Journal context notes:

This FE fanfic is based off a solo journalling game called "Grimoire", which I set in the FE Fates universe (month names borrowed from FE Three Houses) brought forward in time to a steampunk-type period, and a little bit of DnD flavour. What follows is the personal journal of Eldrus Runamere (OC), the grandson of Prince Leo of Nohr. The FE Fates world has already begun to evolve by the time Eldrus begins his life as a newly graduated wizard: a completely new class of magic users different to the mages, clerics and druids before them.

Derived from elemental mages, the new, usually elitist, Wizards differentiate themselves from other magic-users by their rigorous use of the scientific method and emerging technology to inform magical research. These "hybrid mages" became wizards by experimenting with "raw" and taboo techniques (eg. constellation reading, laying out monster entrails), rather than the usual method of passing down the same elemental spells copied down in tomes. Tomes (like Fire, Wind, Excalibur etc) date back to the ancient days, when some of the first clerics and druids made harmonious pacts with specific elements to create elemental tomes and bring about the first mages. These tomes were written down and have remained largely the same.

Most of a wizard's magic comes from the Ley Lines: recently discovered dormant reservoirs of magic coursing through the natural world. They run in thin, straight-line threads, some buried under the earth, others across the night sky. Wizards continue to devise new methods of tapping into the Ley Lines. Eldrus' speciality is through observing constellations.

The Journal of Eldrus Runamere, Grandson of Prince Leo of Nohr

8th Harpstring Moon, 1812 C.E.

A week has passed since the Society of Nohrian Grand-Wizards accepted my graduating thesis: 'The Draconic Beta Constellation and its Logarithmic Relationship to Elemental Fire'. As a fully fledged wizard, my bestowed title is 'Solamur the Mind'. My true name now remains secret: here begins my life's work in Arunfell Tower.

My room lies just below the observatory landing, with a single window that, at night, overlooks the amber lamps and moonlit rivers circling the Cyrkensia Opera House. Inside on the opposite wall, a portrait of Prince Leo of Nohr, my late grandfather and a highly intelligent mage even for his age, takes a prominent place in the otherwise book-filled walls.

Save for essential errands, I pass my days seeing and speaking to no-one. Almost. My aunt, or so she insists on being called (she is in fact, a man) visits me every fortnight. She never stops her lectures on the need for me to go out and "help people". Despite her obsessive love for frilled, ribboned dress, she was once a cleric who worked thick in the days of war with Hoshido, with whom we now coexist in peace.

"St Elimine!" She lays a white-gloved hand over her heart, looking at the portrait on my wall. Then turning to me with plaintive, puppy-like eyes and a querulous voice, "You're exactly like him, bad attitude included!"

I take it as a compliment. She leaves a basket of food on the edge of my table and sighs, while I smile, amused at how easy she is to gall. When the door shuts, a whiff of lavender lingers in the room. Aunt Forrest is one of the few people I have genuine affection for.

But she will not convince me. Sending letters remains my main communication with other wizards. Save for conferences, I have no need to see even them face to face. People can only string together thoughts of any use after deliberation: those too weak to hold their tongues are low-lives and cause brawls in the taverns.

Without our advanced, man-made glyphs to drive back Nature's every campaign of suffering, the strongest paladins in our army become useless. I believe all other mages, simple vessels of elemental forces, will soon become obsolete, the mere remnants of religious healing rituals. Since the discovery of the Ley Lines, they have not been able to advance at the pace we wizards have.

Unfortunately, research takes gold. I hate to say it, but if I do not go out to obtain some soon, I will be out of work before Harpstring Moon is over. I will use what I have to develop a glyph of my own, and hopefully it will be of use when I set off for materials in the fields, crawling with beasts and bandits.

14th Harpstring Moon, 1812 C.E.

After a full week observing the movements of Ninis Delta across the northern sky, I triangulated the position of a nearby Ley Line, lying just by the Port of Dia. It was only a few hours ride by tram, and I was met with sea-breeze the second I stepped out. Inspired in this fishermen's haven, I developed my first glyph: the Shield of Falling Nets. The spell is now in my Grimoire.

Its effect is to crystallise water vapour in the air, into steel-hard lattices of ice. As its name suggests, I will mainly use it for protection. Being a rather hefty spell, however, it needs an offering. Many burnt plant materials later, I found that the easiest way to cast it involves the smoke of myrrh incense.

This evening, returning to my examination of some old anima tomes, I fell asleep. The tome must have slipped and the edge of a page exposed to the fireplace. The next moment I was jolted awake by a loud boom!. Fairly thrown from my chair, I fell on a rug as fire magic from the tome infused the flame with beastly power. It leapt and razed up through an entire bookcase.

