The soft fall of footsteps and breathing, the only two sounds that found me. My ears search frantically for a sense of direction, scale, or distance waiting for the moment that a hand would touch my shoulder, for me to be selected. What an honor it would be to join the ranks of the Magi, to prove to them and to myself that I have the gift. No matter the amount of focus I try to muster, my mind wanders to the moment of euphoria, to the small hill outside the small town of Carran. As the suns set on the horizon, I found serenity and in that moment magic manifest. In the excitement, I rushed to my parents describing the feeling, the illation. In the excitement the task of fetching the evening water was forgotten, however, the punishment was not. Five years I have developed my talents, exceeding expectations, striking those that wished to exert themselves over me. Five years I proved myself to my parents and in all that time, I can remember only a single word of affirmation. But this, this was my chance. To feel the hand of the master on my shoulder. To feel the power radiating from her hand. For that, for that I may get a smile.
My ears perked up once more as I imagined the path the master took as she walked within this chamber. Two, no three times, the light footsteps stopping for just a moment followed by the shuffling of nervous feet, another selected. We are each collected the day of the summoning, a mask placed over our eyes, told that we must be willing before the air is sucked from the lungs and the pathetic attempt to catch your breath on the other side. Teleportation magic. Rare, powerful, and only those with the keenest of minds can accomplish it. I plan to master it in a year. My breath becomes uneven as the footsteps stop only a few feet from where I am kneeling. Another scrambling of feet. They footsteps move away, my mind wanders.
All smells are new here, other than the smell of sweat or vomit for others who have arrived. The number of selected is always a secret, but I know there are seventeen in this lot. Nothing is shared of this selection. No ideas of how people are weeded out. My parents told me to be respectful, remember my manners, and above all else make them proud. Make them proud. Ironic as they didn't even make it this far. Practitioners of the arcane, yes. Talented enough to be noticed, no. I am to be their glory, if I ever feel a hand. Footsteps stop again, far away this time, then more feet shuffling. Is that five? Did I miss one while I thought of my old life, the life I am leaving behind? Another pause, another shuffle. This one close enough to me that the stench of their vomit reaches my nose.
I wonder what happens if you are not selected? Do you leave this place never knowing where you are or what could have been? Families talk and say that if you are not selected here you are forever shamed. That this moment is your only shot. Seems stupid to me. If we are talented enough to arrive in this manner, surely, surely we could be of val.... A hand touches my shoulder and instantly a soft deep female voice, stern but soothing, rings in my head. Please stand, remove your mask and proceed through the hallway. Steel your mind young one. They are scattered and unfocused, but there is great strength there. Now go.
My eyes adjusted quickly as sconces lit the interior chamber with pale green light, no windows or cracks allowed the outside the penetrate its walls. Around me arranged on their knees sat 10 others of all races, genders, and to my surprise ages. I reigned in my thoughts and moved toward the hallway.
The chamber ahead was rather large, the parameter constructed of steps that lead downward into a slight pit that filled most the room. The same pale green light washed over the walls and floor, and now over the six others that were selected before me. Their eyes remained fixed on me as I entered, but none spoke. Instead they seemed to have all selected a crimson red box to stand in which seemed to create a perfect circle, evenly spaced out, in the depressed area of the room. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Ten spots. I moved deftly into a space beside another selectee. This one, a tall half-orc with dark tan skin wearing a dark robe with the symbol of a crescent moon on the lapel. As our eyes connected, and more importantly my nose connected, it was clear that he was one that vomited either before or after arriving here. He stood three feet above me, and from this angle the amount of scars on his face had to be close to my actual age of 13. I waited.
Several minutes went by and one by one the crimson boxes were filled. All these non-descript individuals, all wearing the same dark robe with a crescent moon on them. My eyes quickly fell to my own garment, and dear Gods it seems as though my own clothes had followed suite. Uniforms. I don't think I like uniforms.
My thoughts were interrupted once again by the calming voice of the master in my head, and glancing quickly around, it seemed as though the others were also treated to this event. You have been chosen as the newest prospects for inclusion into the organization known as the Magi. The most elite arcane wielders in all of Gia and a brother and sisterhood that will ensure your success in all your prospects. You arrived today by merit, by your potential or accomplishments. You were chosen from the others based on the strength of mind or other qualities that separate you from the ordinary magic user. You are no longer a member of your own family, you are a member of this family and this family fights for what it believes in and fights to accomplish its task no matter what it takes. After today, you will be sent to your determined branches within the organizations. Now look around. Five branches, ten selected. The doors to the room slam shut instantly. Five of you will become initiates this day and five of you will know that your sacrifice was required to create this bond. How you arrive at this number, I leave to you.
