Vignette- The High Planes

The alarm crow rang through the tunnels of the Hold, bringing all motion to an immediate stop. Triple high followed by a low note. Ramone, no he went by Holla now, he reminded himself, blitzed for the southeast entrance.

The alarm was for a stomper, and that meant clean up duty.

Fuck!

Some days it didn’t pay to get out of bed in the morning. He darted through the twisting narrow passages, too low for a dilo to jump, too narrow for it to get around a human with a spear. Compys though, they didn’t have any trouble with the tunnels, good thing they were naturally cowardly. Kill a few and the rest would run.

He made the low ceilinged entrance chamber in a rush, pressing through the flood of bodies responding to the call. The view from the entrance was usually quite spectacular. An opening carved into the base of an upthrust spur of rock, nicknamed pride rock to give its scale context, it was high enough to give a commanding view of the surrounding prairie. A prairie unfortunately dominated by the massive Rex stomping its way across. At considerably over a hundred feet from nose to tail and probably 40 feet tall, it wasn’t a direct threat to humans. Holla snorted, mostly because humans weren’t even a full bite. Like mice to a grizzly.

But stompies didn’t roam alone. In their wake came a horde of smaller scavengers that cleaned up after the stompies. And the larger critters that fed on those scavengers in turn. Raptors, carno’s, compys, allosaurus, dilos and many more he just had to make up names for.

He snickered quietly as he ran, thinking about the Dilos. Unlike most of the dino’s, they’d spread well beyond the high planes. On first contact most holds called them raptors, or some variation. Too big to be anything else they said. Jokes on them. Like the rest of the wildlife wasn’t oversized. Those bastards were a threat. And it wasn’t a small one. The deployed hunter teams would hide and wait it out. He swelled a bit with pride. His people’s concealment spells were famous for a reason. Some other holds stood tall and strutted their stuff. That was suicide on the planes. Humans weren’t at the top of the food chain, and forgetting that brought death as sure as shooting.

No, the teams’d be fine, so long as their luck wasn’t terrible. But the hold itself was a different kettle of fish. Too many bodies coming in and out to hide the trails or the smell. Nor could they afford to have the full defensive suites of a hold, or even more so a Threshold. Stompies needed a lot of feeding, and a huge pile of mana would draw them like flies to shit. No, they were stuck with small magicks and the oldest kind of barriers. The ones made of courage and human ingenuity.

He popped his back and pulled his focus from a hip sheath. A Rex tooth, all of two and a half feet in length, looked more like a crappy sword than a magic focus. But he hadn’t risked his life retrieving it from the corpse of a bronto, through the hordes of swarming scavengers, for a sword. Fresh from the rex it had still had bits of magically potent flesh and blood on its roots when he found it. Still alive in all the ways that mattered for his spells. He’d spent weeks working to preserve that connection, to retain something of its former owner.

That food chain shit didn’t just apply to humans. A rex stood at the top, stompen along where he pleased. Scavengers fell far below it, and they knew it too. That knowledge was bred into them, where it had to be beaten into young humans. And a focus that tapped into that dominance was a powerful thing.

He took several deep trained breaths, stretching out his lungs and preparing his throat for the abuse to come. He started chanting while he did. Fitting the breaths between words with long practiced ease. He could whip out a spell with viscous speed when needed, just ask any of the young punks, but with time available he’d be a fool not to take his time. And Holla was no fool.

His mouth and lungs might be busy, but both were second nature to him at this point. It didn’t stop him from throwing a few nods to his original bro’s. Like Hopper, massive, and massively scarred from one of the first scavenger raids. Man had killed a dilo with a sharpened rock to keep it off Holla’s back. A bro like that was a gift from the heavens. They’d both learned their lessons since. No more going mano e mano with a dinosaur. It took discipline, balls and planning to hold their hold, and Hoppa had all three in spades. He stood like a rock in the chaos, snapping orders and chivvying volunteers into formations. Creating order wherever he strode.

