Six Strange Rivers

All these rivers resemble and behave like water. Most of the time. Sometimes it's murky water, luminescent water, weed-choked water, &c, but still water. Each river has a single course: there are no or few tributaries. Some may have gates, dams, cataracts and the like.

The Styx*

Flows Into: The Underworld.

Is the River of: Unbreakable Vows, Supernatural Boundaries.

One may cross it or travel it by means of: A dark, low, boat.

Piloted by: A grim, greasy, bearded ferryman.** 

At a charge of: A Coin, held in the mouth.

A Child dipped in the River: becomes Invulnerable.

Charon and Psyche, 1883, John Stanhope

The Bhallduin 

Flows Into: The Celestial Realm.

Is the River of: The Course of the Sun, Day and Night.

One may cross it or travel it by means of: A floating palace of mirrors and mosaics.

Piloted by: The Signs of the Zodiac, commanded by a Solar Hierophant.

At a charge of: The recitation of a litany from approved scripture.

A Child dipped in the River: Will never suffer the loss of his or her senses, other than by outright mutilation.

The Izonn

Flows Into: The Realm of the Forms.

Is the River of: Supernal Order.

One may cross it on: A giant bearded snake, with the voice of every single one of your schoolteachers speaking at once.

Piloted by: The snake decides where to go.

At a charge of: You must argue why you should get to ride the Snake in a dialogue with the Snake. 

A Child dipped in the River: Will always know what time it is, where they are and what is around them.

The Novar

Flows Into: The Prelapsarian Garden.

Is the River of: New Souls, the UnBorn, Virgil's Fourth Ecologue

One may cross it on: A canopied litter wreathed with plants carried by muscular tritons.

Piloted by: a pearl-white Pelican perched on the front of the litter.

At a charge of: One pomegranate per triton. (It is considered good manners to offer the pelican a fish.)

A Child dipped in the River: will be 'bonny and blithe and good and gay'.

The Thyrss

Flows Into: The Land of Cockaigne.

Is the River of: Intoxication, Second Helpings.

One may cross it on: A polychrome barge with numerous pavilions.

Piloted by: A mob of Maenads.

At a charge of: All the booze on your person.

A Child dipped in the River: will never suffer a hangover, or gout, or indigestion, or food poisoning.

The Sennus

Flows Into: The Dying Earth, the Age of Rust, the Æon of the Red Sun, the Slow Ragnarok.

Is the River of: Bitter Resolve, Leaden Darkness.

One may cross it on: A floating chariot decorated with Baroque statuettes pulled by moth-eaten mer-lions.

Piloted by: An old wounded soldier in a worn uniform.

At a charge of: A small bowl of your blood, mixed with myrrh.

A Child dipped in the River: will only die in battle.

The Eilex

Flows Into: The Blessed Lake and the Isle of Crowns.

Is the River of: Healing Rest, Useful Dreams.

One may cross it on: A carrack with an elaborate crenellated fo'c's'le. 

Piloted by: Twenty Assorted Medieval Kings under the command of a beautiful Damsel.

At a charge of: You must throw away all your weapons. Especially the magical ones.

A Child dipped in the River: will become a judge, a priest or a captain - if perhaps not literally, and in accordance with the circumstances they grow up in. 

***

You may decide for yourself what surrounds the river, and where in the realms of men it emerges. 

The cost of the ferryman's fee may be low, but actually making it as far as the ferry is hard. 

It is assumed that none of the various ferrymen below will drop you into the river accidentally.

This post is rather in the vein of Rheingold, et al - but somewhat less focused. 

* There's a bit of both Acheron and Styx here, admittedly. 

**Aeniad, 6.300

Rheingold, et al.

A companion piece of sorts, to We use Every part of the Dragon.*

Rheingold

If you take the Rheingold and forge it into a suitable personal ornament, it will give you.....worldly power.

But you have to give up......Love.

And it is guarded by......Seductive beguiling maidens.

It was set there by a Demiurge who may well work against you -.......A maimed manipulator with a rune-carved sceptre.†

Alberich, from Die Nibelungen: Siegfried (1924, Fritz Lang).
See also here.

Nile Tin

If you take the Nile Tin and forge it into a suitable personal ornament, it will give you.....Power over depictions.

But you have to give up......Artistic Taste

And it is guarded by......Ibises with poisoned talons and sagacious arguments.

It was set there by a Demiurge -.......A feather-cowled cosmic charioteer.

Ganges Iron

It will give you.....power over conflicts, contests and contention.

But you have to give up......Regret.

And it is guarded by......Humanoid snakes who know all your shameful secrets.

It was set there by a Demiurge -.......A four-faced mother of many riding a crocodile.

Mississippi Lead

It will give you.....power over transactions.

But you have to give up......All hate, wrath and enmity.

And it is guarded by......Ghostly, loathsome, mocking horsemen.

It was set there by a Demiurge -.......A dark-suited cigar-smoking shady patrician.

Yangtze Silver

It will give you.....power over records and truth-telling.

But you have to give up......Sleep, forgetfulness and the ameliorative effects of time.

And it is guarded by......Giant, officious, bureaucratic carp.

It was set there by a Demiurge -.......A smiling, flower-wreathed immortal Princess.

