Cyprian
Journeyman Mage
The City of Babel, Ashdod

New Years 1, 6100

College Esoterica
Rephidim City

To My Most Esteemed and Secure Colleagues on the Sky Island of Rephidim:

I send you greetings from what would be the House of the Crafters andSeekers of the Arcane, if there was anything left of it. In fact,nothing remains of our former home and place of research and study save acolossal hole in the earth, whose edges, I am assured, would be mostpeculiarly smooth were it not for the detritus of buildings and corpses thatcollapsed into it in the wake of the hurricane-force winds that followed theformation of the hole. Nature abhors a vaccuum, I'm told.

Oh, wait, do forgive my ignorance. I am assured that the Houseremains, likely intact, probably floating in the void of the empty sky farabove our world. Perhaps it has physically joined the Procession of Souls,to keep company with the spirits of its erstwhile occupants. In a thousandyears, no doubt our descendents will find a way to retrieve it and marvel atour o'erweening arrogance and astounding idiocy.

The inhabitants of that particular section of ground, however, will not beretrieved. I had the grave misfortune to be involved in a ritual ofsubstantial potency when the calamity occurred, and as a result Ifelt them perish. Have you ever experienced the sensation of a mandying? How about thousands of them, all slowly suffocating while bloodvessels burst in their limbs, their eyes erupt from their skulls, theirbodies bloat and distend? Nature abhors a vaccuum. I know.

There appear to be only fourteen of us left alive after that calamity, allof whom, by the grace of the Sisters, were elsewhere when the boomer struck.By "us" I mean all the former practitioners and residents of the House.That number includes nine apprentices, three journeymen, and one master, aswell as myself. The master and two of the apprentices suffered graveinjuries in the aftershocks of the disaster. No doubt they would recoverunder proper care – but given that our only surviving Life Mage is afirst-year apprentice, their outcome is in considerable doubt.

I cannot, of course, be certain that we were the only survivors from theHouse. Other mages may have fled or be in hiding after the strike – and whocan blame them? The College's much vaunted "neutrality" is a hollow sham.What fool instituted this absurd policy? Obscene, lunatic pride – to believewe could remain aloof from a crisis that consumes the very nations in whichwe live!

The table rocked suddenly from an impact, causing the writer's stylus toscore a jagged line in the wax surface of his tablet. He looked down inalarm, ears flattening against his skull, but relaxed when he saw the smallform next to him. A young batling had bumped into the table, and as thetoddler stumbled backwards from the collision, he fell onto his rear, andsat, blinking up at the man. "Sawry." The batling held both hands againsthis bruised forehead as he watched his elder, looking more anxious thanhurt. "Mama wants smer blankers," he added incoherently, after a moment.

"Keyni?" A woman's face poked in through the partially-opened door. "Keyni,don't bother the mage, he's busy," she scolded, rustling in hurriedly. "I'msorry, sir. I sent him to fetch more blankets – I should have been clearer onwhere to look." she apologized, standing over the child. "I hope he didn'truin your work."

Cyprian leaned back, closing his eyes. "It's fine, Leisa," he answeredwearily. "I can't use this nonsense I've been scribbling anyway." He stoodand set the ceramic mold containing the tablet on the room's small heatingstove. The letters carved into the wax soon softened and melted. He liftedthe tiny table and moved it even closer to the heating stove, then handedthe blanket he'd had wrapped about his shoulders to the woman. "There'sone," he told her wryly. "I think there's a linen closet on the thirdfloor, too. Check there – maybe no one's gotten to it yet."

She nodded assent, folding the coverlet reflexively over her arms. "Sir?Is there anything you need?" Her green eyes darken with concern.

The journeyman retrieved a blank tablet and seated himself once more on astool before his makeshift desk. He rested his head against one hand for amoment, visibly restraining the first several responses that came to mind atthe other Eeee's question. "Yes," he said at last. "Something to drink. Itdoesn't matter what. Non-poisonous preferred, but at this point, optional."

The female curtsied silent acknowledgement, and led her son out of the roomas Cyprian set his stylus to the fresh wax.

To My Esteemed Colleagues:

By the time this reaches you, I suspect you will already know the worst ofmy news. The City of Babel has been struck by a boomer. As a result,approximately one-third of the city has vanished and its population killed;the latter has been verified by magical means. This includes our own Houseof the Crafters and Seekers of the Arcane. Extensive further damage wasdealt to Babel as air and earth swept inwards with gale force to fill thespace left empty when the boomer detonated.