Another nod went to Pernick, already drawing out a sound and smell ward with finicky perfection. Beast blood, teeth, bones and crystals making up elaborate geometric swirls and patterns across the floor. It wasn’t the tags that had made the man in the old world, but he still had the art in his soul. It just did something now, besides marking territory. Now if only he wasn’t such a perfectionist about other things too… He pushed the thought aside, he was damn lucky to have another pathfinder like him. His work would hide the commotion of the coming fight. Humans and scavengers might not be worth the effort for a bite, but a pile of bodies might bait in ol’ stopy himself. No one wanted that.

Chavo’s girl, god rest his soul, Consta, all angles and razor sharp edges, (thought only a fool told that cra-cra broad that!) was out reinforcing the spikes, an angled forest of stone and wood filled the outer half of the entrance hall. More effective replacements for the stalactites and stalagmites that filled the natural cavern before his peeps took it for their own. They’d to be repaired regularly, and the reinforcement spells she was laying down wouldn't last more than a few hours, but they worked. Some killing, but mostly slowing the scavengers down in the middle of the killing fields. Something they would need today.

The crow cawed again, one high note. They were here. He saw consta dart back through the forest as a boiling flood of compys, dilos and a few of the other small scavenger lizards flowed over the lip of the cave and fell onto the waiting spikes. None of the larger raptors could easily fit through the short, wide opening, but what could would be plenty of trouble on its own. Lizard blood poured out in a river, even with preternatural grace the prehistoric lizards just didn’t have room to dodge. Not while hemmed in on all sides and pushed from behind.

It wouldn’t stop them on its own. Already the first rows of spikes were being buried in bodies, providing a safe carpet for the next ranks to pass over. Some creatures stopped to feed. Why fight for it when there was a free buffet? But most continued on. Compy’s bonelessly slid around spikes while Dilo’s began to shatter them with well placed kicks, occasional bites and some of their limited acid spit. Good, he thought, let it all out now on the spikes!

It was dangerously predictable. The initial push and the first row of spikes half hidden behind the lip of the cave were there for a reason. It always worked… right up until it didn’t. Getting to expect your opponents to always react the same way was always dangerous. But it worked this time, so he put that thought aside for later. That was it for the cheap shot kills, now they’d have to work for it!

Taking the time to break through the spikes, the larger beasts had fallen considerably behind their ‘small’ cousins. Each still as large or larger than a human. The few coming through the cleared path ran into magical trap after trap. Quicksand and tar pits were a favorite but razor sharp clotheslines, sinew strings temporarily reinforced with magic, were a close third. They couldn’t afford a massive magical signature, but what they could do was focused on that path. It was frankly safer to go through the spikes. And as much as he wished they were dumb animals, they quickly figured that out. The pathway was abandoned for the dubious protections of the spikes.

Holla watched as the volunteers, off duty newbe hunters and the occasional trader, already marshalled into lines released their spells in volleys. Lighting bolts, sonic shrieks, shattering spells that turned stone spikes into claymores, emotional broadcasts of fear or overwhelming bloodlust that sent dino’s biting and slashing at their neighbors. Dozens of spell effects filled the chamber with unpleasantly loud noise. Echoing together in a deafening concerto despite the Pernicks' wards. Then the front line of the formation turned sideways and walked to the back. The next line stepped forward and added their own preferred enchantments to the mix. Even a fireball from a visiting DnDer, Holla made a note to talk to that hombre. Damn spell was a menace, setting fires in the planes was no small matter.

Rarely did a single spell from beginner guardians kill a beast, but enough together still did the trick. Add in that most were flinging large AOE’s and the overlapping damage fields were reaping lives like wheat. The problem was the lizards had large numbers too. The dino's were born from piles of eggs. Compy’s in the dozens but even dilo’s were born in packs of 6 to 10. They fought with each other and with the rest of the rex’s following to find enough food on a daily basis. The more that died here, the less ways the food would be split. Like the hogs, they went through cycles of growth followed by overpopulation and mass death events. The cycle was a bit longer than with Hogs, a year or so rather than 3 to 4 months. But if anything it was more brutal. A starving scavenger train had been known to mob their rex in desperation. Very few creatures survived that bloodbath, and the rex was always one of them. They weren’t to be fucked with! It wasn’t just their size. It was never just about the size of the peep. But the fight inside them. But like Hopper, sometimes you got the fight and the size in one badass package. Throw in magic and you just flat don’t mess with ol’ stompy. He only had to see a Rex throw down once to figure that shit out.