"I have been in love with [RHINE] gold. I love its colour, its brilliance, its divine heaviness. I love the texture of [RHINE] gold, that soft sliminess that I have learnt to gauge so accurately by touch that I can estimate the fineness of a bar to within one carat. And I love the warm tang it exudes when I melt it down into a true [RHINE] golden syrup. But, above all, Mr Bond [SIEGFRIED], I love the power that [RHINE] gold alone gives to its owner – the magic of controlling energy, exacting labour, fulfilling one’s every wish and whim and, when need be, purchasing bodies, minds, even souls."

Mekong Copper

It will give you.....power over the 'terrestrial spiritual'. You cannot bar the doors of heaven or hell, but you can lead people into temptation or block chakras or make the worldly man into a saintly hermit.

But you have to give up......Trust.

And it is guarded by......Singing mummified monks.

It was set there by a Demiurge -.......Spiteful, demonic twins.

Volga Zinc

It will give you.....power over wildness: human passions, beasts and wilderness.

But you have to give up......Any sense of community or togetherness. You can become 'one flesh' with a partner, but cannot bond with anyone else.

And it is guarded by......Restless, boisterous warriors clad in pelts. 

It was set there by a Demiurge -.......A muscular temperamental thaumaturge who carries his ever-glowing furnace on his back.

Niger Platinum

It will give you.....power over 'Higher feeling' - elevated, refined sentiments or anything aspiring to the same.

But you have to give up......Any sense of novelty, invention or discovery. Nothing will ever be new to you.

And it is guarded by......Abusive lion-headed apes.

It was set there by a Demiurge -.......A Crone in elaborate robes and a tall headdress.

Cover of Tom Holt's Expecting Someone Taller - an introduction to Wagner parody for me.
Don't pay too much attention to the cover.

If you gain and try to alloy any of the above metals, every single listed Demiurge will appear and start hitting you with cricket bats until you stop. 

*Other inspiration from this review. I have moved away from the previously encountered scheme of the metals of the ancients - getting liquid mercury out of a river seems a troublesome business. So, I refer to this list, excluding the non-metals, as well as mercury and bismuth.

† So.....The origin of the Rhiengold is never entirely clear, either in the Volsungsaga or the Ring Cycle. I have elected to associated each metal with some distant creator - with their precise level of power kept fairly vague - hence demiurge rather than deity, &c. This is in keeping with one piece of inspirational media and also with the whole 'Gods brought low by their own tools/schemes' element of the Ring Cycle. 

The Rest of All Possible Worlds: Names, Planes and Alternate Realms

Noisms of Monster and Manuals has a Kickstarter up for a zine called In the Hall of the Third Blue Wizard. Being a discerning sort, you may very well wish to back it. Now, back to our scheduled programming.

This is another 'problem post' detailing debates and questions confronting the community of magic-users in TRoAPW. 

This is arguably a late-game problem to confront players; if not a 'theory of everything' then at least one that unifies a great many other questions. 

The student of magic - not of spellcraft, but the full scope of magic - eventually realises two things. Firstly, that magic is otherworldly, it is unnatural - or rather perhaps, it is as natural as a lightning strike or the eruption of a geyser. Secondly, that it is taught. Spells are not created by accident. To realise the existence of such things without aid is unthinkable. 

Two questions, therefore. Who taught mankind magic? Where do they come from?

The Question of Antecedants

Premise

As the Schoolmen will tell you, mankind has been visited by otherworldly beings before. Mages, generally speaking, hold themselves a little distant from the Schools - and so therefore, it is a shock for wizards to learn the truth of matters: that the oldest colleges and unbroken traditions of magic have ongoing relations with- and perhaps even absolute obligations to - otherworldly things. A mage will tend to be deep into the 'journeyman' stage of their careers before they learn this to be so, and some may never learn it at all. They had thought that the image of the diabolic compact was something purely from moralising dramas. 

The State of the Art

Those mages that are admitted to the deepest secrets of one of the old colleges are either so advanced that they have to know or are pursuing a particular line of research. Many had thought that the business of initiations and secret orders was beyond them - or, at least, would proceed in a fairly predictable fashion. There are hidden and obscure chambers even in the airy halls of magical sects and in these places, communion is had with alien entities. That this is less viscerally foul than popular dramatists would have you believe is not necessarily much comfort. 

Quite what that entity is will vary between institutions of magic. It may be something deeply squamous and non-Euclidian that should only be interacted with fleetingly. It may be one of the old folk, the eldar beings of grove and barrow who shun mankind, with their cold iron and their cold sun. It may be that the horror stories are true, and that brimstone-scented demons glower at the contracts made by long-dead archmages with their true names. Some traditions may have traffic with the potent dead, the Eidolons spoken of by the Words of Procophon - what would the Primus of Malicarn say to that? 

Other options are whispered of: the old, shrunken Gods of Horato, shining celestial Star Archons, the ancient sentient forces called Elementals, the bird-headed apkallu, the monstrous Elder Beasts, kings or princes of their respective kinds - even the mysterious masters of the Dreamlands called oneirocrats, who claim to have once been humans. 

Dealing with Antecedents

While the Question of Antecedents is unlike the other wizarding debates in Calliste in that disruptive innovators and revolutionaries have by and large been kept out of the circles that actually discover the truth of the origins of Callistan magic, there is still quiet but fierce debate on how best to engage with Antecedents. 

