4. Rituals

Kiraen settles into her seat and flips open her notebook with quiet intent. This is a topic that interests her.

She sits with effortless composure, her tight leather pants and loose, draped blouse giving her the look of someone who never tries too hard but always pulls it off. Her purple-gray skin is muted in the ambient light of the classroom, and her white hair, cut to her collarbone, shifts as she leans forward. On her nose rests a pair of tinted sunglasses that she wears ever where, even indoors.

Two things catch the light when she moves.

One is the slender silver wand strapped to her thigh —narrow as a stiletto, etched with faint runes and shaped like a weapon disguised as a tool. It's not just for show.

The other is a bracelet, subtle and elegant, silver like the wand and inlaid with a single red stone that seems to pulse faintly when the light hits it just right.

Together, they speak volumes:
Kiraen might be quiet, but she came prepared.

Marlena is one of the first students to come walking into the lecture hall. She's a very tall (6'2") but very lanky young elven woman, bereft of the archetypal grace her people are known for. Instead, she's unsure in her steps, keeping her dark green cloak drawn closely around her body with one gloved hand as she makes her way to a seat. The other hand grips the strap of a satchel of holding, one of her own design that is very spacious, and most importantly, very stable. The threads of the extra-dimensional enchantment are woven tightly and intricately.

Underneath her cloak, she wears a set of light but sturdy leather armor. On her waist rests a well-stocked toolbelt, gleaming with magic to a perceptive eye. That same eye could also catch the brassy glint of a magitech-based gun, powered by deeply carved Excidium runes along the barrel.

Pushing up her spectacles with the heel of her hand, Marlena takes the seat to Kiraen's left. She flashes a smile and speaks a hushed 'good morning' to Kiraen before she gets out her parchment and pen, focusing mainly on Lorridian. She sweeps her thick dark braid behind her shoulder and starts to write.

Ritual magic. While she did look forward to learning its traditional usage, she was more interested in how she could adapt its use for magitech. I suppose I can bother Fennick for his insight later... She finds her mind drifting to the Arcane Crucible, a workshop guild near the Biblioplex. She drags her focus back to the lesson at hand. Her notes are dense but well-structured and detailed.

Tall, lithe, and decked out in form-fitted attire, which includes a long cloak that drapes firmly, but openly around her, Salem is easily distinguishable thanks to her sunset-colored eyes, her cool, relaxed smile, and the uncanny aura that seems to pervade from her person. Getting close enough to even brush against her sends an eerie crawling feeling under one's skin that passes quickly.

Her pale skin is interspersed with tattoos in the form of snakes, thorny vines, and spider-lilies, covering all but her face, which is partially obscured by raggedly done-up raven hair that sways monotonously in a bristly ponytail behind her. The features of her face as soft and slightly plump, with arched cheeks and a patch of freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose.

Salem is decidedly older than the 'typical' first-year students, but still appears quite young, and walks with an unconcerned amble in her gait as she moves across the room and settles into her seat on the opposite the door. Sitting down, she unhooks a small, rectangular satchel from her hip, which turns out to house a single, incredibly thick grimoire, as well as a small vial of ink. She places both on the desk before her, plucking one of several feathers from her hair. A rather big feather, actually, and that does not resemble the plumage of any local birds.

---

Once class beings, she draws a pair of glasses from within her cloak and slips them on, listening to the lecture intently.

Zix shows up in its usual attire of road-worthy clothes, and the Critic perched on its shoulder, greets everyone, takes its usual seat, and opens the satchel and puts the usual scholarly implements onto the table: a tightly-sealing inkwell, a writing quill from a tough-looking conical container, a stack of parchments with notes from a travel case.

Quinn, walks in 6'2 all muscles and bones. A mix of strength and malnourishment. His patch work clothes show how poor he is. The only thing about him that stands out is his dagger. It's clean shiny and taken care of as if the most important thing in the world.

Professor Lorridian lifts a piece of chalk and begins sketching a circle behind him on the slate board — not a perfect circle, but one divided into eight arcs, each labeled with a sigil from the 8 schools.

"As we begin, you must understand — ritual magic does not favor or shun any school. Rather, it changes the scale of their expression. It magnifies, deepens, and usually complicates."

---

He taps the topmost sigil with the chalk — a stylized eye enclosed in a spiral.

"Perceptio."

"Rituals of Perceptio are ideal for scrying across vast distances, piercing illusions layered over time, or revealing truths buried deep in the earth — or mind. A group ritual here can connect minds into a shared vision, extend awareness over miles, or even reveal events long past."

"But beware — too many minds peering at once can blur the vision, dilute focus, change the prediction. And anchoring a ritual that sees into painful memories or overwhelming truths? That can crack even a strong mind if not properly shielded."

He moves clockwise.

---

"Dominatio."

"Rituals of Dominatio elevate this school to its most formidable state. Through shared focus, a circle of mages can do what one alone cannot — bend larger minds, more minds, or even objects of immense scale to their collective will."

