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Getting lost in Cinderfall was easier than any test, by far. A school of such a size ever needed a map.
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Fortunately, the white walls that protected us from nothing in particular had these engraved runes that functioned like signposts guiding us to our lessons. At night, they illuminated like fireflies for supreme convenience. And students who could read runes might have tried to disturbe the spells with an incantation that could change the layout of the campus. I wouldn’t put it past a delinquent to try such things. It was already a ridiculous maze and a mystery that I ever made it to class. But the reason no student would dare to hack the spells in place was because unsanctioned magic within the walls meant that your fingers would get chopped off. I jest! At any rate, the school wardens would seal your voice in a bottle if you broke the rules.
Fresh courses were well underway in the second semester. I quickly became attached to Hunter Ludwig. He was the Bestial Science Professor. He had all the wit and gruffness of Maister Calum, yet with an underpinning softness, better jokes, and a much nicer hat.
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During my first few lessons of Bestial Science, I realized how much I enjoyed learning about monsters, such as Vampires' allergy to caffeine. Before the second semster, I had no idea that werewolves succumbed to dysentery by eating avocados; and if you bleed them with anything coated in coconut oil, it's like poison for them. Unfortunately, avocados and coconuts are scarce in this corner of the Imperium. Fortunately, so so are werewolves.
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Additionally, I learned that large monsters live alone, isolated in bogs or swamps, in places none but the brainless tend to go. Sane people rarely meet beasts of the immaterium. Also, did you know that there is a positive correlation between size and being introverted? There are a bunch of big loners in the monster world. I can relate.
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Bog-maws, as the common traveler should note, have spinal columns that look like thorns, and they salivate an acidic goo that will melt your skin. Not immediately, mind you; but if you are not scrubbed quickly, it will leave a mark. And Bloodhounds...
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I remember sharp yellow teeth and a long tongue in a dark alley. Dirty fur and paws, like an overgrown dog but bigger. A growl like hell screaming. Or was that me?
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Memories of my frightened self used to paralyze me on a whim. I worked hard to get past them, and I tried to shake the impending migraine. It's difficult when your most visceral memory is the worst and also your first. Maybe, there's a connection.
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"Pollux..."
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Priestess Serrina pinched my ear with her prickly voice. I awoke from the nightmare, into a tome study class. The teacher known as Serrina was a young practicing priestess that somehow managed to pray her way into the most prestigious institution south of the Imperial capital. At times, she seemed to know what she was doing, but there were some occasions where I felt like another teenager was chastising me. She was so uptight, you’d forget that she was pretty. Many things about her were… odd.
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It was the middle Mandate Theology class, a day for a practical lesson, and my thoughts got stuck somewhere else while it was my turn to harness divine energy.
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To my immediate right, the priestess with her leaf-green eyes glowered with the power to petrify. I looked at my hands and noticed that magic was sizzling between them. Wouldn’t you know, my mind had wandered off in the middle of a prayer. I couldn’t tell what was more remarkable, the fact that I was conjuring a spell or the fact that I didn’t realize I was conjuring a spell!
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Mind you, the priestess had cast the spell of her own mara, but my hands were channeling it all by themselves. Holy magic seemed as easy to manage as the old men made it look, but I almost panicked while staring at the bright energy reeling around my fingers.
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"And He saw the Light, saw that it was good, thus said unto His children, 'blessed art thou who wield this Word, weapon against the Dark and shield of the Shepards... " All magic comes from the Word of Power, and the key to holy spells is sacred verse; not incantations.
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The tips of my fingers emanated with the physical and the ethereal, sort of like holding a cluster of stars. The light spiraled; it shined; it was beautiful, but I could feel pressure welling up in my veins which led to subtle tremors at my fingertips. I felt it cold then hot, then cold, then hot. The priestess's words returned faintly in my ears.
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"Great work, Pollux!" Her praise somehow drowned under the murmurs around us.
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"Memory girl got it right."
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"Well, at least her hands work..."
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"Look at that. She can use spells, after all."
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They were as distracting as a crown of thorns. Once I had heard enough, the glimmer in my hands began to… flicker. Call it a signal to panick if ever there was one.
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"Pollux!" Priestess Serrina quickly arrested the light from my hands. Then the crazy ball began fluctuating, bubbling then flashing with a ripple I've never seen. It became electric... unstable. The surging ball of energy nearly deafened us with a screeching noise, before the priestess detonated the energy into a sphere of harmless sparks. The sparks gently rained down from the ceiling like snowfall. They reminded me of fireflies, so pretty that I almost forgot about the scolding to come.
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"What was that, initiate?" Serrina scowled, creasing that otherwise angelic face.
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"A mistake!" I apologized. "Sorry, sorry, sorry!" It was difficult to sound sorry, however, being mesmerized by the whole affair. I think she only heard the excitement.
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"The earthly cannot interfere with the celestial. To recite the sacred verse, you must strip yourself of distractions!” she scorned. “Please, remember this the next time you practice harnessing divine light."
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"Wouldn't that distract me?"
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She leered.
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"Sorry..."
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Though Priestess Serrina was disappointed in my performance, I felt mild relief.
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That was that day where I learned how holy magic affinity dwarfed my primal abilities. The thing about primal magic is that you're born with the talent. Something about my blood interferes with my ability to conjure fire, ice, or miasma. I once thought I could shoot wind, but that was just my imagination.
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