What Your School of Magic Says About You
You love your colleagues. Every morning, at least one of them makes the same stupid joke “Oh sorry, the alchemy lab is THAT way”, and point you in the direction of kitchen. You really, really love this joke. You have laughed at it 5,347 times, and you will laugh at it 5,348 times tomorrow. The worst part is you really are a fantastic chef, you’ve enjoyed mixing things together for as long as you can remember, and now the most complicated dish you’ve made for yourself in the last few years is a piece of sliced bread. You were once reprimanded publicly for being three minutes late for work, as a dozen of your co-workers walked in even later than you did the same day without a word. You know you are going to be pushed too far one of these days, and they really should have seen the consequences of harassing an alchemist coming.
The most well adjusted of the magical fields. You have to be, you wake up one morning after a miscast and your vision is reversed so everything looks upside down, or you weigh less than a single Septim, or everything you see has an unhealthy shade of blue to it. You are adaptable, just like your school. People confuse you with Illusion a lot, but at your core you couldn’t be anymore different. You keep seeing something out of the corner of your eye, but when you look it’s gone. You tend to respond to that issue by slipping just a small spike of liquid courage into your morning coffee.
You are the most popular with the younger mages, the most disrespected by senior staff, and absolutely hated by everyone else. It’s obvious to you why, when you really boil it down, your job is to COMMUNICATE with other people, and the entrenched magical bureaucracy cannot accept the idea of a mage with social skills. That’s what you tell yourself, at least. You don’t hate your job, but you thought you’d be farther along by now. Most Conjuration experts such as yourself would have run into some desolate locale by now to join a cult, but that’s not what you want. You want to be more than the stereotypes say you are going to be, but facing the stigmatization of your field, you don’t see a way out. Then you start to spiral, you’ve spoken to beings from a hundred different planes of existence, but half of them want nothing more to outsmart you so they can break their binding and inflict a cruel fate onto you. That’s your “coworkers”. Meanwhile, the other conjurers are getting ready to bolt into the night. The archmages know where your path leads, and they push you away due to it. At least you can make that one Alchemist laugh with that kitchen joke.
IT IS A GREAT DAY. Everyday is great when you are the BEST school of magic. A surprising number of your colleagues scowl at your chipper mood, but it doesn’t weigh on you AT ALL. Because you are the BEST. And you know they know it. After all, they aren’t Destruction mages. They can’t be the BEST without the BEST school of magic. Why? It’s quite simple. You have never had a cold cup of coffee in your life, nor have you ever burned your mouth on it. Your ice cream has never melted on you, and it’s never given you brain freeze. Today is a great day, and you are living your best life.
Fear is the best motivator. Your underlings have learned this well.
You had the same dream last night, as you had yesterday, the day before, and for as long as you can remember. You are sure it will be the same one tomorrow. The oppression of the dream has made the days blend together, but you still put on your robe and wizard hat and head into work for the day. You are usually a bit late, but thanks to Illusion magic no one notices, or you make them not care. Your colleagues offer you a weird sense of respect, and you usually end up grouped with the Alteration magisters. Not that you’re complaining, but they should really know the fundamental differences between the two schools. Outwardly, you are charming (it’s literally a spell you know after all), out of sight when there’s trouble (another spell of yours), and whenever a coworker loses something you can retrieve it quickly. You are doing well, but you can’t shake the feeling of falseness to everything in the waking world. Not like the dream, nothing feels realer…
You were technically supposed to be fired 200 years ago, but no one in the faculty has the nerve to inform you of this. You cut off the only person who tried by telling him “I have an important meeting with Magnus about the current flow rate of your Magicka” before vanishing in a flash of light. Then you just had to quietly slip a cursed item to stunt their magic on them, and no one tried again. You are actually an amazing magister, but you have learned the best magical abilities are the ones that don’t require you to cast anything.
You didn’t think Restoration would be like this. Restoration is supposed to be the most noble, honorable school of magic possible. Instead, it is the most profitable. People are expected to tithe small fortunes to have the simplest healing spells cast on them. You’ve seen the desperate and downtrodden turned away because they weren’t born wealthy enough to have someone cast a very low effort spell onto them to cure all their ailments. You’ve seen the middle class become destitute to afford your services. The wealthy need not worry though, they either have the coin necessary or the reputation to get treated for free. You regularly get reprimanded for “forgetting” to collect the gold for your services, but they can’t get rid of you with the increasing shortage of healers.
You collected a paycheck for about thirty years before people realized that Thaumaturgy wasn’t really a thing. You are now retired.
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