Well, this wasn’t quite what I expected. A Creepy dungeonesque room, imposing torture instruments, and pitiful caged animals surrounded me. Numerous rushes with blue flames kept the room fairly well lit, but the spine-chilling atmosphere still felt very dark. I vainly tried to move my hands, nope, still strapped tightly to an operating table.

“Maybe a little more meditation would…”

“Shhh!”

Agrippina was still focusing, her hands over my chest. I felt my blood flow constantly interrupted, my heart continuously in pain. She was using her water arcanum to careful gauge my soul. I grit my teeth, but failed to stop the occasional moan or scream. Physically it felt like my heart was exploding, reforming, stopping, then being pounded on before repeating the process.

The magical effects were just as nauseating and painful, just stranger and harder to put words to. It was like another force was wracking at my soul, alternating between lashing and stabbing.

She had explained the process of soul etching to me. A mage would use their power to literally etch an affinity onto another’s soul, allowing the use of the corresponding arcanum. While one might possess an affinity, like I did for water, it needed to be more deeply etched into the soul if it was to be effectively used.

There were several possible difficulties. If the soul wasn’t large enough, the etching would permanently cripple the soul. The soul would be bound by the etching and unable to grow, preventing the mage from ever advancing or learning new spells.

If the soul was only just large enough, the etching would prevent the mage from intrinsically learning spells (until the mage improved and their soul naturally expanded). Staffs and chants could make up the difference should this occur. Not terrible, but not optimum.

Even if more than large enough, the soul had to endure the process. Size affected SP, but it did not necessarily equal power. A soul needed to be resilient enough to withstand the process, lest it crack or shatter. She didn’t explain the possible side-effects, but the name was descriptive enough for me.

While explaining everything to me, she spoke quickly and nonchalantly. She acted like it was the most natural thing in the world. I was mostly convinced, though she had paused a bit unnaturally when she brought up using staffs and chants. The three mages who protected my hamlet all made copious use of those. Though I had never seen her use them… A question better left for when I could actually use a spell. Right now, not distracting her and not screaming took priority.

“Godsdamnit, AAHHHHH!”

Yep, I needed to focus more on not screaming in uncontrollable pain.

After a few more agonizing minutes, Agrippina’s eyes opened and she looked at me.

“Good news! Your soul is large enough for etching. There will be enough space left over for learning spells, as well as more minor etchings if need be.”

She looked at me mockingly, unsuccessfully trying to hold back a small smile.

“We don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to.”

I really didn’t want to…

“Do it.”

I wanted her to unstrap me. I wanted to go back to the stream and just think about magic. I wanted to not experience pain. All these things I desperately wanted, but knew I had to man up. Hoping and wishing were for old maids and young girls. Gods, being one of those didn’t sound nearly as bad as this…

The vice dean smiled down happily.

“Hold still. You may feel a little pressure…”

She snickered. Her hands deftly clasped and unclasped before she pointed two fingers on her right hand straight up. They glowed red, orange, blue, then white. Her body shivered, her hand fell. The light plunged into my chest, her fingers pushing against my skin.

Burning!

Burning!

BURNING!

I flailed uselessly against the straps, screaming in ungodly pain. I felt her arcanum etching incomprehensible patterns onto, into, my soul, but little else. A thick strap against my forehead kept me from accidentally snapping my neck as I did my best to break it. I was in so much pain that I only remember brief images, sights, and sounds for what seemed like an eternity.

“Almost there…”

The red-hot fingernail scraping my essence slowed, the pain easing off. I convulsed as I could finally relax for a moment.

“Just one more touch.”

I felt the burning stop moving hither and fro, and instead press inwards. Not merely where her finger pressed, but the entire design she had etched, BURNED! I screamed reflexively. Then there was the sound, like delicate glass cracking. At first, I thought I imagined it as my senses quickly faded, until I heard those final words.

“Well, shit!”

----------------------------------------------

My hands flew instinctively to my chest. I breathed quickly, willing away the remembered agony. I looked up and saw the sheriff patiently waiting on me. He stroked his trimmed beard methodically.

“What, what happened?”

“Your soul cracked, nearly shattered.”

“So, why am I here, talking to a dream?”

“This isn’t a dream; we are within your soul.”

“My soul?”

“Yes, your soul, our citadel.”

I looked back through the nebulous smoke back at the beautiful buildings and streets.

“No, your soul is not really constructed like this. What you see is an approximation, something that your mind can grasp.”

“And you and Felicia are…?”

“We are what can define you. Felicia is the embodiment of your water affinity, whereas I now am the embodiment of your divine affinity.”

“Can?”

He nodded sagely.

“Magic, your arcanum and affinities, becomes you. The more arcanum you use, the deeper and further your affinities will etch into your soul and influence you. Using the water affinity in particular, will cause you to act more on your inclinations.”

Inclinations was spat out as though it were blasphemy.

“And the more I use you, the divine?”

There was a flash of anger in his eyes. He opened his mouth viciously to start a tirade, but stopped suddenly. He closed his eyes before continuing.