And that was his que. The compys, smaller and more agile were getting closer to the lines then he would like. Time to prove his handle wasn’t a myth. Holding the tooth aloft in a reverse grip he adjusted his chant to a powerful finish. He paused, just for a moment as the mana poured out of him in a controlled, precise cloud then let loose his name sakes roar. It passed through the amplifier of his chanted spell and over his focus, transformed from a human’s powerful scream of bloodlust into a Rex’s much more impressive howl. He stabbed downward with the tooth, together with the howl a spectral image of the Rexes head dropped through the caves ceiling, visible despite the low roof to every man and lizard there. The wide open jaws snapped shut on the approaching wave before slowly fading away. Leaving death and fear in its wake. Maybe one in three beasts died. Forced to believe, if just for a moment, that the beast and its howl were real. A moment was all it took. Even where death didn’t fully take, blood leaked from ears as previously agile creatures stumbled about as if they were drunk. Right on to the waiting spikes.

Fuck Ya. Take it bitches!

Reveling in the power of the moment he watched many of the survivors break and run. Too many casualties in too short of time on top of the dominance of a rex. Companies were never that brave to begin with. The high of the moment started to fade and Holla stumbled backwards, weezing. Channeling a beast so much more powerful than himself didn’t come without a cost. The strain it put on him was manageable so far. But if he was forced to trigger it again today, even after a substantial rest, then real long term damage would occur.

He had to have faith in his bros. He wasn’t alone, and his boys were not toothless. This wasn’t the first time they’d seen him throw down, so while the howl froze them up as much as any other sane being, it didn’t last as long. The spells started snapping out again and again as they cycled through the lines. In time the beasts recovered from and started charging forward once again, all but the compys. He couldn’t spot one of the cowardly shits anywhere.

But numbers did tell. The horde pushed on, breaking Consta’s spikes a bit at a time, or darting around them at speed. They got closer and closer. Then it was the back line's turn, the anchor line. Righteous bros, the lot of ‘em. Not his original homies, they had long since moved out to the thresholds. They dropped back in for a beer pretty often, but luck wasn’t with him today. Still, this lot wasn’t green, they were his army, his defense force, and they would hold strong, come hell and high water. He’d even managed to arm every one of them with the leg bone of a tiered hog. They were foci, not one of the Rune Father’s self powered affairs. But Holla’d worked out a trade with that hombre, some hiding spells in exchange for some help. They had all the boom but played to the style of the high plains. And in a small enclosed battlefield like this? There was a reason he’d spent what he had.

Steady rhythmic chanting rang out as phantasmal hogs took form on top of the scavenger hordes. Scavengers who jerked to a painful, immediate stop. Dropping from a decent speed, despite the spikes, to nothing in a split second. Holla’d tried it himself, at a much lower speed. It felt like running into a brick wall, only the bricks were applied to your insides as well as the out. A moment later the next line of scavengers plowed into them. The sounds of bones breaking and the snapping fury of teeth snapping out at whatever was causing them pain.

The chants shifted through the registers to discharge the absorbed motion and the piled broken and squirming bodies were flung about like ragdolls. Onto waiting spikes, the ceiling or just each other. The advance, already bloodied, dissolved into raw chaos. They didn’t yet have the mana reserves or willpower of the top tier, but what they did have they dumped into their spells with abandon. Absorb, dump, absorb, dump, a rapid debilitating, moral destroying crash. If they didn it fast enough, brutal enough it could cause a route. If it wasn’t they might have to retreat into the tunnels, using spears and wooden barriers to delay the beasts in a guerilla battle while the magi recovered mana and willpower. In a real emergency they could call on the Brotherhood or nearby holds for reinforcements.