Most of the members of the House perished, as the vast majority of our rankswere either in their rooms or attending the College's New Year's party. Asbest I can ascertain, none who were within the radius of the device'sdevastation survived. I was fortunate enough to be on the other side of thecity when the calamity occurred, and I have managed to contact thirteenother former residents who had similar good luck. Among these number nineapprentices, three journeymen, and one master. The master and two of theapprentices have sustained severe injuries and may not live. The only LifeMage I was able to locate is a first-year apprentice; she is doing the bestshe can, but I fear she is entirely out of her depth. Significantenchantments have been wrought upon her simply to prevent her fromplunging into hysteria and despair.

The very fact that I pen this as the senior competent member of the Babelitecampus should underscore the gravity of our situation.

I cannot discount the possibility – nay, probability – that there are moresurvivors who have fled or gone into hiding since the disaster. In light ofthe attack of renegade Naga and Eeee mages directed at Rephidim's College,several even among those who did respond to my call fear that thedestruction of the House was an action sanctioned not merely by Rephidim,but by the College Esoterica itself. After all, it is common knowledge thatairships seldom fly without air mages. And the ship's ability to penetrateto the very heart of Ashdod without alerting anyone to its presence furthersuggests magical aid. Some doubt the wisdom of sending this missive,fearing that alerting the College on Rephidim as to our present whereaboutswill only prompt a second attack, to complete the work left undone by thefirst.

I only pray that I am correct in believing such paranoia wholly misplaced.We are presently based in the townhouse of Baron Hieseihan, at 14 Old CourtLn, along with a number of refugees likewise rendered homeless either by theattack itself or by the destruction caused in its wake. I beseech you tosend us aid as soon as possible. With the House has gone not merely ourtools of arcane practice and study, but our food stores and wealth as well.High Princess Saraizadze cries out for vengeance and incites the peopletowards retaliation; I cannot say that I blame her, but at the moment mylittle band is more concerned with such mundane necessities as food, warmth,and a roof over our heads.

Baron Hieseihan's nephew threw open his doors to welcome us and the otherrefugees who've trickled in; how the good Baron himself will react when helearns of his relation's kindness is a matter of considerable debate.Suffice to say that we would prefer to avoid depending upon his continuedassistance.

Lastly, while this issue is of less immediate concern to us, those of usremaining hope the Collegia Esoterica will give the cause of this calamitythe grave consideration it merits. In decimating Babel, Rephidim has strucka blow not merely at the unarmed populace of Ashdod, but at the sovereignpower of an expressly neutral party – the Collegia. I know that Ashdod and theNagai Empire have done the same, with only the dubious distinction of beingless successful.

Declaring our neutrality was the Collegia's only option if we wished toremain a united body. Allying ourselves with any of the warring partieswould surely have resulted in one or more of our Chapters breaking away fromthe whole.

But, with all due respect, it profits us little to express a neutralitywhich no one – not even our own members – honors. If unity is our goal – and Ihope that it still is – then we must exact some form of retribution. If weshelter beneath our roof mages who flagrantly assist the forces of one sideor another, if we sit quivering and cry "Neutrality!" every time our centersare openly attacked, then the fate of the House of the Crafters and Seekersof the Arcane will be shared, one way or another, by every other College.

Take what heed you may from the dire warning we received this New Year'sDay. I anxiously await your replies. Until then, I remain,

Yours,
Cyprian

As he set the stylus down again with a heavy sigh, he noticed a steaming mugplaced beside the tablet on the table, and looked over his shoulder to seeLeisa, watching him in silence. "Will they listen to you?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I don't know. To a journeyman? Usually not. But inthis case, in light of what's happened … maybe." After a sip at the mug, hetook a blank sheet of parchment from beneath the tablet and lifted a pen.Dipping it into an inkwell, he began carefully copying the final draft.

"Are you sure you're doing the right thing, writing to them? What if theothers are right … and this attack was endorsed by the College on Rephidim?"

Cyprian pauses, resting the quill tip on the blotter. "Leisa … If thewhole of the Collegia Esoterica wishes us destroyed, they've already won.Any chance we'd have to resist their attack is gone along with the House. Inthat event, all I'm doing now is saving them the trouble of tracking usdown." He renews the ink on the quill's tip and continues his work.

A hand drops onto his shoulder. "And there'd be no point in running, thatone might live to fight another day?"

The mage turns his head to look into the woman's eyes, and he answers herslight smile with a wry one of his own. "I seem to have quite the knack forchoosing the losing side. It must be in the blood." He covers Leisa's handwith his left. "I am glad you survived," he tells her, his voice almost lowenough to be a whisper.

She squeezes his shoulder gently. "And I, you … Cyprian." Impulsively,she bends over to brush a kiss against the top of his head, then quicklydeparts, leaving the journeyman to his copying.