#archmages

Edith Pendragon, The golden Knight ❄️❄️❄️

My current D&D character

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

To give a bit of context, she's a winter eladrin multiclass paladin/warlock ( Lately I've been trying a lot of multiclass combos and I wanted to know how that combination could work and so far It's been a blast playing those classes together)

The party, Lasra ( a cleric/bard* air genasi ) and Altair ( a very suspicious human "carpenter" who is also a rogue ) met while taking a job for the archmages of the country, which are the current leaders.

The thing is, everyone in this fucking campaign is racist against non magical people, so immediately the "oh yes this will only be a tiny one-shot" became a fucking enormous quest of us, three idiots, trying to end racism

When Rayla is trying to help Callum with his lightning spell for the first time, she tells him that there's usually a word to release the spell.

Usually.

I didn't give much thought to that word until now. "Usually," in this context, is generally a throwaway term people use to mean "this is how things are."

But it seems it wasn't.

Because usually doesn't mean "always". It still gives room for exceptions.

There is a time in season 1 when Claudia uses a "flashlight" spell in season one without an incantation, but that is explained away as a cantrip.

But both in season 3 and season 2, we see some exceptions that can't be explained as cantrips. Here are the ones I noticed, in no particular order.

Wordless magic in season 2:

Aaravos' and Viren's magical bond blood ritual.

Aaravos casts many spells when helping Viren fight the guards. (And there are moments where if he had said an incantation, we would have heard it.)

Claudia heals Soren using dark magic. (Though in this case, she may have said the incantation while killing the deer offscreen.)

Wordless magic in season 3:

Ziard summons a dark magic fireball and throws it at Sol Regem.

Aaravos fights the Sunfire guards and kills Sunfire Queen Khessa with magic.

The Sunfire mage giving the "Light trial" to Amaya and Viren.

The Sunfire mage beginning the "purification ritual" on Viren. (We see runes, lots of runes, but we don't hear the Sunfire mage say anything.)

Aaravos blasting Rayla back when she first tries to save Zym.

The Sunfire mage also has a sun primal stone. Rayla says that primal stones are very rare, and the most powerful archmages look for them. So, I'm going to speculate that the Sunfire mage is an archmage.

And we already know that Aaravos is extremely powerful.

So, maybe being able to do wordless magic depends on how powerful you are? If so, just how powerful do you have to be?

Still, there are instances when Aaravos does use incantations, like when he's using Viren to drain Zym's magic.

Maybe it also depends on the specific spell, or type of spell? Or another possible factor is how often you cast the spell/how familiar you are with it. I don't think Aaravos has used the "He swallows your heart" spell that often (at least I hope not.)

So much to speculate on! Hope we get an explanation in later seasons.

WIP weather asks

☀️ Sun - What's your favorite part of your WIP?

I like rotating the characters in my head and smashing them together like plastic barbie dolls and secondary to that I like worldbuilding a lot. But obviously the true fun is lying in bed thinking about scenes I will probably never write

❄️ Snow - Who is your coldest / most stoic character and how do they express themselves (if at all)?

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The sky was dyed golden as Ignisia stepped out of the ball, the scent of roses and wine lingering on her cloak. The Ante-Solisteal gathering had been as insufferable as ever — a stage of smiling masks and pleasantries laced with venom

She stepped into the waiting carriage with a soundless movement. The carriage lurched forward and she exhaled sharply. Across her, Valeria gave her an empathic look. Isolde, next to her watched with quiet amusement. 

‘At last,’ he remarked, eyes glinting with mischief, ’here I was wondering if time spun slowly for you.’

‘Next time, you can escort the princess of the Western kingdom’, Ignisia deadpanned.

‘No, thank you‘, he replied without missing a beat, ‘though, may I ask if you have found peace with your stomach, or did it triumph over you, Grandmaster?’

‘Isolde’, Valeria warned him.

‘What?’ he gave his most innocent look, ‘you hurt me, dear wife.’

Valeria shot him an unimpressed look. He returned a goofy smile. Ignisia sighed. She gazed out of the window. The Capital stretched in orderly streets and towering spires. At its heart, the Sanctum Auriel loomed, its golden domes catching the last light of the setting sun.

The Sanctum Auriel was a grandeur display of ancient craftmanship. Its golden towers embedded with purest of crystals, reflected a thousand colours. Silver acacias stretched across the floating terraces and its mystical gardens donned fountains of pure aether. It loomed tall, an absolute authority of the Imperial Family.

The unshakable weight lifted off her as the distance grew. The Capital was like a flaming torch of power, and she was not a moth.