"A single caster might compel a beast to stand still. But a ritual? That can tame a wyvern, or puppeteer a dozen guards without lifting a blade. You might lift a sword with telekinesis — but with a ritual, you could lift a fortress wall, or hold an avalanche at bay."

"There is immense reach in Dominatio rituals — across time, across distances. They can instill long-lasting compulsion, or even control the inanimate en masse."

He pauses, eyes scanning the class.

"But here’s the catch: more minds means more risk — including your own. The act of control must be perfect. Every participant must be aligned in will and clarity of purpose. Doubt is weakness. Disagreement? Ruin. Because if your grip slips, what you sought to control may not only escape…"

He leans forward, voice low and calm.

"…it may turn that control back on you."

---

"Creatio."

"Creation rituals are... spectacular. Entire structures formed from arcane essence, living golems born over hours of invocation, light that never fades. Rituals allow Creatio mages to build permanence, something spontaneous spells rarely offer."

"However, the energy requirements are immense. The rituals often need rare materials, and the consequences of misaligning a summoning matrix? Let’s just say I still don't like to go near the East Courtyard of the Elemental Academy after sunset."

---

"Mutatio."

"Transformative magic benefits enormously from ritual. You want to turn a battlefield into a lake? Ritual. Merge multiple monsters into a single form? Ritual. Reshape someone's body safely? Please, use a ritual."

"But Mutatio rituals can be unstable. Change is inherently volatile. The longer you channel it, the more chance it has to evolve on its own. You must maintain control from the first syllable to the last breath."

---

"Excidium."

Here, his voice dips slightly.

"Rituals of destruction are usually... forbidden without supervision. But they exist. And they are terrifying. Excidium rituals can erase cities, unravel souls, extinguish entire bloodlines by echo."

"They’re easier to cast than you'd like — because entropy always wants a little help. But the backlash is brutal. It corrupts. Ritual participants must guard their intent fiercely, or risk empowering or becoming the very thing they sought to destroy."

He moves on, softer.

---

"Tutela."

"Ah, the rituals of protection and healing. Here, rituals truly shine. A healing spell may close a wound — a ritual can regenerate a limb. A barrier spell can block a sword — a ritual can shield a town for a week."

"But here’s the trick: timing. Rituals are too slow for emergencies. You must prepare. Predict. Nothing too sudden can affect your ritual. Anything unexpected can easily shatter it, even after successfully cast."

---

"Amplifico."

"Power. Enhancement. Rituals here are like feeding a storm. You can raise a warrior to godlike strength, or make a spell echo across realms. You can even augment a ritual itself, strengthening all other effects."

"But… excess is the danger. Amplifico rituals are hungry. They want more — more energy, more time, more sacrifice. If you overreach, you burn out. If you empower something unstable, you break the world around it."

---

And finally, he taps the last sigil.

"Illusio."

"Rituals of illusion? Art. Entire landscapes woven from light and thought. Phantasms that remember you, dreamscapes shared across sleeping minds. Layered or even sapient deception that lasts weeks, months."

"But Illusio rituals require synchronization of belief. Everyone must envision the illusion identically, or it will fracture, shimmer, or worse — reveal the truth beneath. And trust me — the truth, when cloaked too long, can be... unpleasant."

He steps back from the diagram, letting the room absorb the enormity of what he’s outlined.

---

Dorian sits along the side of the room, sketching with charcoal in a sketchbook. Not with the skill of a practiced hand, but if someone seeking answers from nothing. It's a barely recognizable form, a man with crazy hair, maybe antlers.

Dorian is a rakish man, his hair mussy in such a way as to look haphazard but perfectly so. Fine aristocratic features, a casual flamboyance and with no hint of shyness, he's clearly comfortable around strangers. His clothing is similarly fashionable, nearly cutting edge. If there is one odd thing about him, it's that his expensive clothing seems worn perhaps a little too often.

Those who know such things might recognize his last name, that he shares with an absurdly wealthy family with fingers in all sorts of industry and seen regularly with nobility.

His eyes take in the new students, and he gives them a slight smile, warm and genuine with practiced grace.

Dorian's ears perk up at the mention of Perceptio rituals. He even deigns to write notes in his notebook, something he rarely does when anyone is looking (it interferes with his flamboyant self-image).

"Professor, will we learn how to focus multiple minds during rituals to avoid these catastrophes? I presume there is more than just willpower we can employ."

The Critic hops down from Zix's shoulder and hides inside its jacket.

Salem reacts by faithfully inscribing the notes she writes into her oversized grimoire. Not on any one particular subject or specialization, however, but all of them. Why stop at mastering just one kind of magic? Why not simply master them all?

She regularly peers up at the board, watching the writing, but not really the man or his theatrics. The latter was flashy, but ultimately served little more than personalization. The pages of her grimoire are so thick and many that they muffle the sound of the quill scraping against them, thus even though she herself seems animated, nary a sound emanates from her save for the occasional turn of the page.

