Where are we flying on the Magister's invisible tower? I have no idea; they didn't tell us. It's a full-fledged flying house in the form of a tower. Two floors, five rooms, including a medium-sized warehouse. Quite a nice flying dacha. Which I didn't know about. And what do we even know about the Magister? I hadn't even seen him once before he came to visit; he either didn't leave The Tower or we didn't cross paths. Like I said—a Hermit.
I am absolutely certain that the Magister has a lot of free time. And also that the mentor is a sadist who perceives the learning process more as entertainment for his beloved self, and me as a hamster whose behavior should entertain his magisterial highness. And to make the entertainment go more briskly, he comes up with different labyrinths and trials. It should, of course, be wildly insulting, but as long as I'm getting information, I can endure it. And the Magister is the best available Source of Magic information. And the way the elf conducts the training is proof of that.
And yes, in case anyone forgot, we have a class-based society here. It's just not as noticeable due to magic. I am currently at the ve-e-e-ery bottom of the elven social ladder, the daughter of a simple laborer, with no Magic Achievements. And the Magister is a trained Mage, owning a settlement near the borders of Quel'Thalas, far from the Sunwell. Still not the highest position, but compared to me or my parents... So such an attitude is actually not surprising. Just as it's not surprising that some of the mages successfully bolted to Dalaran and are doing fine. And no, I'm not complaining; at least at the moment (while I'm not being harassed, but just being taught hardcore), I'm quite satisfied.
After each assignment, the Magister rebuilt the obstacle course to match the theme. For example, last time we studied troll magic. Is it any wonder that among the golems were flying wooden masks made of planks, with patterns and decorated with feathers? The masks tried to stick to the face and paralyze. From time to time, they succeeded. Also, the masks would sit on deactivated golems, "resurrecting" them. Very informative, actually. And it forces one to react to specific events in a specific way.
I also like the fact that there is no strict limit on forces when performing a task. If I need to call Veni, it's allowed. If I assemble just spiders or golems for breaking through traps instead of spider-mines—it's allowed.
When I proposed the idea of finally making a full-fledged scout bird, the Magister wrote down the titles of books on the subject in The Library and said: "Listen, get to work."
And I built it! For this, I had to use both my machine and the forge with the help of, well, the blacksmith.
Of course, the most difficult part isn't the blacksmithing, but making this thing fly and perform its functions. I figured out the flight easily: several standard "scripts," for example, circling in an area. A spell is still responsible for levitation, not the flapping of wings; the wings are needed precisely for maneuvering. If necessary, I command the bird to fly to a point, and it circles there until it receives a new command. Simple, but tasteful.
As for the camera, to see what the bird sees... An analog of shamanic far sight, only magical. A medium-level spell requiring concentration or a large amount of Mana. Essentially just the ability to focus and see something located at a great distance. Not optics, cooler. As far as I know, such spells exist in many schools of magic. Eye of Kilrogg for warlocks, scout owl for night elves, and the shamanic far sight itself. And there can be all sorts of effects, like seeing the invisible, which will come in handy for me. But I don't just want a spell; I want to stitch it into the mechanism, hang it on the golem. And that can be done too, if there's a will. After all, magic is Mana and the will of the caster, first and foremost.
One can use inscribed spell signs on the eyepieces through which the bird sees. And put the second eyepiece on the mage's eye in the form of a monocle... And over the bird's eyepiece, put different attachments sensitive to magic, heat, movement. In short, my "eye" now sees for about ten kilometers. And so as not to mess around with a monocle, I made myself something like steampunk goggles with different lenses. Or rather, I pressured the blacksmith, taking advantage of the fact that I am now the Magister's apprentice. I watched him work, trying to remember. And I was satisfied with the result.
The Magister, when I assembled my project, immediately suggested using the bird for aiming spells. And he stuffed me into a dark room with a dozen golems, wearing the aiming goggles and with the bird.
"All you need to do, young lady, is hit the targets. Proceed."
