HankTheMoose
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4.4 The Norhold Mages' Guild
🕑 Added 2025-05-02 20:10:09 +0000 UTC“I mean, I get that he was a street hawker, but who charges for paper by the page? It’s practically robbery!” Bernt griped as they stepped into the Mages’ Guild. It wasn’t even very good quality, with rough fibers and edges that hadn’t been cut quite straight. But Torvald hadn’t wanted to spend the time looking for a proper shop and paid the man before Bernt could intervene.
The receptionist at the Mages’ Guild gave them a skeptical look as they entered, probably because Bernt looked more like a vagabond than an actual mage in his current state. He rummaged around in his pockets for Archmage Iriala’s token, but the woman just pointed to her right, where he found a door labeled “Norhold Scryers: Public Communications Office” in bold block letters.
Bernt looked back at the receptionist, but she’d already turned back to whatever she had been doing before. How did she know where they were doing? He raised an eyebrow at Torvald, who just waggled the handful of rolled up paper that he was holding at him and moved to the door.
Right.
Several other travel-weary mages filled the small waiting room. Men and women in robes and uniforms of various styles and cuts, hailing from all over the world sat on chairs, stools, and on the ground, waiting their turn to talk to the scryers. He knew the shorter, tunic-like robes were common in Kallrix, while Illurians preferred loose trousers, but several he couldn’t place at all. One young woman’s robes were enormous and arranged in such intricate layers that Bernt wasn’t sure how she managed to move in them. An older man wore an old gray-white one that looked almost normal, except that it bore three braided stripes in brown, blue and red on the sleeves, as well as smaller silver and gold stripes. In Besermark, that would signify some kind of arch-archmage, who had three completed augmentations, and two other investitures besides. But that wasn’t possible. At least, no mage had ever done it, and if this one had, everyone would have heard of it.
What were they all waiting for? Normally, runners would simply drop off and pick up messages at the service window across the room. Did they all need to talk to the scryers directly?
Bernt stared uncomprehendingly around the room for a second before he finally realized what he was looking at. All of these people had to be other legitimators. Specifically, they were mages from foreign guilds who probably wanted to personally send their own messages using the scryers’ facilities. These foreigners would want to make sure that Beseri mages didn’t handle their communications – a right only extended to fellow guild mages, even though the various countries’ guilds hadn’t been a single organization in over two hundred years. Everyone else would have to rely on cyphers and encryptions to try to keep their messages private.
Torvald took in the situation at a glance, sighed softly and sat down on the ground next to the door. Producing his pencil stub, he began scratching out a letter to his mother. Bernt didn’t join him.
Instead, he pulled Iriala’s token out of his pocket and made his way to the other side of the room to the empty service window. Leaning in a bit, he spotted a pimply young man around the corner, busily filing away letters into various folders. Mail that had already been “sent”, or maybe responses being saved for later distribution for their intended recipients.
He should see if Iriala’s token could get him access to that correspondence. Depending on how much of it was getting decrypted, there might be some clues for Torvald about what Noruk’s priesthood was up to.
Catching sight of him, the young scryer frowned in annoyance, eyeing first his robes and then him in a way that was as condescending as it was familiar. He rolled his eyes in a very unprofessional manner and came over.
“Look, mister waste wizard, we’re working as quickly as we can. I don’t care if you work for the city, you’re going to have to wait just like everybody else. If Archmage Kallus has an urgent message of a sensitive nature then he can get priority service, but that doesn’t extend to every lackey he sends over here. It can’t possibly be that urgent if he sent you.”
Bernt blinked, struck dumb for a moment at the contempt in the mage’s voice. Before he could think better of it, he leaned forward and bared his teeth in a snarl, about to give this asshole a piece of his mind.
“Agh!” the clerk flinched back, looking suddenly terrified and holding both hands in front of his face. The response surprised Bernt so much that he forgot what he was going to say. Carefully, he unclenched his jaw and did his best to push down his unexpected surge of anger. Then, he reasserted control over his spirit, clamping down on the tiny channels that fed mana into his flesh. He’d accidentally let go, and the scryer had literally felt the heat.
Clearing his throat, he held out Iriala’s token as though nothing had happened. “Underkeeper Bernard of Halbridge, legitimator reporting to Count Narald of Halfbridge. I’m here to see if there are any messages waiting for me.” He emphasized the title, still a little peeved at the idiot’s tone. Hearing it directed at him again was grating, but it also made him realize that it had been a long time since anyone had really looked down on him for his profession. Ever since the kobold invasion, Halfbridge’s Underkeepers enjoyed far greater respect than those of other cities. Since the Duergar attack the stigma had mostly died, at least as far as Bernt had noticed.
That wasn’t the case here, and he found that it grated even more now than it had before.
Wordlessly, the clerk eyed the token and then returned to his file cabinets, casting a spell of some kind as he did so and speaking Bernt’s name. Opening one, he withdrew a sheaf of papers, split it near the middle and pulled out a single letter as if he’d memorized exactly where he left it.
“A letter from Archmage Iriala of the Halfbridge Mages’ Guild…” he trailed off, looking back up at Bernt as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “They sent an underkeeper as a legitimator?” His expression slowly transitioned from incredulity to one of concern as he made all the wrong connections. “Wow. I mean, I heard Halfbridge got attacked, but I didn’t realize it was this bad. How much is left of the guild?”
Now it was Bernt’s turn to roll his eyes as he snatched the letter out of his hands.
“The guild is doing fine. Thanks for your concern.”
He turned on his heel and walked back over to Torvald, who was still writing as if nothing had happened. Several of the other occupants of the room had watched the exchange and eyed him with varying degrees of curiosity, disapproval and amusement, while others looked as though they hadn’t noticed the exchange at all.