She looked longingly at the starry sky. She could not wait to go back.

The first sight of home appeared on the horizon after a long journey. Everfaith estate nestled against rolling hills — the walls were worn, the banners faded, and yet the sight stirred something warm in her chest.

The familiar scent of earth and embers filled her lungs. No ceremonies, no watchful eyes, no whispered expectations. Just the hush of the evening wind and the distant murmur of her people, waiting to welcome her back.

She was home.

On arriving, Isolde leaped out of the carriage first, almost tripping. Ignisia got off next.

'After you, my lady', she bested him, lending a hand to Valeria.

'Why thank you, my kind Sir', Valeria humoured her.

Ignisia gave him a cheeky grin. Isolde stepped ahead, masking his pout, escorting Valeria by his side. They entered the courtyard, a routine after a long trip. Ignisia followed them few steps behind, mindful of their privacy.

As always, her gaze lifted, spotting the Floating Ginor. Suspended above the eastern courtyard, its ancient roots curled through empty air, defying time and gravity alike. The branches swayed gently. It’s usually teal leaves, now a shade of purple marking the arrival of Soliste. A purple leaf fell, swaying in the air, reminding her of a promise long broken. She caught it in her palms, facing the blunt of emotions that overwhelm her.

‘Matriarch?’ Valeria’s voice snaps her back. How long was she there with Isolde?

 ‘Yes?’, she replied half a beat too late. Valeria gave her a concerned look.

The words she spoke were a low punch to her stomach — 'You have done enough, Matriarch. Fourteen years have passed', Valeria grasped her hands, 'you have searched enough, waited long enough.'

She withdrew her hands. It stung like an old reopened wound. Familiar hurt but no less painful. She clenched her jaw, unwilling to reply.

‘She states the truth’, Isolde faced her, ‘I trust you would not burden yourself with guilt.’

She gave them a small nod and walked past them into the mansion. She headed straight to her study, heavy oak doors whispering shut behind her.

Her study stood there unchanged, bookshelves to the right, a divan and low table at the centre, a desk pushed to the back of the room. Beside it, a display rack for her swords and a cozy fireplace to the left. Her old swords hung above the fireplace.

She rarely visited her study; her duties as the Grandmaster kept her busy. Her visits were now limited to the nostalgic days or in this case — when she was troubled.

She swept a glance across her study, noticing the things placed haphazardly — desk overrun with stationary, books on the floor, low table stacked with letters and scabbards. Reorganizing the study did sound therapeutic now.

She started with her desk. There were stamps, quills, ink bottles, a bookmark and a stack of fresh parchment paper, all rearranged into the drawers based on size. She placed the bookmark and the three picture frames, one by one, on her desk.

The first picture was a recent one after her brother’s engagement. In it, she wrapped her arm around Isolde’s neck. They had the same crimson hair and sapphire eyes. In front of them stood Valeria, lively with jade eyes and silver hair, showing off her ring.

The next picture was her family portrait. Her mother sat forefront; she stood behind her, alongside her father and brother. Her mother had jet black hair with piercing blue eyes. Her father shared the same red hair and had soft hazel eyes. Both held a warm smile.

She paused on the last frame. It was a picture of her childhood, the two of them sitting on the root of the Floating Ginor. She had been smiling and hugging a girl with golden hair and obsidian eyes. Vivian.

With a heavy sigh she tore her eyes off; she needed to distract herself. She picked up the books on the floor next, pushing them in the bookshelf. Then she picked up the scabbards, matching them with swords and rearranging them on the display rack.

She sat heavily on the divan, looking down on a familiar pile of letters, all of them opened. They all had a raven stamp on the bottom left, right next to the sender’s name. She stacked them one by one —

To my dearest Noah,

The taffies you sent were delightful. I especially loved the unicorn tail, if you come across more, do send them my way. How are your training sessions going?

I recently achieved my fifth mana circle and discovered something peculiar. I can perceive others’ mana cores. Some, like Mother’s and Rinn’s, flow like liquid, while others, like Father’s and Magister Robert’s, feel solid. Strangely, Magister Robert never mentioned their colours. When I asked, he looked utterly puzzled and dismissed it as my imagination.

Against my better judgement, I brought it up with my parents. As always, Mother was too busy to pay much attention, and Father… he simply glared at me. He told me not to speak nonsense, and I left in a hurry. Rinn’s expression was odd, but I laughed it off as a joke. It would be troublesome if rumours spread that the heir of the Archmage’s successors wasn’t “normal”.