So, I'm in a room with a radius of about ten meters, facing a dozen golems, and my only vision is through the eyes of a bird. It was a fascinating experience where my skills didn't work at all. Simply because when you look through a bird's eyes, the perspective shifts. I quickly found out that pinpoint magic wouldn't help much there; you either guide Arcane arrows or blast area-of-effect spells. You watch the direction of your hands, estimate the vector, and blast "somewhere over there." No joke, I learned a lot of new things. And I took a few hits to the ribs from the golems—I was forbidden from raising a shield.
Actually, I liked this lesson, just like the labyrinth. Because some Loa allow for the raising of Troll mummies. That is to say, yes, these were battles with golems that (according to the Magister) behaved like the Undead he had seen. And fighting through a bird is also very interesting and new. All of this will be useful to me in the future, especially since the bird can be improved later. But for now, it's worth focusing on Trolls.
A very, very interesting topic. Unlike Elves and other mages, the power of Trolls is divided into two conventional parts: the general potential of the Biotics user and the power of the spirits. While the first is quite standard and uses ordinary spells (from their Magic Schools), the second depends heavily on the specific Loa a particular Troll worships. Blood magic, necromancy, voodoo, foresight, Resurrection—it's all there. Moreover, unless the Troll is someone famous, you have no idea what powers they might have. You have to be prepared for anything, and I have no problem with that.
But the subsequent lesson on the Undead, I didn't like at all. It solidified my position that the Magister is a damn sadist.
Basically, the long-eared one noticed my interest in various types of Undead and decided to conduct a lesson. At the same time, he reminded me that necromancy is bad—thanks a lot, as if I didn't know.
"I see, young lady, that you have taken an interest in the products of a science such as necromancy. Allow me to point out that our rulers punish such hobbies severely. And I would be quite disappointed to learn that you have become a follower of this particular school of magic."
I nodded, of course.
"I am quite satisfied with golems and mechanisms, teacher. Skeletons and Zombies don't look particularly promising. But knowing what they can do and how to fight them seems useful to me, Magister."
The Elf measured me with a look.
"The Necrolytes and Death Knights of the Orcs would disagree with you," the Elf pretended to think, maintaining the appearance of a statue, "proceed to the second platform. I believe we can arrange a small practical session."
I physically felt a catch, but I didn't refuse. Knowledge about the Undead will be very necessary for me in the future. So, at the appointed time, I was in the specified circular hall. The hall was large, with a magical circuit on the floor and a light vibration of strings in the walls. Obviously, it was a ritual hall or something similar, with protection. Unfortunately, my knowledge isn't nearly enough to copy this. At least, not yet.
In the room stood about a dozen golems—unusually thin stone mannequins—and the Magister himself.
"Come in, Davilinia. Come in," the door closed behind me with a loud and unnerving bang, "I felt that a visual demonstration of your error would be entirely appropriate. Agreed?"
I really, really wanted to say "no." My gut was screaming: it's a trap! Refuse immediately! But... I was curious. This long-eared sadist clearly has a very wide range of knowledge. He clearly participated in the wars with the Horde, went on adventures, and who knows what else. And now he was ready to share information, albeit in his own manner. Plus, he's higher in status; what if he refuses to teach me? I knew I'd regret this, but...
"Yes, Magister. Agreed."
The Mage nodded, expressing no emotion at all, simply measuring me once more with a cold gaze.
"Good. Now, the product of necromancy has many similarities with the golem-crafting you are already used to, but there are plenty of differences as well. Not without reason; death energy works on different principles but uses similar methods. To create a golem, we take a doll, insert a control scroll, and use the forces of magic to turn the doll into a puppet. Necromancy uses the soul of a victim for the same purposes, and necro-energy mummifies the body, giving it strength and durability."
He snapped his fingers, and the thin golems changed. Having already cast "magical vision" in advance so as not to miss anything, I nodded. An illusion, albeit a very good one. I really didn't want to look without "vision." Suddenly, a short pulse hit, and I was blinded for a second, rubbing my eyes. Opening them, I recoiled. The magical vision had gone out, giving me the chance to "enjoy" the sight of stale Zombies. With arrows sticking out of their bodies, wounds, in tattered clothes, and visibly rotting. Apparently, the Magister liked my reaction, and he began to speak:
"Do not be distracted from the topic of the lesson, young lady. You will have time to work with illusion magic later. The topic of today's practice is different. As you may notice, one of the aspects that makes the Undead so dangerous to the living is their appearance. What do you feel, looking at these creations," he paused, "of necromancy?"
