Primordial Unleashed: Epic Progression Fantasy

Coming upon a beck, Skippii lay down his spear and withdrew the wax tablet which Cliae had provided him. Unfolding the two slabs revealed inscriptions which the slave had written that afternoon while they spoke extensively in camp. They had washed it with diluted mud and wiped the surface clean so that the engravings stood out against the clear wax, depicting what Cliae called his ordinatio.

"Glazing Fist." Skippii read the first entry. As well as helping him understand his strange magia, the slave was helping Skippii with his letters. Reading and writing had never been his strong suit; all his life had been governed by company sigils and numerals. He had little need for literature.

"Blazing," Cliae smiled softly. "Remember, B."

"They're very similar," Skippii grumbled.

"All great men must learn to read," Cliae said.

"Great men?" Skippii raised an eyebrow, unsure if it was a jest.One of Cliae's eyes was badly swollen and bruised, but in the other, there was a kindness which illuminated the sincerity in their voice. Their gratitude was plain, bordering on idolisation. They saw Skippii as their savior for rescuing them, but he had only been doing his duty.

Since that night, the combined consortium of Cohort's I, II, and III had remained encamped in the narrow valley for two nights. Rumour was that the other consortiums making their journey elsewhere through the mountains were having just as much trouble as them, and their plans to reform beyond the mountains had been postponed. A perilous nuisance, but for Skippii, it provided a blessed reprieve, and some time to venture outside the perimeter to practice his latent magia. Catching a shaft of evening sunlight through the canopy of rock-borne shrubs and trees, Skippii read the tablet.

Blazing Fist

A concentration of flaming energy, held within a fist. Fires burn upon the surface of the flesh, able to ignite that which they touch. The limb is strengthened and the fist feels heavy, yet feels weightless to wield. The Magmancer may down upon their foe with tremendous force and fortitude.

"Magmancer," Skippii murmured. It was the word Cliae had insisted on giving to his abilities. Skippii had told them it was unnecessary, but when Tenoris had made a clumsy effort to eavesdrop on their conversation, he could not stop repeating the term.

"Skippii Magmancer Altay. Magmancer firewielder, flame of the south, champion of the Ninth. Magmancer, the marvel of the Auctoritas, leader of Companeight Four." Each time he said it, he embellished a more lavish pronunciation until Skippii couldn't hear the word without laughing. Smirking to himself, he continued reading the entry under Blazing Fist.

Refinement: Try shaping the flame elsewhere on the body.

The note was devised by him and Cliae–a way to practice each new ability in the hopes of strengthening them. It reminded him of learning to ride. At first, sitting atop the saddle had scared him; being only a boy, the stallion was twice his size and many times his weight. However, the animal was well tempered and trained by his master–the philosopher Thales. Calmly at first, he had ushered the horse forward, trailing Legion III Platinum. But before long, he had the stirrups underneath him, the reins taught in his hand, bounding across the fields in glee.

Learning to ride had opened up a whole new world to him, and he had urged his mother to let him become a messenger boy for Legion III, but she refused him, saying it was too dangerous, and besides, the steed was Thales', and they hadn't the wealth to afford a horse of their own.

His heart lifted at the memory of the wind in his hair, the grasslands rushing beneath him like waves before a ship; and his mother too. He wondered what she would make of all of this strange magia, and whether perhaps she had answers for him. Could she have known all along? He doubted it very much, and would have to wait a very long time before finding out.

Unfastening his cloak, he tossed it and his tunic aside, standing bare-chested and bare-footed in the glade. His bones felt sore where the Aperatrox had battered them with its tusks, but he knew that he would not have survived its attack if not for the bolstering of his magia. The memory brought him to the second entry within the tablet:

Burning Armour

Flames coat the skin's surface, forming a repulsive armour which absorbs or reflects incoming blows. Similar to Blazing Fist, except used in a defencive manner.

Refinement: Where can the shield be directed? To the arms, chest, legs? How much energy can the shield absorb? How quickly can this power be summoned? How long can it last? How does it differ (if at all) to the Blazing Fist power, or is this simply another application of a more general evocation?

This evocation was the one which he desired to train the most, as he understood it the least out of the bunch. Reading on, he found his favourite entry–the one he was most proud of–the attack he had unleashed upon the Ürkün chieftain the night of Cliae's rescue.

Firetail Lance

The Magmancer steeps their weapon in the fires of their forge and so transforms it with the properties of his wrath. The weapon possesses a fiery aura which, upon piercing an enemy, causes them to burst into flames.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The name was Skippii's idea, much to the delight of Tenoris, who at the time had been lingering within their tent listening to their conversation.

"Oohhh," he had hummed low. "A comet speaks of much fortune, and is the messenger of many a God. An excellent choice, Skippii."

Skippii's hand fell upon the spear at his side. As much as he wanted to practice it today, of all his abilities, it was the one he had the least control of. Though the glen concealed them from the legion camps in the valley below, auxiliaries often wandered about the hills, and he couldn't risk being spotted. His companeight had given him their trust while he brought his magia under control and sought to discover its origins, but the arcanus might not be so kind, nor the Coven, who would demand to know which of the Pantheon he held allegiance.

For now, he must do what he could in secret. Besides, the Firetail Lance had tarnished his previous spear, blunting its iron tip and half-burning the shaft. He had been lucky to find a replacement by the roadside on the trek home, but didn't want to make a habit of cremating his gear.

"What will you start with?" Cliae asked.

"The Core, I guess," he said.