I wish my parents spent more time with me, even if it was just sharing tea and conversation. It’s not that I mind talking to Rinn, Magister Robert, or the butler, but… well, it isn’t quite the same.

I've sent you some Flame chips, enough for you and your brother. Don’t be stingy, and more importantly, don’t devour them all in half a moon cycle. I’ve included five flavours (five of each for both of you). Take care of your throat, and please, please, spare me the dozen letters detailing their subtle distinctions. They all taste the same to me.

The Greatest Mage in Training, Vivian A. Veritas

-A yellow creased letter

To the greatest dunce Ignisia,

Yes, you read that correctly. Downing an entire barrel of Moonbrew? Truly idiotic. It’s a miracle you managed to attend the Successors’ Meet at all, albeit late.

A little birdie told me you emptied your stomach in the carriage. That alone would have been amusing, but you had rather important company. Who might it be? Oh, just the princess of the Western kingdom. Shocking, I know.

I doubt you even registered your guest’s identity through the haze of your Moonbrew induced suffering. And don’t even think about spewing excuses like ‘A knight’s body can handle three barrels’, or ‘Moonbrew is like water to knights’. If you utter another word of nonsense, I will personally test your so-called knightly endurance against a fifth-circle fireball. Be grateful while I’m feeling merciful, unless you’d like half your estate reduced to ashes.

Such a shame you’ve traded intelligence for muscle. Forget wooing young lords—you’ll end up wooing Jared and wonder why he doesn’t reciprocate. Who is Jared, you ask? My new potted plant.

Some see life through rose-tinted glasses. My vision is already colourful enough with the chaos in the Mage Tower, yet you still manage to add more colour with your antics. Truly impressive, your deeds reach even my isolation.

I’m sending you root syrup for your headache. If I so much as suspect you haven’t finished it, I will peel your eyeballs and boil your teeth. That potion cost me two nights of sleepless brewing, perhaps it will help you recover some of your lost intelligence.

Give my thanks to your brother for the falcon pen. In return, I’m mailing him ‘The Trove: War Axe Edition’. I’m sure his fiancée will appreciate the read. Do pass along my compliments, her smelting skills are truly unparalleled.

As for you, offer Her Highness a proper apology in person and in writing. Earl Everfaith and Countess Everfaith will speak to the emperor on your behalf, but don’t make them clean up all your messes. Get some rest.

Congratulations on becoming a Grandmaster.

Not watching from your walls (or am I?), Alysia

-A letter with a faint herbal scent

Dear Noah,

I’ve been doing… not great. The intensity of colours has increased exponentially. I searched through the Central Library of the Mage Tower, but it yielded nothing useful.

Determined to find answers, I turned to the Imperial Library. My mentor had books to return, so I accompanied her inside. It took time, but I finally found a lead buried in texts from the East Coast and Northern Plains.

And now, I understand. This vision of mine, it is the mark of a spirit-summoner. I hope you haven’t fainted while reading this.

I had my suspicions, so the revelation wasn’t shocking, but it was sobering. Many will find this… unfavourable—though that’s an understatement. Being a spirit-summoner itself doesn’t trouble me, but the circumstances of my discovery do.

Before the Holy Empire’s 300-year Conquest, spirit-summoners were common. But in the centuries that followed, hatred for us spread like a plague. What I uncovered left me recoiling in disgust—those who were discovered were hunted down, and being burned alive was considered a mercy.

Even now, three centuries later, things are hardly better. The looming threat of having one’s core shattered or mana heart crippled is a daily reality. To think that in this so-called Golden Age of Knowledge, exile remains as the sealed fate of spirit-summoners even without a crime committed. It baffles me.

The Northern Plains offer some comfort in their tolerance. The East Coast still fights for equal rights. The Southern Mountains have no luxury for discrimination—they use every resource to survive. As for the Western Kingdom, I know little. And the Holy Empire… well, its hatred remains unwavering.

Becoming the next Archmage should be an honour, but the thought brings me no joy. I want to make my parents proud, but not like this. I love magic, but the more I learn, the more I realize how much I tolerate rather than enjoy. I can only hope they won’t hate their daughter for what she is.

Give my thanks to the Earl and Countess for the crystal brooch. I’m mailing them these enchanted pocket watches.

I couldn’t prepare anything special for you due to examinations, but I’ve made these bookmarks for you. I hope you like them.

