Chapter 4 - The Library

Alidar awoke with the first of the Azkelethon's rays as the great realm crested the horizon and began its circuit of Shealtier, the Great Inbetween, the space separating Azkelethon from Navthalir. With his day completely free from guild work he decided to visit one of his haunts. As he climbed down from his perch up in the rafters he wondered anew at his place in the world. Was Sel right? Would he ever break free from the life of crime he lived? He didn't know. He lived the life that fate had dealt him. He stole from those who had much and gave what he could to those who had little. Not everyone who was wealthy was evil. Alidar just stole from those who were. That didn't make it right and Alidar knew his mother, his imara, wouldn't have approved. He went quietly over to the shrine he had built for his parents in honor of their memory. His imara's portrait was the only face represented. It had been done the year before her death, her face had the old vibrancy to it, before the sickness had stolen it from her. He knelt down and prayed to the maker, an old morning ritual he had continued ever since his mother had died. He arose and went to a space above the shrine where he removed some of the bricks in a straight line from left to right. This too he did out of ritualistic habit. Gradually a sword revealed itself. Encased in an oiled wooden sheath the ornate handle gleamed in Azkelethon's light. He gently removed his father's, his abaraba's, sword from the cleft before drawing it slowly. It came free with a hiss, keen and double edged, its blade free from rust and hilt wrapped in crossways strips of cloth bound tightly.

He hefted it and slowly began to move in an old sword dance. He had learned it from Selethen of all people whose abaraba had also been a soldier. He had learned it when young from his father, a veteran, who had nonetheless perished in the same war as Alidar's abaraba. Perhaps that was another reason why they were close. Alidar let the familiar moves wash away his anxious thoughts and moved faster, cutting the air in quick flowing movements. He let the motions carry him as if they formed their own current finishing with a thrust parallel to his parent's shrine. He slowly stood straight and breathed in the morning air. He saluted the shrine as he had seen the Dasir soldier's salute before sheathing his father's sword and hiding it once more. Good steel was a treasure and a warrior's sword would be worth a small fortune. Despite this Alidar had never once entertained the thought of selling his abaraba's sword. It was a piece of the father that Alidar only had brief memories of. Finishing up, he bowed low at the waste towards his parents and then departed the tower.

Since he was banned from guild business for the moment he decided to let his feet wander. He followed the streets where his whimsy took him until he reached an area he knew. Of course, he knew most of the city by heart, but this part was special. As he turned and headed for one of the taller buildings he looked around, finding the small bench that his imara used to sit at watching him play. It was nostalgic but the nostalgia almost became physical as he stepped into the only public library in Dasir. A gift from the former Sultana to the people, it was open to all, regardless of their race, profession, or creed. The library even had its own guards, loyal only to the librarians and the keeping of knowledge. They weren't a large force but they were the most diverse and they enforced the edict of the Sultan that all were welcome. They didn't even care if you were a criminal outside as long as you stole nothing from the inside.

Upon entering he was greeted by the librarian, Reginald, who had come from the north at the request of the Sultan to head the library. Reginald was a cantankerous old bastard from Vesorus who pined about the good life to be found there as well as praising the maker he no longer had to endure its cold. His one good eye twinkled as he beheld Alidar. "Soooo, hmmn, look what the sands have blown in ehh. You come in here and disturb my restful solitude and I'll bean you over the head with me cane son!" Alidar bowed to hide his grin, already fashioning his response.

"Of course not revered elder. I would never come to bother you so. I know you need your nap, I mean rest." As he rose from his bow he caught the expected thrown book. The book was empty, waiting to be scribed. He knew Reginald would never chuck one of his beloved manuscripts. Each one was like a dear child to the old man and he made sure to punish those who forgot. Alidar came forward and presented the book with flourish, Reginald snatched it from his hand with a scowl.

"Watch yourself you young rapscallion. I may be old but I'll let you have it if I find even one book gone from its place."

Alidar held back a grin and bowed again. "Of course sir. I'll make sure to be on my best behavior."

Reginald just sighed and shooed him away. "Be off with ye lad. Your roost is still where ye left it. The books too." He turned away but Alidar could still see the half smile that creased the old man's face. Smiling himself, he quickly moved through the library, quietly making his way up to the second and then third story. Through a door, he entered an old study left behind by a librarian when the studies moved to the lower floor some years past. Usually kept clear of dust by himself, he found evidence of recent cleaning. Evidently Reginald had had the area cleaned. The books Alidar had been studying were still stacked on the heavy ornate desk that dominated the back of the room. As he paced over to it he looked over the room and the view from the open window that cast golden light into the space. Dasir spread out in front of him, a picturesque view filled with dust motes dancing on the beams of light.

He stood at the window for a moment, gazing out at the buildings and the Inland Sea. He watched the people moving in the streets and he sighed. Selethen's parting words came back to him at that moment and he turned from the window to gaze at the books stacked on the desk. They were his way out. They contained the information and wisdom to set him free from the chains of poverty. He spoke a prayer to the maker in thanksgiving for the late Sultana who had made much of his learning possible. Walking over he picked up the top book and found it written by an esteemed magus from a university in Raglan, the great imperial seat that lay far away across the Inland Sea, some two months by boat. The book was more a series of lectures and he sat down to read one entitled Concerning Authority.

"I would like to start this lecture by stating that we do not know exactly why The Maker gave away his Authority. Authority, for those reading who are less learned, is the substance of intent needed to bend the fundamental building blocks of the world to your will. The more Authority you possess the more you are able to bend reality. You of course will say that it's just magic, and it is, to a certain extent. Mages are those individuals, like myself, whose Authority allows us to call forth certain elements of natural reality and craft solutions to problems via spark craft. This is certainly helped along on this realm of Nashalom by the abundance of Aether within and all around the planet.