The old methods repeat the actions of the first masters of a tradition. Similar forms of etiquette, summoning rituals and offerings are repeated as they have been throughout the centuries. Those who stick to these in their original form are known as Ritualists.

There are then those who suggest gentle changes to ritual and negotiating technique. Surely different offerings are apt for different requests? What does an Antecedant want? No doubt it must be something, or why would they be in contact with human magic-users. Let us find out, and use that to our advantage.  The proponents of such a view are known as Realists.

Finally - and perhaps most controversially - there are those who propose dealing with Antecedants (though probably not the demons) as part of a grand moral compact. An Antecedant can communicate, after a fashion, therefore can be educated and brought to a proper state of understanding regarding mortals. Mutual advantage, respect and equality will spring from this. Those who assert this are known as Idealists.*

Implications

The Ritualists hope to keep everything running smoothly. A steady drip of magical knowledge inspiring generation after generation of new magic-users. Even those outside their particular tradition are playing their part by producing new spells in their happy ignorance. 

The Realists and Idealists, in their respective fashions, want to create a new wave of magic to radically transform the lot of man and produce a brave new extraordinary world. There are those who say that this has already happened. 

Of course, all the above relies on everything going to plan. That nobody interrupts the rituals or negotiations. That an Antecedent doesn't have a change of heart. That an Antecedant's fellows don't object to the noise.

The Realms Beyond

Premise

Antecedants have to come from somewhere. Wizards can summon beasts to do their bidding - they have to come from somewhere. Wizards can step into pocket dimensions to hide from their foes - where are they going?

So there are Realms, planes of existence beyond this one. There are existing gates between them and the right magic-user can make new breaches all of their own. 

Not that this would necessarily surprise anyone in Calliste. Wizardry is commonly known to have contact with the extraordinary, and the Schoolmen suggest a world of possibility through the teachings of the Majestic Vision. 

The State of the Art

Now, the mage that focuses on planar spells - whether they call themselves a Conjurer or a Master of Gates - is a relatively rare beast. Summons can be difficult to control, or unnerving - as can inter-dimensional travel. Still, there are enough of them to have discovered that magic is quite literally otherworldly. It is not merely 'an unseen arm' that levitates the stone, it is an intruding and unnatural force. 

This force is not produced by mages, but used by them - a wizard is not a man running across a field, he is a man holding a sail out to catch the wind to propel himself. In either case, effort is required, as is technique - but the source of power differs. Further, spells are living things - or at least as lifelike in their actions as a pennant or kite that moves like a living thing in the wind. Therefore, spells must have a medium in which to exist and exert themselves. 

The most obvious entry point of an otherworldly power is the very gates and breaches made by or known of by wizards. Few would dispute that other unknown portals must exist, but there are also those who claim that there are myriad 'pinprick breaches' through which magic enters the world. Either way, a current of magic moves through the world, with sufficient regularity to allow mages to cast reliably - but still with enough fluctuation to allow for concentrations of magic.

Quite what is in these other realms is suggested by the nature of some Antecedents above, but some may be places very like Calliste. 

Planar Policy

Having established to their own satisfaction that magic requires portals of some kind, several options present themselves to those mages who know and care. 

Firstly, to leave well alone. You may drink from the river, but do not think to drain or divert it. Most magic-users inhabit this position by default. Such mages are known as Pastorals, for their (perceived) rustic simplicity and humbleness. (A Pastoral can still live, of course, in a sapphire pagoda with platinum wheels pulled by manticores. Wizarding humility is a strange thing.)

Secondly, to plug every breach and drain magic from the world. Even if this is possible (and those who assert the existence of 'pinprick breaches' do not think it is), no wizard wants to do this. 

Thirdly, to make (eventually) as many breaches as possible and let magic rush through every corner of the world. Let there be intercourse with every realm! Wealth, beauty and novelty await! A strange and brilliant new world! For their willingness to connect, those who hold this position are known as Conjuncts.** 

Fourthly (and finally), to establish a state of being in which there are as few breaches and portals as possible (to as few realms as possible) while maintaining a given flow of magic. Those who long for such a thing are called Autarks. The very danger of summoning and planar magic makes this a desirable position. 

A devout follower of the Majestic Vision might well be an Autark, looking to restrict portals other than to the Hereafter. It may even be that humanity could come into full ownership of a certain small number of realms, freeing it completely from the control or influence of demons and eldritch things. Those Autarks who hold to this last point are deeply interested in those Antecedents called oneirocrats.

Implications

Neither Conjuncts nor Autarks have advanced their plans very far yet, of course. The Autark model is more appealing to wizard-friendly magically inclined princes and ministers: fewer risks involved, more chances to control trade. The loop of worlds described by Patrick Stuart's Great Fold is something like what Autarks might produce - though naturally, all involved would rather not link in the realm of terrifying mega-fauna. 

Conjuncts quite like the idea of Planescape's Sigil. The more sober might acknowledge that most lands will not become a grand inter-dimensional freeport, but rather take their place in a layer of one of many realms bound together like a quire of paper. In this case, some of the descriptions of commerce between realms in Stuart's Great Fold describe backwaters, while wizards surf the tide of magical energy flowing between worlds. New mage-tyrants will arise, reshaping the world as they see fit, fighting their competitors and outside invaders. 