Holla judged the flow of battle, not this time he thought, already the trailing reptiles were breaking off, feeding on the piled bodies instead of continuing the charge. The anchor line was starting to flag, but here and there the more experienced volunteer’s were already reforming, ready to step forward and open up a fresh new hell in the now overly concentrated enemies. Heh! Brave lads all. Time they got what they wanted.

“Cycle!” He called, or if he was being honest with himself, holla’d. Bruised throat or no, that he could still do!

No, they wouldn’t be retreating into the tunnels to fight like rats. Not this time. But if they had to be rats for his home to survive, he promised himself yet again, then rats they would be.

Chapter 6

“-so let's close on that. I want to see your original examples where matching a spell with a material gives you a synergistic, antagonistic and transformative effect. That means you don’t ask for help from your girlfriend this time Pepper, you got that?”

“Sorry, Rune Father.” The gorgeous redhead muttered contritely. Timothy let it go. It was one time and he did have some sympathy for overactive hormones.

“I think two weeks should be enough. I’m opening my materials closet to you for this. But?”

He paused waiting to see if they were paying attention. They didn’t disappoint. In mass the class chorused back, “Nothing paid, nothing learned.”

“Exactly, I’ve a number of crappy jobs, easy one's mind you, just unpleasant, that need doing so feel free to go wild. I had to spend several hours earlier on a sewer system, I would love to pass such jobs off on your deserving shoulders!” He paused, grinning at the grones and looks of utter disgust. A projection didn’t have to smell if he didn’t want it to after all. They had far fewer options. “So please, do go wild!” It wouldn’t be the first time they had to clean out shit, climb through the mud while working plant growth spells or a dozen other jobs that would make Mike Rowe blanche. They needed the practice and the Union needed a lot of infrastructure work. Two birds with one stone. Three really, if he added in the dampening effect such jobs had on their arrogance. It was hard to look down on the world when wading through a composting bin of pig shit. He did make sure the fees were appropriate to the job, and all of it went to their debts or pockets. Making a bit of money off them was a poor trade for the inevitable loss of trust and respect.

Then again, they had many other ways of paying for supplies and schooling. While they were required to pay their own way, nothing stopped a student from joining hunting teams. A fact many took advantage of, some to a fatal extent. It was a real loss when it happened, but he couldn’t shelter them too much either. Future leaders and pathfinders, they had to be wise enough to know how much they could handle. He gave what advice he could on risk versus rewards. Even sent them on their first few outings with experienced guardian teachers. After that, he could only hope for the best.

“If you want to source the materials yourself feel free. I approve of the creativity some of you bring. But, as always, the results, either way, are yours to keep. So don’t go half-assed on this. You must build up a library of spells, foci and enchantments. They’ll be absolutely necessary for your continued health and well being once you leave my tutelage.”

He paused to repeat the eye contact trick. They really were great students. He could tolerate anything but laziness. The dumbest bastard could be taught if he was just willing to work at it. Work extremely hard, no mistake, harder by far than the smarter students, but that remained a viable path. Fortunately that was a given here. Self awakening didn’t happen without a deep well of self motivation. The world outside and the occasional brush with death didn’t hurt either. Their own skills were all that stood between them and death.

Motivated and desperate to learn, what more could a teacher ask for? Even if the other side of ‘extremely self motivated’ was often ‘stubborn as hell’. “Any questions? I’ve been gone a good bit recently so call this a freeby.” He usually charged them for any extraneous questions. Even if he pumped the money back into the school program, it was an important reminder. ‘Nothing paid, nothing learned’ wasn’t just a cliche, it was damn near a fundamental truth for humans. Pay could be time, effort, pain or a dozen other things. But freely given information or lessons just didn’t stick. “You can ask about this lesson or anything else you can think of.” It didn’t take long. “Yes, Tory?”

