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Winds of Vesperia - The Enemy of My Enemy
Another story, set midway through last session, as we're all aboard the Phalaborwan flagship headed towards De Aar. I've wanted to write this meeting for a while, and I'm glad I got a chance between next session.
It was remarkable, Amber reflected, how much libraries were alike. Even amidst the gentle swaying of the Alia’s Hope, even as the clouds drifted past the porthole and sails snapped above her head, the library was a refuge. The smell of scrolls of parchment, the gentle heatless light of a continual flame, it all brought back memories of home. It was almost enough to make her nostalgic.
The door to the library creaked as it swung open, interrupting her studies. Lord Jericho strode in as though he owned the place, which was only appropriate, because he did. He paused a moment when he saw the human seated at the large desk in the center of the room. He had given Amber permission to use the library and to read his books – the non-magical ones, of course – but they had yet to actually find themselves together at the same time.
The elven mage did not clear his throat. Amber had heard the story of his death and the manner behind it. Clearing one’s throat after it had been sliced and restored must have been extremely painful, she presumed. Jericho paused in the doorway, watching her.
Amber rose from the desk and placed a small stone to mark a spot in her reading. “Lord Jericho,” she said. “I can leave, if my presence would disturb you.”
For a moment they regarded each other, his green eyes locked on her black ones. Then he shook his head. “No need. The desk is big enough for two. And I only have a few points to reference in any case.”
Amber sat back down at her reading, half an eye on the text and half on the elf whose fingers ran along the stacks with a practiced ease. She had only gone a few lines when she replaced her marking stone and looked up. “I must commend you on your library,” she said. “It’s marvelous.”
Jericho’s mouth turned up in a smirk as his hand rested lightly on the blue leather binding of a thick book. “I should hope so. I’ve spent enough time gathering the tomes.”
Amber let her eyes take in the stacks. It was not as big as the library of the August College of Mages, of course, but it couldn’t be expected to compete. The Corps’ library contained the collected knowledge of generations of scholars, while Jericho’s shipboard library was his mere travelling collection, and it was far better stocked than Amber’s bag of holding.
“How much time would that be?” she ventured.
Jericho considered this before replying. “I suppose I’ve only collected in earnest for perhaps two hundred years. Before that, I had access to better collections owned by other people. It took some time before I fully appreciated the value of owning the books myself.”
Despite knowing that elves lived for centuries, it was always jarring to hear such numbers mentioned in casual conversation. Lord Jericho did not look old. He had no wrinkles, no sagging skin, no age marks. “If I may be so bold as to ask, how old are you?”
The smirk that seemed ever-present on his face deepened. “Three hundred and six,” he said.
“Three hundred…” Amber repeated in a whisper. “If you had been with the fleet, you might have been old enough to see the last encounter with the World Eater.”
Jericho took in her wonder, then turned away from the stacks and joined her at the table in the middle of the room, settling himself into the seat opposite hers. “In Vesperia, it has been millennia since that battle,” he reminded her. “A long time, even as we reckon things.”
Amber nodded. She had experienced the time differential between the Astral Plane and the world inside the egg first-hand as she tried to communicate with the fleet through Incose’s rift. She could only imagine the history that must have happened in the three hundred years since humanity had lost its home.
“And you,” Jericho spoke up, interrupting her thoughts. “One good turn deserves another. How old are you?”
“Twenty-four,” Amber replied.
Now it was Jericho’s turn to be momentarily shocked. “If you had been an elf, you would barely be considered a child,” he said. “Is it usual for humans to attain the rank of Archmage by the age of twenty-four?”
Amber shook her head. “No, not even for humans. Those who reach Archmage usually do it in their thirties or forties, sometimes later.”
Jericho stared at her intently. “Even at forty, you would have been considered a child, hardly expected to know what you wanted to do with your life, let alone be among your people’s leaders.”
Amber did not look away from his glance, but she did feel the need to change the subject. “Speaking of the unusual, is it common among elves to have a dragon as a familiar?”
Jericho gave her a wry smile. “No. Maxilia and I have had a long and storied past, and at one point we came to a mutually beneficial agreement. She gives me an advantage over my rivals, and as my star rises, so does hers. We do together what neither of us could do alone.”
Amber nodded slowly. “I’ve heard of dragons allowing themselves to be used as mounts, in some of our older texts, but I never thought I would see it in person.”