Yours lovingly, Alysia

-A letter which dried with uneven dampness and smudged ink

Dear Noah,

I always knew my attempts to be someone worthy in the Patriarch’s eyes were futile. When I tried to broach the topic of spirits, Duchess Veritas’s gaze was colder than ever. And the burn I felt on my cheek? A sixth-circle spell from the Patriarch himself. His expression remained as unreadable as ever, as if nothing had happened. Then, with the same detached tone, he told me to leave.

How have I never truly seen their indifference until now? It was as clear as day—I was nothing more than a pawn, a tool to maintain the stability of the Veritas. After much deliberation, I have made my decision. I am leaving Veritas. This web of deceit cannot hold forever.

My cousin Aster is a mage of remarkable talent for our age. Her sixth mana circle is merely a footnote in her list of achievements. If she becomes the heir, the Veritas household will flourish under her.

The first buds of the Blue Phlox blooming through deep snow are always a heart-stirring sight—a silent reminder that winter is never eternal. Spring will always come to thaw what was once frozen.

After scouring through twelve questionable catalogues, nine gossip collections, and thirty-two useless maledictions, I finally found something real—a genuine book on spirit-summoning.

It took me two months to gather the materials, another five to shape a vessel within me strong enough to hold the energy. After so many failures, I finally succeeded. In secret, I summoned a kelpie—Naelith. The moment it happened, I knew. A sense of rightness, of belonging, unlike anything I have ever felt.

Naelith wrapped me in soothing energy, so warm, so whole. I couldn’t stop my tears. During a dive, Naelith and I found these grape-sized pearls. (And before you ask, no, I didn’t harm anything or anyone, so stop worrying.)

Yours lovingly, Alysia

-A letter with flowy handwriting

It was the last letter, Ignisia stacked them together and set them inside a secret compartment. As she turned away from her desk, a parchment caught her eye.

To the Honorable Ignisia Everfaith,

Grandmaster of Holy Empire and Heir of the House Everfaith,

It is with due solemnity and the weight of duty upon my shoulders that I write to you, for matters of law and order compel us to act with unwavering resolve.

Know that by the edict of House Veritas, Vivian Alysia Veritas, a disgrace to her lineage, is henceforth banished from the lands of the Holy Empire. Their crimes — Oath breaking, Sodomy and Moral Corruption, have blackened their name beyond redemption, and as such, they are cast out from all noble company, stripped of their title, lands, and inheritance.

As the rightful heir of House Everfaith, it falls to you to ensure that none within your domain grant them quarters. To shelter or aid them is to stand against the justice of the realm, and such treachery will not be tolerated. Let your retainers be warned, and let the word spread swiftly to all who swear fealty to your House.

I trust that you, as the inheritor of your House’s honor and duty, will uphold the laws that bind us all and see through it that this command is met with unwavering obedience. Let this be a testament to the strength of our realm and the justice that holds it firm.

May your rule be wise and your House ever steadfast.

By My Hand and Seal,

Duke Nocthelm Veritas

Patriarch of House Veritas

x, x Moon cycle, x1381

-A crumpled parchment with seal of House Veritas

How did she forget destroying this nonsense. She rips the parchment, fury manifesting as scorching aura — setting it ablaze. She tossed it into the fireplace, watching it burn with a crackle.

That was the last letter that updated Vivian’s state—the one marking her a criminal. Banished nobles rarely survived beyond three years. Yet, she knew her friend could withstand even a monster stampede.

Still, for fourteen years, not a single trace of Alysia had surfaced. She never stopped searching. She couldn’t bear to let the number of people who called her Noah shrink from three to two.

A gentle knock startled Ignisia. Quickly, she wiped her tears and adjusted her pearl brooch, ensuring her uniform was impeccable. Composing herself with a soft cough, she answered, ‘Come in.’

‘Yes, Matriarch.’ A maid entered, presenting a letter, ‘I was tasked to deliver this letter.’

‘House of Hearth from Southern Mountains?’, Ignisia took the letter, studying the seal, ‘Who delivered it?’

‘It came with the other official letters; I would have delivered it to your office but it is the first time we received a letter from Hearth, so I’ve come to deliver it to you directly.’

Ignisia dismissed her with a wave of her hand, opening the letter —

To the Grandmaster of the Holy Empire,

It has been a long time since I last wrote to you. The celebration of the X1395th Soliste feels different here in the South. Winter is relentless—its pure white mountains a constant, untouched through the seasons.

I wouldn’t blame you if you burned this letter upon arrival. In fact, it would be a miracle if you read it to the end.

Nonetheless, the Floating Ginor remains as majestic as I remember.

Yours lovingly, Vivian Alysia

[stamped with a raven seal]

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