The tall young man, first row 6 from the right, with his hand raised stood from the standard bean bag cushion, pausing briefly to straighten his posh Leather and hand woven cloth suit. Handles were rarely as simple as a physical characteristic. Otherwise gimpy or lefty would be way overused. Tory was a bit of an exception, a native of blood haven he took the British well dressed and formal to a cliche extent. Timothy made it a point not to say that aloud though, a personal style wasn’t a bad thing, in magic or fashion. “Graduation is approaching. Only a month and a half remain, Rune Father. Will you inform us of what we can expect to happen thereafter?”

Timothy sighed, he had expected this, but hoped to be wrong. “I’ve walked you all through the compromise that put you under my care, yes?” He checked for nods, no telling with youngsters when one of them might have been nodding off at an inopportune time. Thankfully, no disagreement echoed back to him. That didn’t mean they were listening, but it did mean he had tried. It was on their own heads after that. “I’m oathbound not to attempt to ‘recruit’ any of you. That makes it a bit difficult to make suggestions. And my guesses could very easily be taken as suggestions. But-” He gestured for Tory to sit down, reading in his open mouth and aggressive stance an unwillingness to leave it there,

“But I’ll try. I’ll say what I can. On graduation day after the ceremony, which should be disgustingly opulent, I was overruled of course,” He paused for the expected laugh, his disgust with the trappings of pomp and circumstance were hardly new, “you’ll likely be bombarded by a host of job offers. From holds looking for those of you skilled in utility runes, -” A fair number of them had picked up the skill, it was an easy way to make a nest egg while improving the comfort of their friends and families, and more power to them. It was one more task he could pawn off without appearing lazy. He was ‘giving’ them opportunities!

“-to a number of the more established thresholds hoping to gain true hold status. You’ll likely even get a few invitations from hunting teams as well. Trying to make a connection with an up and coming pathfinder. They’ll want to do as many favors for you as possible. Be very careful what debts you run up, magic being magic, you’ll have to pay them back. Also known as?”

“Karma’s a bitch!” they chorused.

“Indeed.” He hesitated briefly then continued on grimmly, “I’ve told you this before but it bears repeating. Guardians must look to a Pathfinder. The closer they are to you, the easier it will be to pick up new and better enchantments or spells. A necessity when growth makes old spells obsolete. Any one of you, or all of you, can have a coterie of your choice. Be damn careful who you pick. While having minions can be handy, their actions will also reflect on you. If they run around pissing everyone off then you’re going to get it. The same or worse problem if you use this chance to right some childhood wrongs. Do NOT pick someone poor schmuck that picked on you. It might be tempting to have them close enough to regularly beat your success into their scrub minds. Don’t do it. It’s happened before and can end VERY badly. Remember always, ‘no matter how subtle the wizard?” He quoted from one of his favorite old world authors.

“A knife between the shoulder blades will severely cramp his style!” The chorused back.

“Exactly! We are powerful, not invulnerable. Don’t go making pointless enemies. Don’t take your exalted status as a license to act like an asshole. Karma may be a bitch, but if I have to clean up after you… well, let’s leave it there.” No point in finishing that. If he had to act any threat he made now would just be a warning. No point making his job harder than it needed to be. He really dreaded the thought. But people being people, good students or no, he would need to ‘deal’ with at least one of them in time. Bensen was a constant reminder of depths to which humans could stoop. He wasn’t the only one by any stretch, just the closest one.

Tory, looking decidedly mulish, raised his hand again. “I’m going to regret this, aren't I? Fine, go ahead.”

“I appreciate the advice, Runefather, but can’t you give us something a bit more tailored to each of us? You know our strengths and weaknesses. A bit of direction on where to go from here would be really helpful. I don’t think that is asking too much!”

He wasn’t completely wrong, but that didn’t mean Timothy had to drink the kool aid. “Giving you that direction would break my oath and make me a vast number of powerful enemies. No Tory, you aren’t going to guilt me into suicide. I have high confidence in the lot of you. You’ll find your own way.”

Tory had the grace to look embarrassed, but straightened his shoulders and spoke on stubbornly. “My apologies, Rune father. That still appears to leave us out in the cold without a map to shelter.”