This could very easily turn into Kenneth Hite's Qelong.  While the archmages turn into the main characters from Zelazny's Chronicles of Amber. And you can't tell if your land is being invaded by the pike-and-shot regiments of your terrestrial neighbour, the world where the Horatione Empire never fell and now has zeppelins and mechanical walkers (but no gunpowder), the Legions of Hell, the frost giants or King Arthur - and it might not even matter. 

Comments, nitpicks, &c welcome - I'd rather work out the problems now than later.

*The actions of Dr Faustus have something of the Ritualist in them; the Government of New Crobuzon in Perdido Street Station are something like Realists in their dealings with Hell and the Weavers; and some of the later dealings of the protagonists in His Dark Materials form an image of the Idealist school of thought. 

** The malevolent Conjunct probably looks (or at least, acts) rather like the cultists of Lovecraftian fiction. A benevolent Conjunct owes something more instead to Ursula Le Guin and the later entries in her Earthsea series. If they aren't Heraclitan all-is-flux types.

The Rest of All Possible Worlds: Spell Schools

Another 'problem post' detailing debates and questions confronting the community of magic-users in TRoAPW. 

The spells quoted below are from The 52 Pages. 

Premise

That spells do different things is so obvious as to be not worth mentioning. That different spells sometimes work in very similar fashions is less readily apparent. Fire Dart and Flame Sphere have an obvious affinity, as do Detect Auras and Detect Magic. But despite the similarity between Create Rock and Conjure Wind, the precise nature and underlying logic of these spells is disputed. And given that different mages create and use different spells with very similar effects (Restimar's Instant Boulder against Belisar's Manifestation of Granite), the disputation gets even more troublesome. 

The categories spells are placed into are referred to schools. This conveys both that these spells are of a kind or group, that they are of a custom - a school of thought or use of magic - and that to manifest the features of this school, spell formulae and use must be taught.  

The State of the Art

Aside from the most obvious examples - as Fire Dart and Flame Sphere above - there has always been dispute over how to categorise spells. Wizard disputes with wizard, academy with academy, tradition with tradition. The growth of magical colleges that merge wizards of different traditions has made this ever more apparent. Where one stands on a theoretical position becomes ever more important and may dictate a course of study, the growth of magical talent or entry into a particular circle of mages. 

Pragmatic picking and choosing is still prevalent outside the (sometimes literal) ivory tower - but is now influenced by the ever-wider theoretical grounding given by masters to apprentices. Indeed, many wizards may not consciously identify with any given classification system at all. 

The disruption of older methods (by the Tabulators, or the Anti-Grimoireans) has created new ground for a grand division - not just between whether Dancing Lights is Illusion or Evocation, but if one should categorise on what a spell effects or uses or on what process a spell brings about. 

Thus, once the majority of spell catalogues in Calliste categorised their spells in the first fashion referring to 'The Lore of Shadows' or a 'Master of Gates'. Newer catalogues refer instead to 'the School of Illusion' or a 'Conjurer'. Those who adopt the newer method of categorising are known as Teleotaxists. 

Opponents of the Teleotaxists

Teleotaxists are most obviously opposed by Ontotaxists. By definition, these are a dedicated group of wizards with adequate free time and theoretical knowledge - rather than a hodge-podge coalition. The easiest way to tell a Teleotaxist from an Ontotaxist is to look at the titles they sport: does this wizard refer to herself as a 'Master of Winds' or a 'Ventilating Thaumaturge'?

An Ontotaxist model of the argument refers to Ontotaxists as 'Masons' and Teleotaxists as 'Millers'. The former is working with a medium, can perform both functional or artistic purposes - and more respected than a Miller. Whatever the relative wealth of a miller, they are far more commonly encountered and lack the cachet of a mason. Teleotaxists, for their part have more or less taken on the term Miller happily, employing bucolic imagery (maliciously whistling from morn till night), and gleefully referring to Ontotaxists as 'grist'. ("Your stony obduracy, oh mason, will be ground to the finest of powders by our ever-turning mill!")

The Teleotaxists Divided

Of the Teleotaxists, there are those that recognise that the division between Ontotaxists and Teleotaxists is less than useful. Noting the employment of nouns by one side and verbs by the other, they have attempted to to bridge the divide using gerunds. This has made them very unpopular and the Gerundists are very rarely heard from. 

The Polytaxists attempt to use both the Ontotaxist and Teleotaxist systems at once. This results in spells being referred to by long code strings, as 'BC/𝝭𝝘/7' or 'Leb - 2314 - p - 2477 - pf' or ever-growing combinations of arbitrary syllables as 'DivBanMiCha' - or strange blocky characters from constructed languages that are basically illegible  even to wizards, and troublesome to produce in freehand in one's grimoire. Polytaxists are derided as making a language fit only for golems, and thus speaking a language fit for golems - and thus jests abound that they are, in fact, golems. 

More successful than both are the Cryptotaxists. Such mages attempt to classify spells by using additional descriptors to hint at a mysterious source that cannot yet be detected or adequately defined. Some refer to a set of strange colours: 'This is a Blue spell'; 'This enchantment draws from the pool of Green magic'. Other modifiers are sometimes used : 'Of the Celestial School', 'A Perfumed incantation'. Still more Cryptotaxists refer to adjectives deriving from proper nouns, however derived: 'a glyph Telmarine'; 'an incantation Archenlandoise'.  Cryptotaxists are regarded as being somewhat pretentious, but they are still better received than the Polytaxists. 