That I'm nauseous. A stale Zombie looks disgusting. Very.
"Revolting. I don't feel very well, Magister."
The Mage nodded.
"I agree," you have the same stone face, 'he agrees,' "that is one of the factors. You see a dead man, and even if you don't know him, the appearance is quite repulsive. Demoralizing. But it's not just about the appearance."
And then I just gagged. It was everything at once. A hellish stench hit my nose, twisting my insides; my head began to spin, everything blurred. My legs gave way, and I broke into a cough. Only the Magister's voice remained as indifferent and clear as ever, screwing into my skull.
"The second factor. The smell, the diseases. If you are unable to stand on your feet, if your ears are ringing and your eyes are watering, you become a much worse fighter. It's even worse if necro-energy presses down on you as a living being. Weakness will prevent you from striking. It will prevent you from resisting."
As if I didn't understand? The sensations were very much below average; my head was heavy, I felt like I had a fever, my throat was burning, nausea—I don't know what else, but I felt terrible. I thought I heard a thumping. Only the Magister's voice reliably penetrated my head.
"One must not forget about magical sensitivity. The Sunwell gives us strength, but it also makes us partially magical beings. Magic penetrates us, leaving its mark. But what happens if, instead of the power of the Sunwell, death energy begins to flow through you? Alien, disgusting. Vile. What do you say?"
I was swaying, my eyes watering. I don't know what you did, you jerk, but I hate you. The Mage kept talking and talking.
"Do not underestimate the Undead. Death energy is no better or worse than other spheres of magic, such as Holy, Arcana, the Barrens, or the Fel used by Orcs and Demons. Even the shamanism of those beasts makes sense in this context. But not when you are unprepared. Not when it suppresses you, burns your senses, replacing fine wine with a chemical Goblin tincture made from radiator waste. When your magic-sensitive body, which absorbs magic, is burned by alien energy, what will you do? How will you protect yourself? Will you be able to fight, or will you lose to this power? Davilinia, begin."
Now I definitely heard footsteps. Those golems were moving. Approaching. I felt so bad. The energy was pressing so hard, plus this nausea, eyes watering... I'm not a Paladin for the Holy light to protect me... I am... a Mage.
The strings around me responded reluctantly, not very accurately, but that didn't matter. I wasn't aiming precisely; I wouldn't have been able to anyway. What mattered was that they reacted, and a second later, Mana splashed out, turning everything around into Frost, freezing the advancing golems and the entire hall, pushing out the alien energy.
"Like that," I exhaled, enjoying the fact that I felt wonderful again.
I stood up from my knees, which I had apparently fallen onto, and met the Magister's gaze. He was still looking on indifferently, though a space of about one meter free of ice had formed around the Mage's body. Naturally, he had expected something like this and shielded himself in time.
Now that the energy had dissipated, the negative effects let go, and I took a deep breath before answering:
"I will flood everything with magic more familiar to me. I'll create a shield. I'll lower the concentration of Fel chaos. Magister, that wasn't a real effect, right?"
The Mage showed a small chest hanging near him.
"If you mean the diseases, young lady, then you are right. This is not the time or place to use a plague on you, putting subjects at risk. Fortunately, I found an artifact in my stores imbued with the appropriate energy. Remember what you saw. And henceforth, do not underestimate magic. Now go, and clean yourself up. My apprentice must look presentable before Their gaze."
I looked at myself and shuddered. Even if I were a guy, semi-digested lunch on my clothes is not what you want to see there. Plus a tear-stained face and so on. And I'm still a bit shaky. Gross!
As for the lesson, it really turned out to be more than informative. Both in terms of interacting with the Undead and as a visual demonstration of "what happens if an Elf starts eating death energy instead of Sunwell magic while still being alive." A zero-out-of-ten experience, I'd say. And it's for things like this that I endure all the Magister's trials. I'm not just wary of Trolls now, but of necromancy too. I suspect that was one of the goals of this session. Congratulations, it worked.
Two weeks have passed since then. One not-so-funny day, a bird flew into the window of my house with a letter from the Magister.