“Well, we’ve all seen quite a number of unusual things recently,” Jericho said. He regarded her pointedly.
Amber smiled. “I hope to continue to see unusual things. Maybe, if I can wrap my head around it and I can find the time, I’ll write a second thesis someday, comparing elven and human magic. The differences are fascinating.”
For the first time, Jericho seemed truly interested in the conversation. “Oh?”
Amber waved a hand over the open book in front of her, a text of Vesperian history. “It has to with access to manna, or the lack of it. When we cast, we do it through direct manipulation of the manna that surrounds us. Here, you don’t have that luxury. I’ve been able to cast spells on my own even the relatively weak field because I’m a solitary mage and even my most powerful spells doesn’t drain manna on anything close to the scale of, say, a warstrider. But a thousand mages? Ten thousand? That might stretch the limits of what could be supplied. So you have developed ingenious ways of bypassing manna entirely. Honestly, even having read some of your books on magical theory, I still haven’t quite figured out how you’ve done it.”
As she spoke, Jericho regarded her with the patient concentration Amber was coming to recognize as a hallmark of the elves. When you have a thousand years, why bother interrupting someone? He waited for her to finish, and then considered what she had said. “I look forward to seeing your thesis, should you ever write it.”
Amber cocked her head. “I don’t suppose you could provide me with any guidance as to where to look?”
Jericho smirked. “I could,” he said. “But not yet. We may be allies, but I know little of your college. I would need assurances as to what you would do with the knowledge once you had it, and what the head of your guild would do.”
Amber sighed. “I suppose that’s reasonable. You understand that I’m going to keep looking, with or without your help. It will just take me longer to do it on my own.”
Jericho stood. “We’ve already established that a lifetime for your people is barely any time at all for ours. No doubt your research will bear fruit with plenty of time for me to read the results. On which topic…” He turned abruptly and plucked a book off the shelf. He nodded to her. “Archmagus.”
Amber nodded back. “Your Grace.”
With a creak, the door opened again and he stepped back out into the hallways of the ship. Amber sighed and looked back down at her book, moving the marking stone to begin reading again. She only had a few weeks to pluck the choicest morsels from Jericho’s library, and she did not intend to waste her time.
The Enemy of My Enemy
It was remarkable, Amber reflected, how much libraries were alike. Even amidst the gentle swaying of the Alia’s Hope, even as the clouds drifted past the porthole and sails snapped above her head, the library was a refuge. The smell of scrolls of parchment, the gentle heatless light of a continual flame, it all brought back memories of home. It was almost enough to make her nostalgic.
The door to the library creaked as it swung open, interrupting her studies. Lord Jericho strode in as though he owned the place, which was only appropriate, because he did. He paused a moment when he saw the human seated at the large desk in the center of the room. He had given Amber permission to use the library and to read his books – the non-magical ones, of course – but they had yet to actually find themselves together at the same time.
The elven mage did not clear his throat. Amber had heard the story of his death and the manner behind it. Clearing one’s throat after it had been sliced and restored must have been extremely painful, she presumed. Jericho paused in the doorway, watching her.
Amber rose from the desk and placed a small stone to mark a spot in her reading. “Lord Jericho,” she said. “I can leave, if my presence would disturb you.”
For a moment they regarded each other, his green eyes locked on her black ones. Then he shook his head. “No need. The desk is big enough for two. And I only have a few points to reference in any case.”
Amber sat back down at her reading, half an eye on the text and half on the elf whose fingers ran along the stacks with a practiced ease. She had only gone a few lines when she replaced her marking stone and looked up. “I must commend you on your library,” she said. “It’s marvelous.”
Jericho’s mouth turned up in a smirk as his hand rested lightly on the blue leather binding of a thick book. “I should hope so. I’ve spent enough time gathering the tomes.”
Amber let her eyes take in the stacks. It was not as big as the library of the August College of Mages, of course, but it couldn’t be expected to compete. The Corps’ library contained the collected knowledge of generations of scholars, while Jericho’s shipboard library was his mere travelling collection, and it was far better stocked than Amber’s bag of holding.
“How much time would that be?” she ventured.
Jericho considered this before replying. “I suppose I’ve only collected in earnest for perhaps two hundred years. Before that, I had access to better collections owned by other people. It took some time before I fully appreciated the value of owning the books myself.”