Implications

Spell classification, of course, doesn't change the nature of the spells being cast. What the division between Ontotaxists and Teleotaxists does is change what spells are taught and by whom. The pyromancer is only subtlety different from the evoker, but if mages professes an expertise in both Transmutation and Divination rather than Change-Spells and Knowledge-Spells, there will be even less overlap. 

And the root structures of spells begin to change as well. As noted above, spell formulae have always differed. Therefore, a spell formulated with the firm belief that it is of one school rather than another will differ as well - if you have been used to one classification, moving to another may be difficult. Not impossible, but with that added layer of re-learning involved. 

Perhaps in time this might literally wall off Ontotaxists from Teleotaxists. All known spells (written or otherwise) have both 'noun elements and effects' - and 'verb elements and effects'. It would be near impossible for a spell to not do so. But as nounal Ontotaxists split from verbal Teleotaxists, so might spell formulation techniques. In time, even if all parties involved are using the same magical language, the same scripts for their grimoires - an Ontotaxist might be completely unable to parse a Teleotaxist-written spell, even a simple one. 

Does anything stand in the way of a great divide in Callistan magecraft? Well, non-magical patrons tend to look on the spell school debate as a wizard's pastime. Not terribly useful, but part of the cost of having spellcasters around. Of course, if an academy of wizards is in the service of the King for a particular purpose and the debate is preventing them from achieving that purpose, then there will be an intervention.

Less prominently, the mass of working journeyman mages who must and will use whatever spells they can get their hands on are a safeguard of sorts against divergence. Ad-hoc techniques to parse and align spells will be drafted every day by those at the coalface. But with growing interest in the uses of magic to address broad problems across society, and with growing efforts to promote magical understanding, starting with the academies, who knows if the one phenomenon will keep pace with the other?

Comments, nitpicks, &c welcome - I'd rather work out the problems now than later.

An obligatory reference to this part of Magical Industrial Revolution. 

The Rest of All Possible Worlds: Spell Levels

Another 'problem post' detailing debates and questions confronting the community of magic-users in TRoAPW. 

The spells quoted below are from The 52 Pages. 

Premise

Some spells are more complex, or have a greater effect, or a wider spread than others. Even the layman could tell that Fire Dart is doing less than Lesser Summon. Accordingly, magecraft has levels of skill and prowess involved. Even if a wizard is of journeyman status and presumably able to read wizard's script and work a spell, the initial spells they may work will be of a certain kind.  

The State of the Art

The wizardry of Calliste once worked this way: the spells your master gives you after serving your apprenticeship? Those are your 'first level spells'. 

Perhaps Arch-Proctor Sopespian feel that you should be taught Minor Summon before Unseen Servant in order to instruct you as to the unpredicatable nature of living magic - despite this being a more complex spell requiring greater reserves of your thaumic strength. 

Perhaps Restimar the Reticent feels that society at large is best served and mages are left unmolested when mischievous youngsters aren't taught Charm Person or Disguise. 

Perhaps Glozelle the Gamboge regards Translate as cheating, and that a young mage should get their grammar off by heart first before learning a useful short-cut for the field. 

Even beyond the Master-Pupil relationship, a Glozellian (or whoever) tradition ['Pointy gamboge hats will be worn on all formal occasions. If so desired, pupils may tuck ONE small flower into the hat-band.'] can develop over time, which ossifies the ruling on Translate above. 

Of course, wizarding traditions have matched and mingled sufficiently over the centuries. There are colleges of mages (and other institutions), in which the Restimari and the Glozellian can mix and compare notes. Some changes may have been wrought by this - but something still resembling the Glozellian tradition continues. And these changes are hardly universal: the Glozellians of Paviasse may have shifted their ban on Translate, but those in Malmery certainly haven't - and so the traditions proliferate. 

Enter the Tabulators. These are younger wizards who have decided to compose tables of spells, ranked by their cost in magical energies or complexity or some other objective factor than by what Glozelle (burnt to ashes fighting a dragon five centuries ago) or Restimar (emerges from his nacre crypt every four and sixty years to give cryptic advice, largely unrelated to the business of teaching) think. 

Opponents of the Tabulators

Those who stick to or recommend one tradition of magic are called Unicursalists. These are almost all 'Soft Unicursalists' - basically no-one but the most troglodyte would suggest that a wizard trained outside their tradition 'isn't doing magic' or 'isn't doing magic properly'. The Glozellian tradition is instead 'effective for these reasons' or 'particular relevant for these types of magic' or 'elegant' or  'tried and tested' or 'benevolent'.

Multicursalists are those who acknowledge there are many paths to teaching magic, each leading approximately the same place. They come from the newer formal magical institutions and colleges rather than isolated master-pupil relationships. A multicursalist might well acknowledge that the Tabualtors could accomplish their goal, but doesn't want to loose the perceived benefits of the evolved traditions. 

It is said scornfully by Tabulators that 'A unicursalist is only a multicursalist who can make up their mind.' No-one knows quite who first made the quip, and variations abound:  'A unicursalist is only a multicursalist with some pupils.' '...a multicursalist with an ego.' '...with a spine.' (&c.)

Tabulators will refer to unicursalists as 'mystogogues' and multicursalists as 'pædagogues'. Neither comparison is flattering. Tabulators in their turn are referred to as 'grocers' - that is, shelf-stockers and book-keepers. Their perceived naiveté and the style of the tables they get printed also won them the accolade 'Babes in the grid'. 