*Young lady, you are to arrive at the entrance of the tower tomorrow morning for a practical session. Inform your parents that this will take about five days.*
*Magister Aldanos Dawnwalker.*
Well, that's how I ended up here. I arrived in the morning with a backpack stuffed with supplies, gloves, and an apprentice's staff. At the entrance to the tower, I found Venidan, also geared up for travel. A bow, a cloak, a leather vest, pants, gloves, and bracers. She noticed me immediately.
"So you're here too, Midget?"
I nodded, deciding not to take offense.
"Why do you think he called us? Especially you."
The Elf shrugged.
"Well, your Magister contacted our officer and said that one Micro-Sorceress would need to be covered by someone experienced. And I fit the bill. Naturally, I couldn't refuse. What if you get a scratch?"
I snorted.
"I get that the Magister called you. But I still don't understand why."
A voice from behind made me jump, while Venidan snorted with laughter at the sight.
"In that case, I should add a few more lessons on teamwork. Follow me," the Magister said and walked away.
The destination of the journey turned out to be the Mage's personal transport. A huge disk, ten meters in diameter, upon which sat an entire miniature magic tower. Under the disk was a blue crystal; the energy from the construction was radiating quite strongly. By the way, if you didn't know, this tower looks like part of the construction of the Mage's tower itself from the outside. But in fact, it's something like a flying house. Small, with a turret on the roof, but it flies. And it has an Invisibility mode, because there's no need for peeping.
So, that's what we flew on. We stowed our things (the two of us were given one room with bunks and a wardrobe) and the tower took off. I settled outside; after all, this was my first experience with such a long flight. No problems with the wind; the tower is covered by a Magic Shield, so you don't get blown off. I could take the opportunity to appreciate the world from a bird's-eye view as we flew over the mountains. South, it seemed, toward the lands of Humans.
Naturally, I immediately examined this thing with magical vision. There were many Enchantments on the disk, only some of which were familiar to me. I suspect everything is here. The flight itself, stabilization, inertia compensation, and magic that removes the wind. On the tower itself, there was reinforcement, Magic Defense, and something else I didn't quite understand. I won't argue; I sketched everything I could make out. But that can be dealt with later; I've flown off to who-knows-where for the first time! And I won't even be punished for it!
Below us were forests, fields, mountains, and various infrastructure. For the first couple of hours, the buildings we flew over were purely Elven. Different, but unified in design.
I'm looking at this through my new optics. Flight goggles Enchanted for zooming with a magical vision effect and different lenses. For controlling the bird, zooming, with an aiming reticle—various ones. Two crystals on both sides; whichever one you feed Mana into, that effect works. Convenient. Actually, I'm surveying the surroundings through them. I'm sitting on the edge of the disk, watching what's where. It might not be very "Elven" beautiful, but it looks steampunk; I like it. Both my gear and the places we're flying over after crossing the mountain range.
"Interesting."
Venidan, sitting down next to me, smirked.
"Those are Human buildings. Looks like we've left Quel'Thalas. Seen anything like that before?"
I didn't rush to answer, looking around. Instead of the light but stylish, soaring Elven buildings, we were met below by a harsh and heavy Middle Ages—houses made of rough blocks, with tiled or thatched roofs, smoke billowing from chimneys. With Elves, everything is on magic, eco-friendly. With these guys—no. And the pause was dragging on; I should answer.
"I've never seen anyone but Elves," with a few clicks, I zoomed in closer, examining ordinary peasant houses from around the seventeenth century, "the village looks a bit empty. I don't see much movement."
Venidan laughed again.
"You can tell right away you're a city girl. These aren't Elves; they don't have golems. They're working. In the field, in the forest, somewhere else. Don't worry, you'll see more."
I hope so; I'm truly curious about what the Humans are like here. For now, I'll look at other things, because far more than just the architecture has changed. Even the green crowns of the trees and the grass feel different. It doesn't smell of "Elven spirit" here. Though I'm not talking about the smell, of course, but the magical sensation.
The forest, which was previously literally saturated with magic, became ordinary, even empty. No, I can still feel the strings in the trees below us, but it's just a sensation. What felt like tense, powerful ropes filled with power became like shadows. They are there, they can be seen, but they melt at the slightest touch. After what I saw in Quel'Thalas, it's strange. I'm almost certain I couldn't create a treant here like I did then. The strings would just snap from the Mana infusion. How fascinating.