“The more you will act as you should.”

“That being…?”

“Morally upright.”

Ugh, this sounded worse than dying a slow, agonizing death.

“So, I’ll be helping little old women cross streets, giving alms to the poor, ministering to the orcs, and saving maidens?”

He facepalmed, muttering to himself.

“I…Said…Morally…Upright. As in what is virtuous, not goodness or kindness.”

Those were the same, yes?

“Alright, now that I’ve answered your questions,” yeah, in as shitty a manner as you could, “It’s time for you to fix the damage you have caused.”

“Hey! I wasn’t the one etching!”

“No, you were the buffoon who agreed to it.”

“Yeah, so that I could get stronger! Tell me, if I don’t, how long do you think I’ll survive?”

“Not very.”

He looked at me, his face stoic.

“You have a point, but that is your issue, not mine. If you want a shoulder to cry on, bother Felicia, not me.”

Wait a minute…

“Is she still sleeping?”

“As I said, inclination. She chose to waste what energy she had on her romps with you. Be careful how much you use her, whether arcanum or fun, you are strengthening her hold over you. Her decision-making skills are… Less than optimum.”

“Don’t you balance things out, if I use your affinity?”

He glared at me; I’m still not comprehending this anger.

“Yes, but I still prefer she not influence you. Inclination will cause you to give in to your emotions more, something which will not benefit the citadel.”

“How does…?”

He stopped me with a hand.

“We can discuss this later, for now, there is work.”

He turned and quickly strode around a cloudy building. I shook my head and followed, at least I got some answers…

We stopped as we came upon a wall. It was composed of magnificent dark blue bricks. I stumbled over one. Picking it up, I noticed that it wasn’t stone, but glass. It was twice the size of a normal brick, and heavier than it looked. It was smooth and cool to the touch. Strangely, I felt that same sense of familiarity with it as the townspeople.

I noticed another loose brick, another, and then another. My eyes followed the strangely placed objects until I noticed a gaping hole in the wall, twenty feet wide. Jagged ends of bricks reached impotently towards each other from the still standing portions. My hand rubbed my chest mechanically, I could actually feel what I was seeing before me.

My heart sank. My city was damaged, MY SOUL was damaged.

“This is the border of your soul. It protects us from spiritual foes and mental attacks, typically working best when it’s intact.”

I touched the edges, feeling a numb tingling in my chest in response. There was an empty feeling that could no longer be unheeded. Hurt, suffering, and sorrow radiated off the damaged bricks and missing portion.

“This is what you have been ignoring, Lord.”

I nodded quietly, finally able to understand my failing. I had never considered going to the boundaries of my city, never considered its welfare. All I had occupied myself with had been pleasure. My citizens called me lord, but I had proven myself just as incompetent as the worst noble.

“How can I fix this?”

“Brick, by brick.”

The sheriff picked up a stone and handed it to me. I took it shamefully, for the first time noticing there were tiny runes etched all around the glass brick. The Sheriff walked up to a jagged portion of the wall, there were saws, chisels, and hammers. Those weren’t there before…

“If this is my soul, how are masonry tools going to fix it?”

“This is an approximation; I chose something you experienced during your childhood. This will allow you to visualize your soul, so that you can repair it.”

The rebuilding of Sapphire Hamlet’s outermost walls. Yes, I remembered spending hours every day watching the masons construct the defenses. I scuttled over many an unbuilt wall and tower, pestering the men and women with questions. The beauty and craftmanship they demonstrated struck me deeply.

He waved me over and proceeded to demonstrate how to remove any damaged bricks by sawing and chiseling through the blue crystalline mortar. He helped me with several bricks before backing away to monitor my work.

“Yes, be forceful, but cautious at the same time.”

“Isn’t that contradictory? And why bother, it’s just an approximation, I could just mortar the damaged ones over couldn’t I?”

“NO! The approximation is everything! It may not be accurate, but in its misrepresentation your labor will be precise. The work and effort you put into repairing this wall will directly correlate into how effectively your soul is repaired.”

“If you do a poor job on the walls, do not be surprised if your soul completely shatters.”

He patted the wall lovingly.

“These walls not only protect, they represent your city. This is your home, your hearth. Will it be a shabby mudhole or a grand castle? How hard you labor, how much determination you put into the wall’s perfection, will dictate just what your soul is to become.”

I sighed and nodded my assent; the sheriff looked at me approvingly for once.

He instructed me to chisel lighter, I didn’t want to damage the still standing portion of the wall. I glanced at it; there were several large cracks. I looked at him questioningly.

“You’ll chisel out and replace the damaged bricks in that crack when you’re done with the side there.”

I grunted and after some time, finished cleaning and removing the damaged bricks from the toothy looking side, followed by the ones in the crack. The sheriff felt the edges and nodded approvingly. He turned, there was a wheelbarrow filled with wet mortar, a basin of water, a trowel, and a myriad of carefully stacked blue bricks.