At one point, she closes her right eye, and brings a finger up to tap there. It snaps back open in an instant and looks about frantically like it has a mind of its own--while the other eye remains steadfastly on the tome in front of her. It settles down shortly thereafter...

Kiraen raises her hand and askes. So the chanting words don't need to make sense, by themselves? That makes so much sense. I have been witness to many religious rituals, but seeing it in this light makes sense in a new way.

Could you recommend a small ritual, small or relatively harmless, that I could practice on?

Movement, gestures, disiplin. Rituals are the martial arts of magic. Kiran muses to herself.

"Excellent observation, Miss Nyrazzrin." He taps a finger to the side of his head. "Indeed, the words in a chant need not always hold semantic meaning. Most do, particularly in ancient tongues. But more often, it is the structure, sound, and cadence that really matter. Language as rhythm, not lexicon. You are not telling the universe or the gods what to do — you are humming your hopes."

He paces once, slowly, before the slate.

"As for a small ritual — yes, you may absolutely try one. In fact..."

He snaps his fingers, and a soft shimmer of light pulses from the medallion at his chest.

"...Let us begin now."

"Form yourselves into groups of six. You’ll design a simple ritual together. Your goals: harmless, creative, and achievable. Maybe a minor levitation circle. A shared dream-memory. A color-shifting flame. Something with low risk but clear magical effect."

He casts his gaze across the room.

"You’ll decide on the schools involved, draw the circle, draft a chant, and research your components. You don’t need to cast it today — only prepare it. You’ll present your design next class. If it is safe and clever, you may try performing it by then."

There’s the scrape of benches and the shuffling of parchment as students begin to sort themselves. Greta Ironhart gives a quick look and briskly joins another cluster before anyone else can speak to her.

The remaining students — Quinn, Dorian, Salem, Zix, Kiraen, and Marlena — glance around, realizing they’ve been left standing near each other by default or fate.

Dorian tosses his sketchbook down and stands up with a flourish. "A ritual to see, how about, the registrar's files about us?"

He grabs a couple chairs and faces them towards done others, using his feet to draw another into the impromptu circle. Secretly, he wants to learn this magic to learn much more than what's in his short file.

Zix perks up, intrigued, and also seems to shift to slightly more refined bearing and tone of speech, facing Dorian. "Ooh, the files. Yes, that would be a splendid idea."

The Critic continues hiding from the professor.

"That's a novel idea Dorian, but the registrar's defensive wards are likely a bit too robust for a cadre of first years to circumvent. At least, I would hope so. I wouldn't feel comfortable if it were easily accessible." Marlena considers the idea further though. "However, maybe we could do it anyway, just to challenge ourselves? What do you think?" She directs her question to the group, but she then realizes she's getting ahead of herself. She hasn't even introduced herself to the two strangers of the group yet.

"Oh, apologies. I'm Marlena." She smiles sheepishly at Quinn and Salem. "Pleasure to meet you two." She extends a hand to Salem first. She feels nothing out of the ordinary when getting close to Salem, though of course, Marlena doesn't realize that is unusual. Whether Salem accepts the handshake or not, she offers one to Quinn next.

"Oh, apologies to those not already acquainted. I am Zix," adds, facing the stranger, then turns to glance towards Salem, with a wink and change in posture that is reminiscent of a certain witch.

It sounds like a good idea for the second attempt. How would we know if the ritual was succesfuld or if the wards held?
As Professor Lorridian said, we should start with something that could produce a visible result right away. Like turning the flame of a candle purple or something.

Salem glances at Marlena's hand, uncertain, but eventually returns the handshake, if only fleetingly. Her expression is replaced with a cordial, but ultimately distanced smile. "Salem. Charmed, I'm sure."

To Zix, she nods knowingly.

She wrinkles her nose almost immediately at the preliminary suggestion. "I think I'd rather not know what this school has on me, if you don't mind. Moreover, do recall that we need to present this, and I rather don't think the professor would take kindly to our tampering with school documents, even if it is just for fun. Best to do such things behind closed doors."

Salem leans back into a more casual posture, one leg hiked over the other and her hands resting on her knee. "But if you are looking for something more challenging than simple parlor tricks, I am conceptually familiar with this type of magic, or at least, of a similar kind. In my line of work, we call it a séance, and it is typically used to communicate with the unseen. A lost love, perhaps, an elemental spirit, or a lost soul that even now haunts these halls. We could conjure a memory as well, or maybe...a portent of what is to come. I see no any reason why we couldn't reproduce a similar effect with ritual magic."

Umm hi, I'm Quinn. Sorry to say my files will be well empty. But I encountered a shadow thing earlier it was seeking help. If we can use Salem's method maybe we can try to help. I'm new to this magic stuff. As matter of fact it was almost outlawed where I come from. Only magic items were allowed. So I um don't know anything. Except that I can't channel magic unless it's through my sword.", he said pointing to his dagger.