"Curious, where are we even flying? Any ideas?"
Venidan thought for a moment.
"There are plenty of interesting places around here, from what I've heard. Orc reservations, Troll tribes, Dalaran is somewhere around here. Trolls had a lot of fortresses in these parts. In the mountains, in the middle of the jungles. Lots of places."
Continuing to peer at the buildings below, I noted:
"Very informative. You've never been here yourself either, right?"
"Well, yeah," the Rogue agreed easily, "what did you expect? I can't say I know even Quel'Thalas that well, let alone the Human kingdoms. In fact, I don't think that many Elves have explored even all of Quel'Thalas, so your complaint is strange. Kingdoms are big, you know. And they aren't always happy to see us there."
I just waved her off, continuing to look down. Mountains ahead, and we're flying exactly in that direction. To the reservations, or are there Trolls there?
And as for "not happy," Venidan is right, of course. Prejudices are hard to eradicate. Both among Elves and Humans. It's almost ironic that in terms of disrespecting one's neighbor, Elves and Humans differ very little. Ordinary everyday racism.
"Hey, Midget, look, Murlocs live over there. Bet you haven't seen those."
I immediately got distracted, scanning with my eyes.
"Where?"
I didn't see them; it's a bit hard to find something unfamiliar while moving.
"Over there," my head was turned, "lower, right there. There's an artificial dam. See it?"
Aha, I see it. I immediately leaned over the disk. Sure enough, there was a Murloc camp below us. These amphibians living on the shoals are in a state of deep antiquity in terms of development. They live in huts made of wood and leaves, built on the shallows. They feed mainly on fish and whatever they catch. Tools are at the level of digging sticks and clubs. They're better at catching fish and birds; they've invented nets. They have a rather funny "gurgling" language and no technology. They look like upright frogs but with sharp teeth and a spiky back, about the size of a large dog or bigger. Interesting. Oh!
"And there's a Human city over there!" I pointed a finger at the horizon.
"Stratholme, right," we both turned, looking at the Magister, who was watching us with a bored expression, "come. I will explain your task."
I took one more look down at the rather large city below us. Surrounded by a moat, smoke billowing from numerous chimneys. And the streets were full of people. Naturally, I immediately stared down. I was curious.
Only, palms covered the eyepieces of my optics.
"Midget, that's impudent. The Magister is waiting. You can look later."
The said Magister had already gone into the building. I had to follow.
I wasn't able to see much. Humans look more... square? It seemed to me they are broader in the shoulders than I'm used to seeing. Elven proportions seem normal to me, like from my past life. But Humans, if the goggles aren't distorting anything, are broader in the shoulders. Unfortunately, there's no chance to see more. No one wants to anger the Magister.
The said Magister sat at a table against the backdrop of a panoramic window and watched us as we entered the room. To complete the villain look, he only lacked glasses with light-reflecting lenses. But he's an Elf; that won't happen, of course.
"In the very near future, we will find ourselves at one of the old Troll fortresses," he began without preamble, "an experience that will, without a doubt, be useful to you."
He pointed to a container.
"I have taken the liberty of bringing a dozen and a half assembled mines, gargoyles, and your new creation to make your task easier."
I sense a catch. I think someone is leaving something out. Who could that be, huh? Venidan asked directly.
"Magister, are you sure it's empty there?"
The Mage answered with pointed indifference.
"Ten years ago, it was empty. The Humans of these lands, like us, fight the remnants of the Troll empires. Back then, the fortress was cleared. I concede that you may encounter Humans in one way or another. Keep your composure and remember that you are proud representatives of Quel'Thalas. Your task will be to penetrate the heart of the structure and retrieve something valuable there. A sacrificial dagger. Retrieve it and bring it to me. Proceed."
He waved his hand, and an illusion of a map appeared near the table. Rather large ruins, a temple, city ruins around it, a moat. It looked like a city, but also like a fortress. Of course, time had taken its toll; the structures were overgrown. But even so, it looked majestic. The Mage himself left, allowing us to talk and draw up a plan of action. We'll definitely need one.
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