I closed and reopened my eyes, but the objects were still there. The sheriff then lifted the trowel and showed me how to lay mortar when patching the crack. I followed his instructions, first splashing the area and surrounding bricks with water, then laying mortar for the brick. I mortared the sides, slid the brick in, and followed his erudite instruction on my angle as I wiped away the excess mortar.

“Not bad, but not good enough.”

He handed me a carpenter’s square and a level. I followed his directions, watching the plumb line on the A shaped level. I used the butt of the trowel to tap the brick until it was level. I followed up with the square to guarantee its level vertically, again tapping with the back of the trowel where needed.

“You can use your square and the bricks still in the wall the next time for level when dealing with small gaps. When laying a new course, you must constantly check both the vertical and horizontal level. These walls form the citadel, and must be laid properly.”

I exhaled in agreement before continuing the work. Several hours later and the crack was repaired, fresh bricks and mortar blending in well. A hand fell onto my shoulder.

“Well done, Lord, now to show you how to lay a bed of mortar and run a course.”

He wet the standing wall before pouring some of the mortar onto a board. Using his wrist and the trowel, he quickly scraped a patch of mortar away, towards, away, towards him before expertly picking it up with the trowel. There was an art and aesthetic to this. As much of an ass as he was, I respected his skills. He looked at me, for the first time a smile on his face.

“What we do, we must strive to do well.”

The trowel flew to the empty section of wall. Mortar landed in a beautiful line as he adeptly changed the angle of his wrist. He then used the bottom of the trowel to create a series of indents in the bed. He took a brick, quickly scraped mortar thoroughly over the end piece, and laid it on the bed. The buttered end connected to the previous brick.

He pushed and tapped it careful into place, deftly scraping the excess mortar away without affecting the brick’s position. He did this several times before allowing me to take his place. My movements were slow, choppy, and inefficient.

I looked at him embarrassed, his smile was still visible.

“Practice, lots and lots of practice. There is something to be said for innate skill or ability, but mastery takes repetition and time. You are doing… Well.”

He paused, debating on my work. I was surprised at the accolade, but smart enough not to waste time basking in it. The wall was made of a bond with one layer of brick stretched end to end. I finished the first layer before the sheriff demonstrated how to make and use a gauge board and set a line.

“The citadel will not last forever, but if we do our duty correctly, it will last long enough.”

“Why can’t it last forever?” the hell if I wanted my soul to merely last long enough.

“Time takes everything, that is nature.”

I clenched my fists and grit my teeth. I laid another four courses of bricks over the twenty-foot gap. It helped me a little, the work was fulfilling. But deep down I couldn’t help but seethe at his words.

I finished filling the gap in the course of a day. There was a hearty clap from my observer.

“Well done. Truly well done, Lord.”

The clap was genuine, along with the praise. Though the sarcasm on Lord…

“Must you always say Lord that way?”

“I’ll address you properly when you’ve earned it, not a moment before.”

“So, what now?”

“Huh?”

“The wall is repaired, what now?”

“Repaired? Oh no. No, no, no… This section is repaired.”

He waved his hand and the wall scrolled horizontally with it. It flew past me for several seconds before stopping on another damaged section. There were two wispy soldiers holding spears standing there.

“These are your sentinels; they’ll help by protecting you and offering any advice on the repairs if need be. They cannot repair the wall for you, but they can instruct you if an issue arises.”

He turned to walk into the gray nebulous unknown.

“Wait, where are you going, and why do I need protection?”

“I’m your sheriff, the defenses must be manned, particularly at this time. The walls are damaged, and our enemies are without number, heed well your sentinels’ advice.”

He slowly faded into the smoke. The two soldiers gave a chest salute to the departing sheriff before turning to face me.

I examined the new forty-foot hole for a time. I looked at my tools and bricks and tried my hand at some math. I turned to the soldiers.

“You two are here to help me?”

“Yes, Lord!” They answered in unison.

I looked at the one-brick thick wall, with the quintessential square pattern. Looking up, I saw that the wall was only nine feet high. This was my soul, but the wall was pathetically week, only eight inches deep. Hmmm, there were other things that would add to its basic defense.

“How many bricks do we have left?”

“Why, as many as you require, Lord!”

I smiled, thoughts running wild in my mind.

“If I wanted to make a few new designs, say an arch, or some attachments to the wall, would you two be able to guide me through the process?”

“Of course, Lord!” Both shouted, thumping their chests.

I smiled. Nature may one day claim this citadel, but the hell it was going to do so without a fight.

A very long and bloody one if my designs weren’t half bad...

---------------------------------------------

I am no mere affinity!

Duty is what I am. Duty, to the Lord, to nature, but above all, to the citadel. I made the choice the divine wouldn’t when the lamia struck. Godsdamn affinities, relying on inclination instead of duty… She should have aided the Lord and failed him miserably, the both of them perishing. Even now nature calls to me, questioning what I have done and why I do not answer.

For now, I must work to hide the power emanating from the citadel. The purgari are coming, fortunately the Spire’s defenses will deter them. Some may slip through nonetheless.

A shame the Lord has no more cell phones…

-Preceptum 5-∞-17