Despite knowing that elves lived for centuries, it was always jarring to hear such numbers mentioned in casual conversation. Lord Jericho did not look old. He had no wrinkles, no sagging skin, no age marks. “If I may be so bold as to ask, how old are you?”
The smirk that seemed ever-present on his face deepened. “Three hundred and six,” he said.
“Three hundred…” Amber repeated in a whisper. “If you had been with the fleet, you might have been old enough to see the last encounter with the World Eater.”
Jericho took in her wonder, then turned away from the stacks and joined her at the table in the middle of the room, settling himself into the seat opposite hers. “In Vesperia, it has been millennia since that battle,” he reminded her. “A long time, even as we reckon things.”
Amber nodded. She had experienced the time differential between the Astral Plane and the world inside the egg first-hand as she tried to communicate with the fleet through Incose’s rift. She could only imagine the history that must have happened in the three hundred years since humanity had lost its home.
“And you,” Jericho spoke up, interrupting her thoughts. “One good turn deserves another. How old are you?”
“Twenty-four,” Amber replied.
Now it was Jericho’s turn to be momentarily shocked. “If you had been an elf, you would barely be considered a child,” he said. “Is it usual for humans to attain the rank of Archmage by the age of twenty-four?”
Amber shook her head. “No, not even for humans. Those who reach Archmage usually do it in their thirties or forties, sometimes later.”
Jericho stared at her intently. “Even at forty, you would have been considered a child, hardly expected to know what you wanted to do with your life, let alone be among your people’s leaders.”
Amber did not look away from his glance, but she did feel the need to change the subject. “Speaking of the unusual, is it common among elves to have a dragon as a familiar?”
Jericho gave her a wry smile. “No. Maxilia and I have had a long and storied past, and at one point we came to a mutually beneficial agreement. She gives me an advantage over my rivals, and as my star rises, so does hers. We do together what neither of us could do alone.”
Amber nodded slowly. “I’ve heard of dragons allowing themselves to be used as mounts, in some of our older texts, but I never thought I would see it in person.”
“Well, we’ve all seen quite a number of unusual things recently,” Jericho said. He regarded her pointedly.
Amber smiled. “I hope to continue to see unusual things. Maybe, if I can wrap my head around it and I can find the time, I’ll write a second thesis someday, comparing elven and human magic. The differences are fascinating.”
For the first time, Jericho seemed truly interested in the conversation. “Oh?”
Amber waved a hand over the open book in front of her, a text of Vesperian history. “It has to with access to manna, or the lack of it. When we cast, we do it through direct manipulation of the manna that surrounds us. Here, you don’t have that luxury. I’ve been able to cast spells on my own even the relatively weak field because I’m a solitary mage and even my most powerful spells doesn’t drain manna on anything close to the scale of, say, a warstrider. But a thousand mages? Ten thousand? That might stretch the limits of what could be supplied. So you have developed ingenious ways of bypassing manna entirely. Honestly, even having read some of your books on magical theory, I still haven’t quite figured out how you’ve done it.”
As she spoke, Jericho regarded her with the patient concentration Amber was coming to recognize as a hallmark of the elves. When you have a thousand years, why bother interrupting someone? He waited for her to finish, and then considered what she had said. “I look forward to seeing your thesis, should you ever write it.”
Amber cocked her head. “I don’t suppose you could provide me with any guidance as to where to look?”
Jericho smirked. “I could,” he said. “But not yet. We may be allies, but I know little of your college. I would need assurances as to what you would do with the knowledge once you had it, and what the head of your guild would do.”
Amber sighed. “I suppose that’s reasonable. You understand that I’m going to keep looking, with or without your help. It will just take me longer to do it on my own.”
Jericho stood. “We’ve already established that a lifetime for your people is barely any time at all for ours. No doubt your research will bear fruit with plenty of time for me to read the results. On which topic…” He turned abruptly and plucked a book off the shelf. He nodded to her. “Archmagus.”
Amber nodded back. “Your Grace.”
With a creak, the door opened again and he stepped back out into the hallways of the ship. Amber sighed and looked back down at her book, moving the marking stone to begin reading again. She only had a few weeks to pluck the choicest morsels from Jericho’s library, and she did not intend to waste her time.