"Magicka is, in essence, manipulation of a spiritual bond between body and earth, or more specifically, body and the Earth Bones – the laws and forces that shape our world and how it and everything in it behaves. It has always been thought that a spiritual connection, but also a physical connection, must be made between the two. Think of the act of casting a spell as a lightning bolt cracking in a storm. The lightning ruptures from the storm cloud, hits the ground and dissipates, but displays tremendous power in the process.
"Often, the question has been posed as to why spells cast by mages levitating or in a slowfall-controlled freefall are so much less effective. Try it – Milie, try jumping up in the air whilst you cast a spell"
A few seconds later I heard a dull whoosh, a failed spellcast.
I loved listening to the lectures in the Arcane University's courtyard as I toiled at their lands. The heads there may have been unpicking and exploiting the fabric of reality but none of them had ever done a damn day's work in their lives. That's why I was there with my spade, digging a pretty little flowerbed to go outside the Praxographical Centre. I couldn't help but overhearing the lecturer, since the bastard spent the entire day shouting 20 yards away from me, and I didn't understand a bloody thing he was on about. You could consider me a nihilist but I've never been overly interested in magic – until now. But something the old Altmer said struck a chord, because it made sense. Lightning has to be earthed before it can strike. Lightning can be cast as a spell, so why not everything else? Why should every other spell not need earthing?
The lecture wound up and all the students in their green robes started filing past me. They must have been boiling. It was mid-summer and far from the coldest day on record. It made me realise what a state I was getting in – I threw down my spade and took a few long gulps of water from my canteen.
"Thirsty work?" a Breton girl asked as she walked past me.
"You said it" I replied, taking another gulp. "That was quite an interesting lecture you were having there. I couldn't help but listen"
"Yeah, it's what I'm writing my dissertation about" the girl replied. "Mages are so obsessed with shaping magicka, they don't realise where it comes from in the first place"
"And where does it come from?" I asked, preparing myself for a long answer.
"It's everywhere, really, just an ambient force. It permeates through the ground until a conduit – a spellcaster – pulls it up and shapes it into a spell. It lingers in the air, eventually making its way back into the earth"
"So it is like lightining in a storm, just like your man said"
"Exactly! And people work like lightning conductors, absorbing magicka out of the air and storing it, ready to shape it into spells. It must all be down there somewhere, a vast well of magicka, like the lava chamber under a volcano"
"Erris Spires" I said, holding out my hand for the girl to shake. "It's been fascinating to meet you"
"Milie Lafontaine" the girl replied – I guessed by her name that she was Breton. That, and the pale complexion and posh accent. "A pleasure"
Milie then left, telling me she had to go and study. I watched her walk towards the practice rooms – she was best described as boringly pretty. Average, but in a good way. My friends always asked me why I was never fighting off the girls – apparently I'm quite handsome. I suppose I try to look quite rakish, with an unkempt head of short hair and a stubbly beard, but the reality is I just could never be arsed to shave or cut my hair very often.
I took off the leather waistcoat I was wearing over my grubby white shirt and threw it to the ground, and got back to work.
"Ah, is the navvy getting hot?" a young Altmer smirked as he walked past with one of his friends.
"Fuck off and cast some fireworks" is what he got in response. I would much rather have bashed his head in with my spade.
I spent the rest of the day shovelling soil, planting seedlings and sprinkling shit over them to make them grow faster.
Ancius Carro was my best friend, and quite a character. He said he had two passions in life – hunting and playing his musical instrument, which he would kill you if you said were an accordion. He says he plays the melodeon, which differs from the accordion in that it has buttons rather than keys and is restricted to the keys of G and D. I play the fiddle a bit, and I have no idea what he's on about. Anyway, he won't admit it but he has two other passions in life – drinking and swearing.
Like on almost every night, we would both meet in the Merchants' Inn in the Market District after we had finished work for the day, after I had taken my handful of gold for digging holes and he had decided he'd killed enough deer for one day.
As was often the case, I arrived before Ancius. He didn't keep me waiting though, to give him credit. I'd just sat down at an empty table with two tankards of ale when he walked into the inn, cast his bow and quiver down on the table and collapsed into the chair.
"Tough day?" I asked.
"Yeah. Spotted some real healthy-looking deer out in the Imperial Reserve. I was on their tail for ages – got attacked by a brace of wolves but fought the fuckers off. I caught the deer up again in the West Weald, killed the two biggest ones. I cooked up a bit of the meat before I sold the rest – fuckin' beautiful, I tell you"
"You didn't save me any then?"
"I didn't think I'd need to. I imagined you'd be feasting all day – feasting your eyes on them pretty mage girls. What was today's lesson about then?"
I told Ancius about what the lecturer, and later what Milie had said, about magicka being an ambient energy imbued in the ground.
"I've always wondered how it can flicker in and out of existence just like that," Ancius said. "You cast a healing spell, you feel better, but where does the lightshow end up?"
"Back in the air, or back in the ground, by the sounds of it" I replied.
"I've got something to show you tomorrow, if you fancy it" Ancius said, lowering his voice slightly. "Just east of Skingrad"
"That's only a couple of hours' walk away – why wait until tomorrow?"
Ancius sank the rest of the ale in his tankard, and I did the same. "Next round's at the West Weald, then"
Evening had turned to twilight by the time we reached the area of the West Weald that Ancius had told me about. We had taken our musical instruments with us – mainly just to pass the time when we rested. Ancius wore his melodeon in a leather satchel over his shoulder, making sure he could grab his bow and reach for his quiver easily if we were attacked, which we were, only once by a wolf, which my sharp-shooting friend dealt with before it got close enough to pose a threat.
The two of us could communicate through music as well as we could through conversation. We sat down in a clearing, made a small campfire and began to play, just simple traditional reels. We often busked in the street together, earning extra money on the side – if Ancius had a bad day's hunting, it was his livelihood, much moreso if an innkeeper would pay us a handful of coins to stand in one corner of his tavern and play throughout the evening.
Words came into my head as I began to sing them.
"As the day turned to night
We set to the West Weald
Just to see what we could find
What myst'ries it would yield"