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--- fiction:legacy:001 [2025/08/04 03:11] – tailkinker
+++ fiction:legacy:001 [2025/08/06 03:01] (current) – tailkinker
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-====== Chapter One:  The Dragonblood ======
+====== Chapter One:  The Girl In The Library ======
 "Set aside your usual casting foci," stated Professore Sorentino.  "You will discover on your desks a flare wand.  These wands are designed to attenuate the flow of your æther into a single spell---the Ignition spell.  Excess magical energy will be converted to light from the wand."
-Aldric scowled at the wand.  Unlike most of his classmates, he didn't require a magical focus.  Those born to their magic never did.  However, he picked it up and examined it.  His was a bright yellow, and had the Tarquinian numeral 6 on it.  Valenora continued to use Tarquinian numerals, long after most nations within the Realms had switched to Aulonikan numbers.
+Aldric scowled at the wand.  Unlike most of his classmates, he didn't //need// a magical focus.  Those born to their magic---Scions---never did.  Still, he picked up the wand and turned it in his hand.  His was a bright yellow, and had the Tarquinian numeral 6 on it.  Valenora still clung to those old numerals, long after the rest of the Realms had switched to Aulonikan numbers.
-"No doubt you've noticed that the wands are of various colours," continued the Professore, "and each bears a number."  He indicated the two dozen candles in four colours - red, blue, yellow and green - at the front of the class.  "As you cast, the wand will take //only// the energy you need to cast Ignition.  Excess energy will bleed off as light.  The goal of this exercise is to cast with the least amount of energy needed."
+“No doubt you’ve noticed the wands vary in colour and bear different numbers,” the Professore continued, gesturing to the two dozen candles arranged at the front of the class in four colours---red, blue, yellow, and green. “As you cast, the wand will draw only what energy is needed. Excess will be bled off as light. Your task is to cast //with precision//. The less energy you use, the more efficiently you conserve your strength.”
-Aldric's eyes scanned the candles, and he spotted his---the last of the yellow candles.  He raised his wand, then hesitated.
+Aldric's eyes scanned the row of candles and spotted his---the last of the yellow candles.  He raised his wand, then hesitated.
-It felt //wrong//---like the wand was already fighting him.  It was part of the problem he always had with magical foci.  His energy came from his bloodline;  one of his great-grandparents had slain a dragon, and in the process, absorbed some of the magical energy of the mighty beast.  This had tainted their family, and all of the dragonslayer's descendants had some degree of magical power.
+It already felt //wrong//.  Stiff.  Muffled.  Like trying to speak through cloth soaked in oil. It was always this way with foci. His magic didn’t want to go //through// anything. It wanted to //be//.
+The source was no mystery.  His great-grandfather---on his mother’s side---had slain a storm dragon and somehow absorbed its power. His descendants, to varying degrees, had been born with that magic inside them. Aldric was the strongest yet, and it had earned him a place at the Lyceum Arcana. But it hadn’t earned him acceptance.
+Most of the Lyceum’s students were children of privilege, not power. Noble-born, book-taught. They had earned their spells---laboriously and carefully. Aldric hadn’t.
+He shook the thoughts off and focused on the task. The wand movement for Ignition was a quarter-twist, then a jab. He summoned the spellform in his mind, shaped the æther, and whispered.
+"//Ignitio//."
+The candle burst into flames, but the wand glowed a harsh yellow.
+"Less energy," said the Professore.  "The less energy you use, the less it tires you."
+"Yes, Professore," said Aldric.  But how could he? The spellforms that were supposed to limit his output simply didn’t work. They were filters, but his magic surged like a river through crumbling dams.
+"Bloody dragonblood," sneered di Valencio.  He was the third son of the Signore di Valencio, as he was quick to inform any person he met.
+Aldric shot him a glare, but the Professore cut in.  "Curb your language," he snapped.  "All are equal in my classroom."
+Aldric glanced at his candle---it had gone out, enchanted to do so for repeated attempts.  He raised his wand again, summoned the mental images, and performed the quarter-twist and jab.  "//Incendio//."
+Again, the candle lit, and again, the wand flared.  The yellow light was painful, like looking into a forge.  Aldric sighed.
+"He's a danger to all of us," said di Valencio.  "A Scion has no place here."
+The words hit like a blow. Aldric turned toward him---angry, wounded, tired of the whispering. The power answered him before he could rein it in.
+The air thickened. Static raised gooseflesh. Sparks danced around his fingers---and then bolts of electricity leapt from his skin. One struck his desk, blackening the wood. The wand in his hand overloaded, flared white, and exploded, embedding shards in his palm.
+Half the candles in the room burst into flames.
+A chunk of molten glowsteel, torn from the ceiling, hit the floor with a hiss.
+"Aldric!  Calm yourself!"
+He gasped, forcing the storm back down. Willed the power into stillness. The room smelled of ozone and char.  His hand stung from the wand exploding in his grip.
+"//Dios Malinconico!//"  Professore Sorentino shook his head.  "You need to get your magic under control, young man."
+Di Valencio sneered again.  "Scions can't control themselves."
+Aldric stood, bowed quickly to the teacher, and stormed from the room---jaw tight, magic still whispering at the edge of his thoughts.
+-----
+At this hour, the library was usually deserted.  He stepped in, glancing up at the shelves of books, then moved to the map.  It took him but a few seconds to find the section on dragons, and he quickly made his way through the stacks.
-Aldric was the most powerful in his family to date;  powerful enough to earn a space at the Lyceum Arcana, the magical school of Valenora.  But Scions such as himself were rare at the Lyceum.  Most wizards were of noble blood, the idle rich whose position at the Lyceum was purchased.  They were born with prestige and wealth, but not with magical talent.
-He scowled, dragging his mind back to the exercise.  The wand motion for the Ignition spell was a quarter-twist followed by a jab;  he summoned the mental imagery needed to align the spell energies, and then jabbed his wand, whispering, "//Ignitio//."