The Tabulators Divided

Among the Tabulators, two tendencies have developed. The first, the Naive school of thought, would (in theory) sell or make available the details of any spell to any wizard - as, basically, a matter of principle. Of course, if a twitchy young mage with bloodshot eyes, a serpent's-fang amulet and an obsidian ring shaped like a skull entered a Naive Tabulator's establishment, they may well think twice before selling or teaching them Lightning Bolt. 

Naturally, against the Naive are the Prudent Tabulators.  They are far more willing to set conditions on making a spell available, but will strive to make those conditions plain and transparent. The Naive regard this as rather too close to the multicursalists. 

Implications

As the reader may have gathered, the Tabulators are perhaps the closest thing to the disinterested magic shops appearing in video games, who apparently don't care about the potential problems involved in selling Acid Arrow to a scarred bloodstained stranger with too many weapons who pays you in strange coins that were last legal tender three centuries ago. 

This aside, there are other effects that the Tabulators' agenda would have on Calliste. Communities used to a certain set of wizarding behaviours would be disrupted as all sorts of spells are attempted by young mages. Economies used to a certain set of magical abilities being readily available would have to adjust quickly to the appearance of new services being offered and the dearth of previously relied-upon spells.

The stereotypical Tabulator institution is a shop with an attached training ground, not a school.  If the ideas of the Tabulators gain the upper hand, this may change. The old traditions with their named Primogenitors will diminish and new academies will take their places. A disruption to the supply of trained magicians is inevitable; princes and governors dislike this, but may be mollified by the prospect of more multi-purpose wizards. The apparent lawlessness of the Naive Tabulators makes them unappealing; several states may attempt to force them underground. 

Of course, the new status quo may be the wizarding shop, with its customer base of free-floating individualist wizards, without significant ties to schools or guilds.  Networks of patronage persist, as sources of occult power flow through new, informal channels.  Competition for sources of magic - spell catalogues and libraries, grimoires and eldritch idols - begins as the old order dies. Protection offered by the rich and powerful may become evermore appealing, and a new group of court magicians emerges.        

Comments, nitpicks, &c welcome - I'd rather work out the problems now than later.

The Rest of All Possible Worlds: Ley Lines

Another 'problem post' detailing debates and questions confronting the community of magic-users in TRoAPW. 

Ley lines have been mentioned in an earlier setting post and equipment list.  

Premise

There are points in the world where magic is concentrated in its effects. There is a greater flow of background power, an easier flow of energies. The shortest path between two points, as the Geometricians have demonstrated, is a straight line. Thus, there are places where one is on one of these shortest paths, and therefore, closest to two wells of energy. 

It is thought that the two wells correspond in some way; even beyond the well boundary, minute magic tendrils - bearing no more especial power than most places - reach out and interweave, to form a line-like area. If two wells of magical power are hilltops, the ley line is the ridge between them. 

If magic on a ley line is not so spectacular in its effects as at a place of power, it is certainly easier, more ready to the mage's instinct. Devices and substances that are only borderline magically active will become more active on a ley line. The comparison given for apprentice wizards is like going from an overgrown lane to a well-kept road: you must still walk for yourself, but the going is far easier. 

The State of the Art

Wells of magic tend to have an established reputation for outlandishness. Finding or identifying them (in places where some remain to be found or identified) is often a matter for the antiquarian. Ley lines, however, must be charted and tracked.

Thankfully, this may be done, just as those state boundaries which do not follow some natural course like a river or a coastline may be surveyed. Of course, ley lines are to some degree as natural as a river, and even if they will not meander like a watercourse, there will be variations to be taken in. Thus, observations must be made. 

Once, this would involve a string of magic-users walking across the land, firing off flare spells. The strongest flare would mark a point on the line. Thankfully, this costly method is less necessary with the invention of the witchsight theodolite. The buzzing band of the ley line may be seen by the observer, and its path charted. Accordingly, ley line surveyors exist as a skilled magical trade. These are related to but distinct from Nematists* - those who specialise in the study and theory of ley lines.

What use is this? Well, wizards will attempt to find homes along ley lines, but the costs of relocation mean that naturally not all wizards can do so. Some Colleges of Magic are placed on them and are useful in coaxing out fledgling magical talent. Wider application is thus far limited, with an exception. Wealthy landowners, having become aware of the lines crossing their land have begun to erect Thaumaturgical Follies: elegant pavilions full of magical devices (for, say, light, heat, scent, sound, simple motion) which would either fail or swiftly deplete elsewhere. Serious-minded wizards deplore these, but charge through the nose for them. 

Opponents of the Nematists

Opposition to charting ley lines rarely comes from any magic-user: any mage but the merest neophyte can detect the ley lines and what they produce. Knowing where they are is at least useful, and so charting them will be a matter of When rather than If.

Thus, opposition comes from those locals (squires and commonality alike) who have a suspicion of any surveyor, let alone a magical one. Likewise, the idea that a wizard wants to move into the neighbourhood would be granted with a measure of trepidation, especially if their eccentricities include building a brand-new house miles from anywhere convenient. 

If an opponent of ley lines were to gain an understanding of some of the ideas in Nematist circles, this could very well strengthen their opposition - for motives of profit if no more. 