"Yeah, good choice, legio. Perform your evocations last."

Skippii scowled. "Evocations?"

"Abilities," Cliae said. "Warmagi of the Coven perform invocations–magia of the Gods. You… A term I thought would better fit was evocation."

"Okay," he shrugged, not seeing the importance of it, and read:

The Core

An internal halo of golden light, into which magia is drawn and contained. The epicentre of the Magmancer's power.

Development: With breath, the Magmancer drew magia from the source and condensed it within himself, creating a shell for the vessel. A permanent structure was achieved.

Refinement: Test and strengthen this structure. Explore what else could be built within or around the halo.

"Right," Skippii said to himself. "Permanent structure."

"As you described," Cliae said. "This core is what separates you from the Pantheon magus. It's extraordinary. You can capture magia within yourself. Normally, a magus must constantly channel their magia from the Gods."

"Are you sure?" he said skeptically. "It seems pretty natural to me."

Cliae shook their head. "It's not like that. Magus are a conduit. Imagine a lightning rod. It may thrum with power after the lightning has struck it, but it cannot produce its own electricity."

"So…" he mused. "This core gives me an edge?"

Cliae grinned sheepishly, and nodded.

With a breath, Skippii closed his eyes and looked inwards. Magia trickled up into him from the earth, where it brought a candle of light to a solid ring in his abdomen. Opening his eyes, he saw nothing there, but closing them again, he sensed the halo clearly. It felt like a pressure within him–not quite physical–but not entirely absent. With each breath, it grew brighter, swelling with magia drawn from the mysterious source beneath his feet.

His muscles were clenched, but that wasn't necessary anymore. Relaxing his body, he observed the halo, expecting to feel it turn to mist and vanish. But it persisted–the magia within it did not diminish. Opening his eyes, he noticed no difference upon his skin–no reddening or evaporating mists.

"Is it working?" Cliae asked. "Have you shut yourself off from the source?"

"Yeah," Skippii grinned. "Look."

With a command, he directed it to his palm. Flames shot down his arm, spluttering between his clenched fist–a modest flame of his control. Opening his palm, he shut his magia off from his hand, and watched as the flame quickly died out, like a candle starved of air.

"Good, right?" he said.

"Amazing," Cliae marvelled. "What about inside the halo? Anything there?"

"Oh, it's just empty." Skippii scowled. "I think."

"You said that, when the gift awakened, it was whole."

"Yeah…" he trailed off. "That whole experience was overwhelming. I don't know if I fully trust my memory of it."

"Try it."

Shutting his eyes, Skippii returned to his inner-energy. With breath, he guided magia into it, willing to fill the empty space at its centre. At first, it made no difference. Skippii felt the heat build on his skin as it escaped the grasp of his core and evaporated in the air. Breathing deeper, he reached down into the earth, drawing his magia like a net trawling the ocean floor.

Fire rose about him, much quicker than he had expected. He poured them into the halo's centre, but they raged around him. A white hot anger prickled his skin, taunting him to act, but he withstood the urge and slowed his breath to a sliver. Slowly, the fires died down. The ring around his core glowed white with power, but he ignored it, focussing on its centre.

Tensing his abdomen, he drew long, slow breaths, diving deep into the source, but avoided drawing too much power. The magia flowed thickly–its touch was distinct–more solid, and more of a strain. A red light flickered awake–dark like burnished clay–then his legs buckled. Squatting, he pressed his palm into the dirt. As he drew from deep with the earth, his calves and arms spasmed and a great weight dragged him down. Forcefully, he pressed the raw magia into the centre of his core, and the red light emerged again, brighter than before.

Clenching his whole body, he reached for it like a gem at the bottom of a gloomy lake. The pressure built until it was too much to bear. Releasing his breath, the magia fled him back into the earth. But as it did so, the earth shook like a struck gong. The trees about him rattled their branches as birds sprung into the air with distress.

Skippii opened his eyes and looked at Cliae. "Did you feel that?"

Cliae nodded slowly. "I wouldn't be surprised if the whole valley did."

Sitting atop a rock beside the beck, Skippii massaged his calves. "That wasn't easy."

"What wasn't?"

"Trying to fill the vessel," he said. "It feels like I'm lifting a boulder lodged in the earth."

"Did you lift it?" they asked.

"A bit. I saw something–a dark red light at the centre." He grabbed the wax tablet from nearby. "I suppose you're going to want to write that down too?"

"I'm going to need another tablet," Cliae said, coming over.

"Erymenes' fires, and now Seismorix's earthquakes. This just gets us further from knowing what's causing all of this."

"Don't be pessimistic," Cliae said, scrawling over their tablet with a stylus. "It shows a lot of promise."

As he pondered, Skippii fell into darker thoughts–like old trodden paths easily followed in the gloom. Though he felt righteous, without solid answers, he could not be certain of the nature of his magia. But where would he seek them? A priest? The arcanus? It was too risky. Then he would seek them within, and resign himself to not knowing, ever keeping it a secret from his superiors.

Skippii sighed deeply. "Am I doing the right thing?"

"The more control you have-"

"No, I mean with…" Stammering, he shook his head, feeling foolish and weak. "It doesn't matter. What's next?"

Cliae observed him for a short while, something unsaid balancing delicately on their lips.

"Your evocations," they said finally. "Go through each of them–those that you can–and bring them to bear. Maintain their power, then release them with control. Can you do that?"

"Of course," he said resolutely, and with a breath, unearthed the coals buried deep beneath the earth.