In fact there is so much that Nashalom herself is alive in a way and thus contains authority. This paves the way to the discussion of The Mantles. The Mother, as Nashalom enjoys being called, is really the only true divine being our realm possesses. She chooses, however, to share her divine authority with her "children", those races the Maker placed in her care. By sharing her Authority in the form of Mantles she provides the mortal races with demi-divine beings who can guide their brethren, beings who remember the frailty of mortal life but know the power of the divine. It is because of this that you will find but one church upon this world, one dedicated to Maker and Mother."

But my mind rambles. Back to Authority. Most people only ever have Authority over themselves. They can speak, have motor function, and think their own thoughts. This base Authority can be increased with training, in the case of soldiers and Martial Adventurers. Training their bodies to the peak of physical perfection, their Authority also peaks, allowing them to absorb Aether in limited amounts via their sparks to create 'Maneuvers'. Their words not mine. We mages use the words "Aetheric Arts" but those lunkheads have a mind of their own. "Maneuvers" are made from aether manifesting into an already existing martial form with often devastating effect.

Mages, on the other hand, use Authority differently. By utilizing their sparks energy in conjunction with their natural Authority they reach out and grasp at other natural authorities and partner with them. For instance the Authority of Fire is to burn, give off heat, and to bring light. This is natural. So to partner with fire you must work within its natural Authority. Most mages do this by offering spark infused Authority as a container and then harmonizing with the natural Authority fire has. It can take years but once a mage has harmonized well enough all he or she needs to do is call forth his or her own Authority to draw in Aether from the air, match harmonies with fire, and voila, magical fire using Aether as fuel. It's hard work but we mages are persistent.

We are down to the Last two. I'll save the best for last and discuss the giving and taking of Authority. No one knows exactly why but a measure of Authority called "Imagined" or "Perceived" Authority is given to those in places of power. Kings, Queens, Monarchs, or Ruling Councils, it makes no difference Imagined or not it has tremendous power over those individuals who see themselves as part of those countries. It is this Authority that allows laws to be made and enforced. How do criminals exist then you might ask? Well if someone gains a following, then their followers begin to ascribe to him or her the imagined Authority they would have given to the ruler. The more followers the less they feel like they "need" to follow the rules. This is why the crown needs to quell warlord uprisings every couple of years. It's also why ruling bodies give Authority to those under them allowing them to have effective leaders to calm and lead the populace. There are always tyrants though. Individuals who use their perceived Authority as a yoke. Remember, most people don't have the willpower to resist such Authority. They give it freely and so have very few defenses against it being used against them by ill-intentioned people. If it goes on long enough such Tyrants can even leach natural Authority from their subjects. Their realms often become sickly tainted things, where people become dumb and mute in order to survive. And in some cases... Well, I won't discuss such a dark topic here.

Let's move on shall we. This is the one you have been waiting for after all. There is yet one more way to gain Authority, by the absorption and attunement to a monster core. As you all might know monsters are creatures that, through pain, torment or dark magic, have had their spark of life twisted into a crystalline structure. This crystal remains after the monster is slain and contains within this 'Monster Core' all of its Authority. By attuning to the Authority contained within such a core and reclaiming it within your own spark you can gain access to a new suite of whole abilities and powers. There is a limit of course. By using Monster cores your growth in other areas are stunted as your Authority and Spark are enlarged unnaturally. Your body must adapt to its new reality and until it does you will be unable to absorb new cores or grow aspects of your natural Authority. That being said, the powers granted by cores are a well documented asset and man, adventurers supplement their natural growth with cores. This concludes my lecture and I hope I've given you bright young minds something to think about."

Alidar closed the book and rubbed his temples. He looked at the lecturer and found it was given by an Archmagus Donaval around ten years ago. The lecture was interesting in describing Authority as an almost physical essence exerted upon the soul. He thought of the loyalty he felt toward Selethen and wondered if that was a form of imagined Authority and if Selethen was even aware he had it. That drove him to think of the princess. Was his desire for her and his protective instinct towards her only the result of her being a princess with imagined Authority. He decided to chuck that notion. He liked to think he knew himself and his emotions and rejected the notion that the Maker would place strings upon his creations. Perhaps it truly was, as the Archmagus had said, imaginary and only applicable to those who lacked the willpower to think differently. He thought back to people he knew and identified many past engagements where he met people with domineering personalities. They always had lackeys who followed at their heels and echoed their words like parrots.

His mind drifted to the rest of the lecture's content. He had heard of magic, had seen it performed during the great festivals. He also knew it was a wide and varied practice, after all the Street Rats had a practitioner who made their masks. Thinking of the possibility of doing it himself though was where his mind stopped. He knew it could be possible. He had seen guards using magic or at least enchanted gear so he knew common folk could use Aether in small ways. The sailors at the port used wind and water magic frequently. He even suspected Sel had some of that body magic the lecturer had called maneuvers. He moved far too silently than a normal person should be able to and he had a supernatural grace and speed when he fought with a knife which had been showcased once more last night.

Alidar hummed to himself as he laid the book back on the desk. He would have to research this more. The idea of possibly using Aether himself was electrifying. He stood up and paced around the room deep in thought and excited at the prospect of using magic. A sixth sense, honed through years of surviving on the streets, had him diving to the side as a knife whizzed over his head. He rolled, coming to his feet with one of his daggers already in hand and searching for the threat. His blood ran cold at the sight that greeted him.