The Nematists divided

Of the group of magic users that make a particular study of ley lines**, two schools of thought may be discerned. These are the Static Nematists and the Dynamic Nematists.

As the term suggests, Static Nematists look purely to study and exploit the web of ley lines. This will not mollify Opponents, for their visions are quite as wild as anything the Dynamic may suggest. If every mage were to erect a mere humble cottage on a ley line, it would still warp land ownership pattern unthinkably, and Static Nematists have theorised about much more than that. 

Dynamic Nematists are something else. Having noticed that ley lines do not sit in useful well-connected places, they intend to create more wells of energy and thus place more lines on the web. No magic-user would have to leave the towns to dwell in distant, lonely places. The wonders and conveniencs of the Thaumaturgical Folly could be offered to so many more. 

The Static Nematist thinks the Dynamic, whether or not they can actually create new ley lines, is playing with fire (you do know why no-one ever settles permanently on a well of energy?). The Dynamic Nematist thinks the Static is ridiculously timid.

A question that remains open is if different ley lines produce different levels of power for respective sorts of magic. Those who hold that they do refer to a 'Spectrum' of magical streams and are referred to as Spectrumists (they are not important enough to be mocked often, but when they do, people refer to rainbow-chasers).

Implications

The vision nursed by some Nematists - of great automated workshops, some twenty yards across and twenty miles long, fed by the drip-flow of magical energy from a ley line - is unlikely to be seen by anyone now living in Calliste.

A fully-charted set of ley lines would doubtless lead to an alteration to land use, and perhaps, as well-funded well-equipped surveys increase in number and prominence, even speculation in ownership of certain well-placed plots. If you can hold onto that acre of scrub land where a ley line is just forty yards from the Roqueport to Loughdainne road, one day a wizard might be in a position to offer you quite a bit of money for it. 

The flowering of wizardry in rural climes aside, there are two implications offered by ley lines that might emerge in the next generations. Magical tools and devices certainly function advantageously on a ley line, but the production of these more widely is not sufficient in terms of quantity or quality to create the linear factories mentioned above.  What is far more likely are small workshops in talented, specialist trades that require delicate or intricate work (IE, watchmakers, gunsmiths, cabinet makers) obtaining sets of magical tools to drive production. Some greenhouses and other artificial environments might also be sustained by a ley line, though an automatic drainage pump for the fenlands is still a way off.

The other possibility, of course, is for workers with magical tools to use the ley lines to aid them in their industry. If navvies with rune-enhanced picks and shovels excavated the course of a canal along the course of a ley line, it would be a fair quicker process than if those navvies were to excavate a canal of identical length in a stretch of comparable ground. If something like a railway locomotive ever comes to Calliste, then using stretches of the ley lines could be the basis for the track system.

Of course, it takes a certain combination of factors to make this actually viable. Equipping workmen with rune-enchanced picks is not cheap or quick. There needs to be a reasonably accurate map of ley lines available, a pressing reason to go to work along them, ownership or similar of the land on which the line runs - and lots of money. The production of new roads operated as turnpikes would be perhaps the most likely circumstances under which a group could garner the funds and power to make such a thing happen. 

A fanciful scenario suggested by some Nematists is that a line of crack troops suitably equipped with magical weapons stationed along a ley line would be a mighty bulwark. Perhaps they would - but they could not manoeuvre and maintain that advantage. Nor does every battlefield conveniently possess a ley line. This would be the sort of expensive technical advantage that wins battles, not wars - though maybe a well-informed, canny and lucky commander could contrive to fight most of their battles on a ley line. Of course, unless you have a great many magical weapons, the high ground will always be preferable.

Most of the above applies to both Static and Dynamic Nematists. Unless the Dynamic Nematists manage to start making their own ley lines and placing them advantageously. In which case there could be a great deal of change to infrastructure. 

And all of this is disrupted again if someone creates a magical battery. 

Comments, nitpicks, &c welcome - I'd rather work out the problems now than later.

*My Greek lexicon gives νῆμᾰ, nema as 'that which is spun, thread, yarn: the thread of a spider's web'. Which seems apt.

**One would struggle to be a professional or full-time Nematist, Grimoirean, or similar in Calliste at present. But if you gain that reputation, it's rather like being a policy wonk among more generalist politicians.

The Rest of All Possible Worlds: The Anti-Grimoirean Thesis

Another 'problem post' detailing debates and questions confronting the community of magic-users in TRoAPW. 

Premise

A wizard needs a spellbook. Spells must be initially recorded and re-memorised for use regularly; the best means to do so is a compact volume. Mages must inscribe these themselves in one of the languages of magic using the shorthands, syntax, cyphers and symbols particular to them. They are things far too specific to be printed.

But what if spellbooks were unnecessary? What if mages could cast freely? This is the line of thought followed by the Anti-Grimoireans. 

The State of the Art

While there are legends of hermit mystics and certain Schoolmen casting spells without the paraphernalia of wizardry, to follow such a course would be rather contrary to the mood of the times. It would not be the thing at all for an inquiring, modern wizard. 

Widely speaking, two methods are in use among the Anti-Grimoireans. Firstly, there is an examination of ancient magically-associated relics and artefacts seeking for an older pictorial language of magic, where the carvings on a staff or paintings in a cave are memetic spell-triggers to allow the magician to re-memorise instantly. This field of study has extended to the examination of traditions outside the continent of Calliste. 