Each hair stood on end as a blue and white flash of energy rocketed across the room charging the room with energy before reaching the chest of one of the dark robed figures standing in the crimson box just three to my left. The energy completely wrapped around them, their body quivering and smoldering adding yet another foul scent to the room. Their body crumpled to the floor as each eye moved from the ruined body to the perpetrator of the act, their green lit hands still outstretched in front of them, their chest heaving. A voice entered our heads.
Nine.
In an instant, I found myself out of the boxes, headed toward a corner of the room, flashes of light casting my own shadow upon the wall. I had to get my back to something. I can't be in the open. One step, two steps, three, four. I leaped toward the wall and then spun quickly on my heel to view the room and its combatants.
A vortex of light blue arcane energy torpedoed across the room, dodging everything in its path until it exploded in three quick hits on one of the shorter initiates, their body absorbing each hit and flung against the wall, their head seeping life-force.
Eight.
A sickly green beam rocketed toward my head, its caster the tall half-orc that once stood beside me. Instinct made me draw the quick oval pattern and mutter the word "Shidale" springing into existence a reddish arcane barrier catching the energy at the last moment. My heels moved quicker than my mind, as I rotated a quarter turn in place drawing my hand from my hip toward my new adversary slowly exposing my flat palm the incantation oozing from my lips. A sphere crackled into existence before my hand and erupted into flame, my mouth moving into a half smile. The release. The small sphere jetted from my hand at blinding speed reaching its target almost instantly. The last sight, the wide eyes and open mouth of my once fellow initiate, the brother that stood beside me, as he flew backward, his body alight.
Seven.
My eyes fell onto two initiates in the center of the room, both seemingly attempting to smash one another into the ground. My feet turned again, twisting my arms into an arching pattern until they lined up almost directly in front of my face forming a triangle to which these two fit within. The words pours poured from my mouth as sparks began to roll up my arms from my torso. Suddenly, a violent eruption of metallic arcane energy erupted around them, my mouth frozen on the last few syllables. Manifested daggers and swords spun around them, slicing them completely, with no way to escape. The face of horror shown on each face independently when realizing their fate. My eyes scanned the room and saw the caster, my height and what looked a darker colored hair falling out of their robe hood, their hands dancing, egging on the tornado to destroy its prey.
Six and Five.
The pale green lights shot from their sconces altering their color to deep purple, the tornado dispelled and my body feeling weaker than before. The voice spoke once more. Welcome to the Magi initiates. You have proven that you will not let any barrier stand in your way in your efforts to succeed. The door slowly opens and five individuals move calmly into the room, ignoring or calmly stepping over the bodies of the fallen. Each face covered with what appears to be a decorative mask.
Nerich Uvirwi, step foward. For the initiate who acted quickly and with determination you will join the Shock Troop Division. Please join your mentor. Nerich disposition changes immediately and his chest expands as he walks to the individual with a mask embedded with that of a bullseye.
Dreshaw Laraethiath, step forward. For the initiate with the mental prowess to wait for their opponents to provide an opening and exceptional magic choice, please join the Intelligence Forces. With three elongated strides, Dreshaw walks toward the mentor which boast a golden mask with an oracles orb raised on the forehead.
Calkin Alitzar, step forward. For precision and grace please join the Strike Team. This smaller initiate, which I would guess as a Gnome or Halfling moves toward the three remaining mentors seemingly unable to determine which before a spectral hand appears in front of his face and guides him over to the mentor who bears a lightning bolt across a white mask.
Signa Minebranch. We are not all fighters. Sometimes it is the most cunning that will survive. Please join the Necromancy mentor. Signa walks slowly over to the mentor bearing a black mask with a painted skull before shooting a look at the master. In that moment, the hood fell away from his face. He was a child, rounded cheeks, freckles, and what looked to be a crop of blondish hair.
Denzo Zaniro. Your mind is unfocused but there is so much potential and your instincts are strong. Your talents rest with the Bestial Force. Please join your mentor. I walked slowly to the last remaining member of the Magi. Their mask ornate, featuring a carved dragon's face with the six chromatic colors cut diagonally across it. For just a moment, I lost myself in the colors of that mask and felt the warmth of its acceptance. I earned this. I am ready.
The master stepped in front of the crowd. You are all members of this family now. Learn quickly and always strive your best. Mentors, take them home. The air escaped my lungs once more.