“You can look at it that way. I prefer to think of it as throwing the chicks out of the nest.” Probably could have thought of a more kind analogy, but meh. Truth was truth. “You’re all almost ready to fly. Trying to dictate exactly what you should do or where you should do it would be like clipping your wings. I’ve too much respect for your originality and drive to do that, even without the oath.” He grinned at the quietly muttering that evoked. Some in agreement, some following in Tory’s footsteps. It didn’t matter either way. The time was fast approaching when they would have to attempt flight. That or impact the ground at a significant speed.

They were almost ready. The world was bright and waiting for them. He just hoped that most would survive the coming challenges. He knew that not all of them would and that unfortunately was how it had to be. Enough room to grow was also enough room to get yourself killed.

“Anyone else have any questions?

A truly petite young lady bounced up and down with her hand raised in the second of 8 rows, about ten students in from the left wall. He had to suppress a smile at the sight of her. Rachel, though he should think of her as Hummingbird, was his first student to self-awaken. The first in the entire Union as best he could tell. An overabundance of energy that probably would have gotten her regular Riddlin doses in the old world combined with a home life that was beyond shitty still managed to turn out a sweet, creative, self motivated young woman. His apprentice before this school kicked off, it was hard to avoid favoring her. “Yes Hummingbird?” She was practically vibrating like her namesake.

“ThankyouRunefather!”

She froze as his congenial smile turned to a glare. He didn’t need to say anything either. It was not a new issue. Her overabundance of energy could still be a bit trying, but she had the willpower to control it. If she bothered. Gulping, she started over. “Thank you for calling on me Runefather.” It wasn’t that she had to always slow it down. But it should always be a choice, not a default.

“Much better, what’s your question?”

“If knowing a name gives power over the other person, why don’t handles or titles?”

A good question, if a bit late to ask. She’d been ‘Hummingbird’ for the better part of 4 years. “First, let me help you, and I assume many of the rest of you,” He glanced through the rather large class, using the old stage trick to give the impression of individual eye contact, “to break that misconception. Knowing a name does not directly give you power over another. All a name does is give you a connection to a person.”

He paused then emphasized sardonically, “All.”

“Let's consider battle magic for a moment. Any spell you care to cast must have a targeting component. Either hit that spot. Hit that person or some variation on that theme. Many defensive enchantments take advantage of this. Using a bit of skill or misdirection to avoid an attack is always preferable to tanking the hit, yes?” In his head he pictured a little asian man saying ‘best block, no be there!”

“There are lots of ways to do that, Rapid movement, illusionary doubles, perception filters to make a form appear to be anywhere but where it is. Even aural defenses, for when you just have to tank the hit, affect only your immediate surroundings. If the attack doesn’t travel through those surroundings it’s not going to help much is it?”

“But, if you have a tight connection to a person none of that applies. Spells can travel down the connection, bypassing aural defenses. Ignoring perception filters and completely unbothered by illusions, deception or rapid movement. Do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars.” How long would it be before even such a simple reference would go over his class's head? He had to watch his idioms a bit better.

He pressed on, “Like I said, a connection is ALL it is. A weakness that you can abuse to great effect, but it has to be used! Now, many of you are starting to feel your testicles or ovaries shriveling up in fear. Relax. Spells can travel on such connections. They don’t do it by default. I don’t know of a single spell or enchantment that is being provided to guardians that is capable of such a thing. Not yet at least, and I will come down like a sack of bricks on any of you who change that!” It couldn’t be used on the beasts of the field, did they even have names? If so it wasn’t something humans were likely to learn. Not yet at least. No, it would only be used on other humans. “It’s only pathfinders that are capable of it. And even there a connection can be used defensively as well. It’s not just mutually assured destruction. If you can create a strong connection with someone else, then you can set defensive enchantments against him, or her, in the same not-space that name based attacks travel through.” A damn good thing too. He had a special room in his tower with elaborate runic defenses against the true names of every pathfinder in the union. None of them had been very discrete in those early years. Then again, neither had he.

Dammit!

“Now back to your starting question. It’s a bit more complicated than you think. Let’s say your name was ‘Charlie.” You grew up hearing that name, when it’s spoken your attention snaps to the speaker. That's its purpose. Over time it’s become integral to who you are. If you don’t believe me just picture a parent speaking your first, middle and last name together!”

