Scene 10, closed: Off you go

A meeting with Ionjae's advisor.

Xillik'kea: Well, my boy, it has come time for you to make arangments for the betterment of your conjoring.

Ionjae: Am I not doing well?

Xillik'kea: No, you're doing wonderfully. That's just it. An amature conjurer can just pull at whatever will come, but a true master, although fully capable of calling anything at need, should have at his disposal something that when called will come willingly and eagerly assist. It's time for you to make a pact.

Ionjae: With what?

Xillik'kea: Well, that's up to you. I can make suggestions, but the end decision is your's; it'll be you fulfilling your end of the bargin, after all. Just chose carefully. A first pact is important. You can always make more, but it sets the tone. Some beings won't talk to you if you've entered into agreements they don't like. Some can tell who you're bound to, and they might move against you because of it. And yet, the most useful allies always have the most enemies, and the most powerful at that. Also, be careful of the terms of your agreement. On the one hand, you don't want to be left with insufficient help when you're counting on it, but on the other, you want to avoid terms too onerous to keep.

Wow, or Update

I just switched over to the new version of blogger, so let me know if there are any problems. Also, if you know of any new features that I'm failing to take advantage of, let me know.

Scene 9,closed: Assembly

The headmaster, a portly greying man of about 45, stood before the assembled student body. Nearly 700 faces, mostly human, looked up at him as he grasped the lecturn.

"Welcome, and welcome back. You have all, unless this is your first year with us, just participated in a time honored tradition, the summer break. It arose from agricultural needs and has been a part of school tradition for as long as there have been schools. It may seem odd to some of you that we call it summer break, as you may have gone home to find yourselves in the midst of any season imaginable. Snow, changing leaves, budding leaves, or even possibly summer may have greeted you along with your families. We choose to call it summer break for two reasons other than the obvious fact that it is summer here.

"First, as a school of magic, we value tradition and ritual quite highly. Second, it serves as a reminder of one of the things we strive here to teach: the Planes are vast and varried. This one simple fact will help you find your ways in the world better than any magic you may master here. Somewhere, there is a place for you, a place where your particular skills and assets will make you a king. Find that place and you find sucess.

"Here we will help you to look for that place, or at least to understand how to begin looking. As you do, remember caution. Right now I look out at 700 of you. By the time the summer solstice again approaches, if this year is like most, I will be looking at nearly 150 less of you. Some will have failed in the struggle for grades, but more will have failed in the struggle for existence. Instructors are lost too. We welcome a new abjuration professor; the Professor Blaine was lost to us when his wards failed and he was dragged screaming into Pandemonium. We teach you to play with the fabric of existence, and that is not safe. Be warned, and be careful.

"Take heart, though; the rewards are great. Find your places now, and you would be kings; find your places after graduation, and you will be gods."

Scene 7b, closed: Show me the way to go home

In the street outside the restaurant, Moll moved close to Varien in the chill air. The darkness was disorienting, as always. There was never a sun over Sigil; it simply fluctuated between day and night according to its own rhythm, mostly predictably, but sometimes not.

Varian silently reflected on the wisdom and utility of getting a girl drunk on the first date.

As they walked back towards the gate back to the school, they continued their conversation from earlier, exchanging ideas for magical products and golemical strategies, but mostly planning their next date. Moll wanted to take him to her next match. They were both pleased at finding someone as unprincipled, mercenary, and mercantile as themselves.

Turning the corner from the Way of Knives into the Courtyard of Justice, they came upon a wrinkled Gith dressed in undyed leather robes, preaching at the top of his lungs. A small crowd had gathered to hear what he had to say.

"The Gods are parasites! They serve no lasting purpose but to manipulate us. Think on our past. Have the Gods ever done anything purely good for us? No, not even the most 'good' of them ever does anything but serves his own purposes. And those purposes, even when intended, supposedly, to bring greater good, always bring suffering. The Gods struggle and strive for position among themselves, and use us as tools, easily broken and easily replaced.

"And for all this we give them our worship and sacrifice. I say, no more. I say, let them serve themsleves, and let us do the same. The Gith have long survived without Gods. Now we will show you the way."

No one jeered, no one threw anything, but grumbling about impiety was widespread. "He'll bring this whole place down," a day laborer muttered. Gesturing with his rough hands he continued, louder, to those around him "The Lady keeps us from the Gods' warring, but if this attitude catches on, they'll all come down on us."

An apothecary nearby jumped in. "No worries there. He's been preaching this for at least a year. Calls himself the Prophet of the Empty Heavens, and the only followers he has so far are a few other Gith. He can say what he wants, but the Gods have been good to us, not here of course, but everywhere else."