"Fire!"

Coughing, smoke overpowering my lungs, I threw a stick of incense at its feet.

One hand on my Grimoire, I flicked to the page marked with the new glyph. My mind dipped into the magic I'd collected from the Ley Line and directed a burst straight at the base of the flame. I called its name in the Celestial tongue (which I transcribe as best as I can, as it has no written tradition).

"Crystal breeze, spread your chains and halt my foe!"

A chill wind blew past my cheeks. Ice nets hurtled from my open palm into the heart of the fire. The flaming beast, choking, flickered violently, turning blue and orange by turns. Strangled by the growing nets of ice, it shrank, coughing up enough smoke to make the place look like a heavily puffing chimney.

I ducked low to the floor, throwing a cloak over my nose and mouth. My eyes stung and watered for a full several minutes. Then with a low hissing, the fire disappeared and the smoke faded.

An entire shelf of archived records, gone. What a start to my academic career.

Charred bits of papers floated like butterflies to the floor, and tiny embers glowed along various spots on the damaged bookcase. Stepping over some loose scrolls, I reached on the floor for the tome I'd dropped earlier.

It was then that I saw the mark on my arm. Grumbling, I went to the washbasin and rubbed at it vigorously with a bar of soap, but it wouldn't wash off. I examined it closely. It looked as if someone had dipped a pen in a pot of dark, violet ink and traced the vessels along the back of my hand up to about halfway up my forearm.

This wasn't a stain.

And it wasn't coincidence, I realized, that it was the hand I'd laid on the new glyph.

20th Harpstring Moon, 1812 C.E.

On my usual market trips, I sometimes stop to pick up news from Anna, the travelling merchant. She sells her wares at the entrance of Cyrkensia Opera House once a week. According to her, Anna's chain of stalls started off from a single handcart, and now on the days she is out of town, she has assistants to sell on her behalf. Aunt Forrest tells me that similarly-dressed merchants have been peddling rare goods, magical items included, for generations, even setting up shop right in the midst of a battlefield. All in all, Anna is the best person to know for a new wizard, and a much better source of news than the papers.

"Solamur!" Today, however, I noticed an unsettling, ambitious gleam in her eyes as she waved to me. My face arranged itself into my best impression of stone, and I pulled my cloak closer around my shoulders.

"Before you offer, I'm almost out of gold. I can't afford it."

"I thought you'd say that! Actually, I'm the one offering you gold today." A pause. She smiled and leaned in, dropped her voice to a whisper. "Have you heard of the Movement Ring?"

I shook my head. These gimmicks didn't interest me. It turned out, she described, that once put on, the ring allowed its wearer to take much longer strides than usual. A snort escaped me.

"That would be a charming look."

The businesswoman's smile never once left her face as she wagged her finger. "My guess is you've never seen the battlefield! Sand slows down both horses and knights, if you didn't know. With this ring, you are practically flying. Extra movement can save a life, you know?" She winked. "Especially if you're against an army of magic users like yourself." I frowned.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Ah well, therein lies the catch, Solamur. The ring's current owner is also a wizard, and he won't speak to anyone but a fellow, ah, colleague. Sounds like someone we know, doesn't it?" A sly smile. "Aren't you out of gold? I'll pay you 2000G if you can get me that ring."

I am by nature, a careful person, and with Anna, you can never be sure. But I really did need the gold. She would also be my best link later on, if I needed to find or sell magical artefacts.

An hour later, I found myself in a grassy field south from Cyrkensia. A farmer had let me ride in his haycart partway along a cowpath. At a small inn, I was dropped off and left on my own.

With a map and compass, I set off at a brisk walk towards a watch-tower up on a very distant hill marked on my map. Crows circled overhead as the hot afternoon sun rose high in the sky. My power walk slowed to a trudge. Sweating, I took off my cloak and had to keep stopping for a rest, cursing my thoroughly non-academic mission every time.

Finally, the watchtower loomed about a mile from me. Grey, thick clouds gathered, hovering ominously above its crooked point. It looked old, many generations old. Leaning at a slight tilt, swathes of moss crisscrossed around its weather-stained walls.

Suddenly, darkness shrouded the sky around us. The whole tower, especially the base, seemed to shake. Even where I was, I heard small pebbles tumbling around and the slightest of tremors under my boots. I smelt rain in the air as rumbling started in the sky.

Croooooom!