He paused to allow the short snorts of laughter to pass. “A name is an intimate hook into a person's identity, but by itself it’s not enough to create a stable connection. How many Charlie’s do you think exist? If I cast a spell at ‘Charlie’ with no other info included, how the hell could it target the ‘right’ Charlie? An identity based connection is a gestalt of everything you dig up about a person rolled together into a hot mess, put on a hook and tossed into the magic ether hoping to get a bite. Have you met the person? Do you know how they speak, how they walk, how they think? Who are they close to and what do they fear? Even an image of what they look like can help. It’s not just a name that’s needed. But a name is probably the most powerful hook of all, and hiding it just makes sense.”

“But if the name is such a good hook, what is a title, or even a handle? It’s a descriptor of something you’ve done. Even if it's an important event, or hell a defining moment in your life, it's still just a component of who you are. One component in the mess of an entire life, even a short life like yours.” He paused to enjoy their indignant looks and growls. “You’re so much more than just a title, one silly event or personality trait, right ‘Hummingbird’.” He raised an eyebrow as he glanced at her suddenly blushing face. She would have to get over that. It didn’t pay to feel shame at even a portion of who you are. If it was worthy of shame then it needed to be changed, otherwise it had to be embraced. “It’s a frail hook on 20 pound test when you're fishing for catfish.” That hadn’t stopped Timothy from trying. Captured images combined with a handle and a lot of observation. With enough effort he had forged a connection, but it was expensive in time, mana and actual components. Redoing the same thing with access to the name? A day of observation and it didn’t require the expensive material components. A freaking waste of a Soul Pearl really. Even with all that, the named connection was stronger and easier to use. Damn him for not realizing that earlier and keeping his name secret.

“Don’t get complacent about it, though. If you use your handle long enough it can become a name. Thinking of yourself as your title instead of your name should be a red flag. You probably need to change your handle.” Regularly changing handles, that was going to cause all kinds of chaos. Long term loans just weren’t going to be a thing for individuals.

“It’s a balancing act, what you let others call you and for how long. A good reputation and name recognition can grant power, both the social intangible kind and the belief backed very tangible kind. But it can also be an achilles heel. Balancing between the two ends of the spectrum is an art form no one’s fully figured out yet.”

He smiled wryly, it felt good to drop that on them. Living as long as he expected to, it was likely to be a massive problem. If only, like the saying went, misery shared was misery halved. He looked out over the suddenly sober and nervous class.

“Good luck!”

Recognizing a great exit line when he spoke it, his form twitched and contracted on itself like a crumpled piece of paper, growing smaller and smaller till it disappeared entirely. An unnecessary flourish perhaps, but a bit of mystery kept them on their toes. His consciousness disengaged from the collapsing construct and he became aware of his real body once more. Sitting upright and straight backed on a small hard cushion he looked down into his scrying pool, watching as they jockeyed around a bit then began to file out. If they never quite knew what his limits were or when he was watching then they were less likely to test those limits. And highly motivated and creative children would try any boundary they could find. They weren’t the type to calmly follow instructions just because they were instructions.

Hell some of them weren’t even what he could call ‘good’ kids. He’d put a stop to the outright physical violence the first week. No need to let a childhood spat or bit of bullying ruin the budding relationships this school was opened for! Revenge fantasies might be great motivation, but the fallout was not something they had enough slack to tolerate.

The less obvious forms of status jockeying were quite common. Even if he could have stopped it, difficult for one man with that many students, he would not have. They had to learn to stand up for themselves anyway, and at least here it was non-lethal and mostly non-permanent. Every pathfinder had a seat on the council of whatever hold or threshold they decided to commit to. A future leader could not be someone who was easily pushed around. They must learn that now.