Trying to ignore the eyes on him, Bernt opened the letter.
Legitimator Bernard,
I was pleased to hear from your familiar that you are approaching the edge of the Phoenix Reaches and am writing this letter to you now in anticipation of your imminent arrival at the Conclave. To my current knowledge, nine other Beseri cities and towns have had temple representatives called to the Peaks, and I’m relieved to inform you that you will not be the only one present to represent our interests.
Another mage, Minister Jesra of Teres, has been appointed legitimator to the high priest of Balarian in Teres, who should be arriving soon. She is an advisor to the King and a trained diplomat who worked as liaison to the Illurian embassy in the Capital for the past four years. I encourage you to seek her out at your earliest convenience, consult with her, and follow her lead as much as you can. You’ll be more effective with her guidance, and you might learn something.
Archmage Thurdred also sends his regards.
Best of luck,
Archmage Iriala
Bernt breathed out a small sigh of relief as he read. He nudged Torvald as he finished, and held out the letter to him.
“Hey, read this. It looks like we might be getting some help after all.”
Torvald accepted the page and Bernt could see some of the tension go out of him as he read.
“One of the king’s ministers! We should tell her about…” the paladin cut off, glancing up at the other people in the room, “uh... what happened to me. Even if she doesn’t know what it means, she’ll know who needs to hear about it, at least.”
“We can go look for her right after this,” Bernt agreed as he grabbed a loose sheet of paper and began writing his response back to Iriala, making sure to leave some room to add his update for Pollock. He’d need the other pages they’d bought for his report to Count Narald and for his letter to Josie in Teres.
They should have bought more of that damned paper.
***
Considering her status as an agent of the king and probably a high ranking member of the Mages’ Guild, Bernt figured that Minister Jesra shouldn’t be especially hard to track down. She might even be staying right here at the guild. Considering that it would be functioning as an international communications hub for most of the legitimators, it would actually be an ideal place to set up shop. That was especially true if she had access to the scryers’ records, and Bernt had no reason to believe that she wouldn’t.
So, the first thing they did after Bernt handed their stack of mail to the surly scryer was to go back out to talk to the receptionist at the building’s entrance.
As it turned out, Minister Jesra had requested and been given an office at the Mages’ Guild, but she wasn’t currently there. Not knowing where else to look except maybe back up at the Peaks, they left, leaving a message behind for the minister on her return.
“What do we do now?” Torvald asked when they were back out in the street. “I doubt the others will be back at the inn yet – it’s too early. Should we go and look for Olias?”
Bernt shook his head.
“You can if you want, but I’m going to find some proper boots.”
***
By the time Bernt made his way back to the inn in a new, sturdy pair of boots and with a brand new bag of holding slung over his shoulder, the sun was already low on the horizon. He’d had to go to the bank and collect his legitimators’ stipend to be able to afford the bag and it had taken longer than he would have liked. It was physically smaller, but contained more storage space than his old one, with a price to match. But that was what he got for buying directly from a proper enchanter’s shop rather than Grixit back in Halfbridge.
At least this enchanter hadn’t tried to refuse him service, as the one back home had all those months ago. Maybe the people here weren’t quite as prejudiced, or, more likely, the enchanter hadn’t recognized Bernt’s robes – which weren’t quite the same shade as those of an Underkeeper. It probably also helped that they weren’t permanently stained by years of sewer work.
Stepping through the door, Bernt immediately caught sight of Uriah sitting alone at one of the tables with a book propped open in front of him as he sipped on a mug of something hot. There were a few other guests in the dining area, but no sign of Torvald or any of the others. As he approached, the mage looked up, eyes widening in surprise before flashing him a friendly grin.
“Bernt! I nearly didn’t believe it when we heard you were still alive. The old goblin insisted you were going to get yourself killed. Glad to see you defied expectations.” he gestured to the seat across from him. “Sit down. I’ve been doing some reading, and I think I figured something out.”
He put the book down on the table and began flipping back through the pages, looking for something. “I’ve been looking for more sources to look into about sorcery, and since the guild library here wasn’t quite as forthcoming as the one in Gobford, I got Olias to talk to the city magistrate about letting me into the restricted military archives in the castle library. They’ve fought lizardmen and troll sorcerers in just the last few centuries, and there are even older records about centaurs, so I figured maybe there was something to learn there.”
“Really?” Bernt leaned forward, thoughts of going to find Torvald forgotten. Any information they could learn about how other intelligent races practiced sorcery could be critically important when it came to building a solid, academic understanding of how it all really worked. “What did you find?”
Uriah just shook his head, waving a hand dismissively. “No, no. The records were totally useless – it just had some basic external observations, nothing about the sorcery itself. The good stuff was outside the restricted section. The Duke’s granddaughter pointed it out to me as I was about to leave.” He stopped hunting for the proper page to show Bernt the cover of the book he’d been reading. It was cheaply made and worn with repeated readings. “It’s a book translated from the language of those Mirians you told me about. The natives that live beyond the free cities, up in the mountains. The translation is awful, but there is a ton of useful information here.”
Bernt read the title, frowned and raised a skeptical eyebrow at his colleague.
“Heavenly Embrace of the Celestial Immortal? Uriah, is that a romance story?!”
Comments
Leonard Marchant
"the translation is terrible" Heh
Marian Ch
One of the main reason I've always found many cultivation novels annoying is the oversaturation of both magic terms and dramatic, pretentious names.
Hailhound
Lmao I never realized it but a lot of names for cultivation techniques are pointlessly poetic and really sound like they could be other things
