I may have enemies in my next life.”

The skeleton bowed its head, turning to retrieve the artifact. Razel returned to his chair, raising his hand to the journal as he sat down. Once more it rose at his command, floating gently to rest before him as he picked up where he had left off.

‘Planeswalker’? The word meant nothing to me.

“You’re now one of us. Come on, get to your feet and I’ll show you around.”

He reached out to me, pulling me up to my feet. A wave of his hand and I was suddenly wearing a robe much like his, sharing design if not motif. I was too dumbstruck to complain. I simply followed him blindly out of that lone door, and into the large room beyond.

The testing room was built with grand sensibilities. Large arches and grand chandeliers served to impress any who came through the door, while wards were set up in uncountable ways to do and monitor uncountable things. There was a series of doors along the walls, each the same wooden design. The man, who explained his stony appearance as being due to his heritage as a ‘Vulshok’, pointed me to a seemingly random door. I staggered over the smooth floor, gawking at the ceiling like a fool the whole time. The Vulshok opened the door for me, and I was supplanted into a small office. The room had only the one entrance, and was split down the middle by a large desk. The air above the polished woodgrain shimmered slightly with defensive magic. A finely dressed female-looking Golem stood on the other side. The door closed behind me. I distinctly remember feeling very...contained.

“Welcome to the Academy, Planeswalker.”

As if for dramatic effect, several large panels on the desk changed to display a bizarre text. I spied a few images of myself, as well as some odd diagrams. None of it made any sense to me. The senses that had overwhelmed me when I first met the man were oddly cold with the creature before me. It reviewed the things before it, and spoke again.

“We’ve taken the liberty of granting you a few basic abilities as an emblem of our goodwill. You may notice you can understand what I am saying. Was this unusual to you?”

I shook my head, trying my best to express my confusion through my brow. The golem was perfectly still as it processed what I had said. It moved as quickly as it had stopped, and I’m fairly sure I jumped.

“You do not have much contact with other cultures then? Or do you speak many tongues?”

“I...I have never seen anyone outside of my tribe.”

Another stillness. This one a bit longer. Whatever it was trying to remember, it must not have in a long time. It finally placed its hand gently on the desk, the displayed words returning to woodgrain.

“Does your tribe use magic in any capacity?”

I continued to furrow my brow. The Golem was clearly immune to physical expression of emotion, or at the very least had chosen to ignore it.

“You speak to me as if I am still alive. Why are you asking me these questions?”

“You are still alive, as evidenced by your being here.”

I waited, vainly expecting yet not receiving a response to my second question.

“Where is ‘here’?”

“The Academy.”

“What is an Academy?”

“Does your tribe use magic in any capacity?”

I stumbled over a response before swallowing it. I figured I may as well answer the questions, since I obviously wasn’t going anywhere.

“My tribe has Shamans. I think. Most of my memories are fading quickly. I...I know there were rituals we would follow to absorb the essence of the glowing dead, but outside of our daily hunt we don’t have time for much else.”

“Where does your tribe live? Try to tell me about the land itself. How did it feel?”

“Ours is a world of Rime. Cold death surrounded us.”

Another brief pause.

“Let me start by congratulating you on ignition, Planeswalker. Many are capable but few achieve it.”

“What is a Planeswalker?”

“You are a Planeswalker.”

This would get me nowhere. She continued.

“You have found your way to the Academy. The Academy is a consortium of Planeswalkers dedicated to finding and educating their own. The goal of the Academy is to turn you into the best Planeswalker you can be through unlimited access to our research materials, our training courses and, of course, our staff. We strive to teach responsible use of magic; for that goal we are willing to go to any length, including termination. The unfortunate part of our consortium is that in order to allow our Academy to remain safe, anyone who knows of it must be part of it. If not, they are a liability. Our question to you is this; are you a liability to the multiverse? Are you an irresponsible creature who will throw reality-warping powers about like leaves, not caring for the fabric of existence you tear along the way? Or are you now a member of the Academy, a creature in control of their capabilities, having mastery of their selves? Are you a Liability...or are you a Planeswalker?”

Razel slammed his journal closed in irritation, tossing it back to his desk.

"What a stupid question."