He paused to enjoy the complaints and protests, apparently there had been more questions. Better luck next time youngsters. He stepped on that thought. They were mostly in the range of 16-20, hardly children. But hanging back to let others test the waters did have consequences. He followed a few of the more rambunctious ‘young adults’ for a bit before blanking the pool. Not that he didn’t trust them… but he wasn’t an idiot. Hormones could cause alot of idiocy, and not just with the opposite sex. Raw aggression was a useful trait, just so long as it was focused on the beasts and not each other.

Standing up he dusted off his pants before rising to his tip toes and reaching for the ceiling. A long session of teaching on top of repairing the sewage system put a bit of a crick in his back. Even excellent posture could only help so much. Not something he had practiced in the old world, but a necessity in the new. Sure he could regenerate his body back to the late 20’s, but that wouldn’t make growing old with a compressed spine any more pleasant.

He sighed again, there wasn’t much time before his meeting with Jenney and he desperately needed a break. So much time spent on other people's projects. He shouldn’t complain, even in the privacy of his own head, but it wore at him. If only he could skip this humdrum and work on his studies there was no telling how far he would have gotten by now.

With an effort of will he froze that line of thought. It was disingenuous and dishonest. Yes he spent a considerable amount of time on these small tasks. But it wasn’t strictly wasted time. He had received more than one inspiration or insight into how an enchantment could be best used, not just how to best enchant it. An important distinction where an optimal enchantment might take a full minute to arrange and cast, but that would make a wretched weapon. They needed practical, useful inventions, not the idealistic refuse of an ivory tower.

Apparently he needed to remind himself of that fact. He strode over to the access shaft and dropped down a floor, then over to the side of the main room where a massive heavily reinforced door stood. Made from essence wood and banded with the essence of copper it was an obstacle in its own right even if it wasn't locked. It was far too heavy for him to shift by hand.

It wasn’t strictly necessary. The contents weren’t exactly cheap, but neither were they irreplaceable. It was just that they were somewhat private. Placing his hand on a large spidery rune in the center he pulsed it active. Allowing it to test and verify that he was indeed the only authorized person. Satisfied the rune activated to separate the solid banded wood into two halves. No bar was needed when there were hinges on both sides of a solid wood door. After the split the enchantment activated the hog bone handles on the back side to drag them open with a grinding shriek.

The large room revealed was dotted about with small pedestals. Each enshrining a prototype of some kind.

A failed prototype.

A floating canoe next to a snake stomach fettish. An attempt to use a material removal rune as a form of teleportation. It could already grab a piece of something and transfer it through the magic field to his location, all he had needed to do was make it come out intact on the other side after being ‘swallowed’. The fetish sitting on top of the plinth was the pinnacle of that effort. And a pinnacle failure. Nothing that traveled the twisting magic path came through intact.

A lead hollow sphere sat on another plinth. An exercise in futility. Attempting to use the nullifying nature of lead to make a defensive enchantment. To strip the meaning from an attack and leave just the mana. Like killing a general and leaving the troops confused and worthless. The world craved meaning and while you could go the other way, it was at a steep disadvantage. Lead and magic just didn’t have the juice to accomplish anything.

So many plinths, so many failures. None could accomplish what was originally intended. But each was also a useful invention. The canoe made a great luggage dolly while the snake stomach fettish’s failure to swallow led him to a piranha head that could take a real bite! It was now one of the most common offensive charms in the Union. Even the lead ball had led to a useful privacy ward.

An even dozen such projects filled the back half of the room. A reminder of failure, yes. A reminder to keep his ego under control. But also a valuable lesson. Even failures were rarely wasted time. Just misaligned. The shadow dimension enchantment might be the same thing. A wretched excuse for long range travel, but what could it be an excellent use for?

A philosophy as much as a lesson. Not just applicable to study and prototypes. It also stood him in good stead while teaching. The lesson he planned to teach was not always the lesson learned. They would take the damndest things from it. Unintended but also fantastic. Creativity could turn the simple and commonplace into a brand new wonder. All he had to do was keep an open mind.

He nodded, refreshed once again. This, this was the proper mindset to have when he went to talk with his sister. It wasn’t just a failure to fix an insolvable problem. It was a way to find new solutions for problems he hadn’t noticed.