With a loud crash, the largest bolt of lightning I'd ever seen flashed around the tower. It lit up dramatically against its dark silhouette. The tower slowly leaned over, then collapsed with a heavy thud! A few pebbles at my feet were disturbed again by the shock. When the lightning vanished, there was only a heap of rubble where the tower previously stood. I shuddered. This is why I hate the weather far from the city.

Some crows that had been flying overhead cawed out excitedly and swooped down among the rubble. They reemerged with shiny, blue beaded necklaces in their beaks. I started. Treasure, in a place like this! I ran up to the tower and also pushed aside large pieces of stone.

A laugh escaped me: there was a stash of 1000G that had been concealed within the wall. So this was what my wizarding career had reduced me to.

Then I heard another peal of thunder. Better not stay too long. There had been a spot not far back that I thought would make a solid shelter.

Once the storm had subsided, I continued towards Cheve, where Anna's wizard apparently lived. Rain fell in a light drizzle, forcing me to tread carefully as my boots sloshed and sank in muddy puddles. All in all, I was beginning to enjoy wandering alone like this. The road widened and stretched upwards, meeting the graying sky at the distant crest of a hill.

Then I stopped. There were voices. The rattle of a cart, and jingling bells, on the other side of the hill.

This was wide open field, the nearest trees a long sprint away. I pulled the large hood over my head and just then, the other travellers came into view. One adult, two youths, all in worn farmer's tunics. Behind them, a light ash horse trotting with a loaded cart. One youth turned, towards a white goat leashed next to him. They all chatted amongst themselves, at ease. All harmless. Slowly, I let out the breath I'd been holding.

As the farmers passed, I thought I caught the glimpse of a smile from one, directed to me. But I turned my head from the main path. Wizards. Among even other mages and clerics, our strange, artificial magic is hated and feared. And rarely do you ever see a wizard in battle. We are cowards, locked up in our comfortable observatories and wherever else wizards tended to reside. My hand clenched suddenly into a tight fist.

Meanwhile, the rain had soaked my clothes right through, and evening chill was settling in. I finally arrived at another inn. Night was coming closer and it wouldn't be long before I'd have to stop. I went inside, approached the innkeeper, and passed her the cost I'd seen written on the wooden sign out front.

"One night's lodgings, please."

"On your way to Cheve, are you?"

I nodded, keeping my gaze on the stairs leading to an upper landing, where the rooms must be. Her voice sounded kindly, although I still did not look at her. In bandit territory, a lone traveller must take care. "You don't seem like a mercenary. What's a young man like you doing in the middle of nowhere at this hour? Just a moment, I'll make you some soup. You must be starving! What's your name?"

I put a hand in my pocket, fidgeting with the ceremonial amulet I'd been given on the day I had been christened Solamur. My real name was to remain buried forever now.

"My name is-," I hesitated. In a panic, unable to make up a name, I borrowed my aunt's. "Forrest."

21th Harpstring Moon, 1812 C.E.

I was in much better spirits the next morning. A fine veil of glistening dew lay over the grassy earth, early birds twittered from above, and the dawn air refreshed my lungs so much that I felt fit to run the rest of the way to Cheve.

Outside the inn, as I checked that my travelling sack was tied securely, I heard a whinnying close by and turned. For a moment I thought I was looking at an anatomical display of a horse. The ribs and shoulders showed so clearly against the body. But its head was intact, and its body still covered by a dull fur coat. Someone's hideous idea of a display, I thought, wrinkling my nose, when I received an even greater shock: the animal let out a snort and trotted towards me. It was alive. Only, the most malnourished horse I'd ever seen.

Aunt Forrest would demand me to intervene. No one seemed to be watching. I could take it, being a fairly lightweight rider myself. Checking my map, it didn't seem like there was long to go, even on foot. Maybe a stable in Cheve could look after it once I got there. Or the innkeeper, if she didn't know about the horse. It blinked at me with sad, large eyes. I lifted an arm, my stained hand reaching towards its nose.

"Alright, you win. You're coming -"

Something rustled. From around the corner of the inn, two burly warriors swaggered into view. Each was dressed in patched leather armour, one spiked club hanging ready at his back, probably several more weapons hidden somewhere on his person.

I stopped midsentence, turned, and swiftly abandoned the horse to its fate.

The rest of the trip was uneventful. The whole stretch of sky lay clear blue, and I went the whole way in complete solitude. But gloom settled in my mind like clouds the whole way. I didn't so much as think of the glyphs, or the ring, or the observatory. What was justice, if only something we used to entrance others? Who would sing the fate of one scrawny little wizard, or horse?

(Author's note: For those who've played FE Blazing Blade, see if you can spot the references throughout the journal :D

To be continued!)