Some application has been made of these ideas in the form of so-called Savant-Mages. Apprentices (usually from a less-than wealthy background) are taught in the methods of rote memorisation and strict mental focus to cast a spell without a spellbook. It is noted, however, that there are very few confirmed Savant-Mages, that those that exist have a rather limited repertoire and that their livelihoods are rather dependant on one Anti-Grimoirean patron.

Opponents of the Anti-Grimoirean Thesis

The opponents of the Anti-Grimoireans do not regard them as deceivers, merely as fools. If we can cast spells successfully from a grimoire, why should we not continue to do so? Our research efforts are better spent in other fields - developing new and better spells, creating taxonomies of magic, and so forth.  A certain amount of hay is also made out of Anti-Grimoireans seeking after foreign artefacts and magics.

The Anti-Grimoireans Divided

The Anti-Grimoireans may be divided between the 'Hard' Anti-Grimoireans who contend that spellbooks will in time be completely unnecessary (and who get all the publicity and wide-eyed fans) - and the 'Soft' Anti-Grimoireans who suggest spellbooks will always be around one way or the other (and who have burnt far fewer bridges and have far quieter lives. You'd like to think this would mean they get more research done).

Beyond this fairly elementary division, there are the Ante-Grimoireans. These are those of a romantic cast of mind who believe that there was a golden age of magic where magic-users could manipulate the world around them freely with no need for spellbooks or the study of arcane languages. Anti-Grimoireans dislike them, partly for tainting Anti-Grimoireans by association and partly for the constant tone of adolescence.

Implications

What if the Anti-Grimoireans manage to produce a method of grimoire-less magic equal to or surpassing the existing model? 

To begin with, there is a mass change in magical training as the new methods are propagating. If the wizard was once an 'Antiquarian', mages now become 'Artists'. The change-over of methods also would spread a wave of new spells being taught and disseminated through the magical world. The disruption to existing magical institutions should be mentioned as well; the opportunities for Anti-Grimoireans sky-rocket. There is a real difference in the culture of magic, replacing rule-bound sects with personal cliques. 

As the Antiquarian-Artist comparison may imply, the business of actually teaching magic by the Anti-Grimoirean method may be troublesome. Potential mages may go unnoticed or undeveloped by the new method. 

New spells are likely to be taught by Anti-Grimoireans; a new group of 'set texts'. Of course, certain useful functions are likely to be kept or imitated: a fireball by any other name may scorch as much. Nevertheless, there is a potential for variation in the new method that exceeds the old as magical focus, mental imagery and personal disposition vary: at a minor level, the passage, shape, size and colour of a fireball could change. In a greater display of variation, the fireball could manifest as a rocketing salamander or flaming sword. 

The above presents frustrations to the mundane world, but fewer problems than might be expected. Bookish bewildering magecraft is replaced or supplemented with symbolic bewildering magecraft. In the short term, there going to be some important people disappointed by wizardly disputes, but the wise statesman does not put all his geopolitical eggs into one pointy hat. 

Comments, nitpicks, &c welcome - I'd rather work out the problems now than later.

The Rest of All Possible Worlds: Pneumametrics

This is the first of a series of 'problem posts' detailing debates and questions confronting the community of magic-users in TRoAPW. 

Premise

It is known that a journeyman mage will be able to hold and successfully cast X number of spells each day. However, X will vary between magic-users, even magic-users of similar years of training in the same tradition. Further, X is always self-reported - an observer has no way of knowing if a magic-user is keeping something back.

Thus, proposals exist to assess X by various means. The hypothetical study of measuring spell capacity is called Pneumametrics. A proponent is known as a Pneumametrician. 

The State of the Art

Pneumametricians have not yet devised a means by which they have successfully measured the number of spells a magic-user possesses. Proposed means of doing so include the analysis of a magic-users bodily fluids, rearing twins with magical potential, modified Detect Magic spells and the composition of vast comparative tables. 

The use of Charm spells to induce truth and the use of Auguries are variously considered either invasive, too resistible or overparticular for true Pneumametrics. Indeed, the possibility that someone might try and compel the information is sometimes cited by Pneumametricians as a reason for developing a non-invasive method. 

Opponents of Pneumametrics

Pneumametrics has its opponents, but these are not usually united. They do not write journals dedicated to overturning the reputation of Pneumametrics or test theories about why you can't reliably measure an individual wizard's spell capacity. They reserve their positive efforts for other spheres. 

Such opponents commonly include mystics, exceptionalist mages ('the occult traditions of the Cerulean Order cannot be assessed so lightly!'), sceptical rule-makers and traditionalists. 

Naturally, Pneumametricians regard opponents as reactionaries and fools. Opponents of Pneumametrics regard them as snake oil salesmen. 

Pneumametrics divided

However, of that group called Pneumametricians two camps emerge. 

The Unicameralists assert that the magical energies of a magic user are reserved within one chamber. The Polycameralists assert that the magical energies are held within a number of chambers.

The former are known as 'windbags', after a pamphlet outlining the position described the magic-user as a man inflating bladders (with the nature of the bladder influenced by its origin). Later Unicameralist publications quite deliberately use differently coloured and shaped paper bags as an example.

The latter are known as 'butlers' - spells being like the wine held in a variety of bottles. Polycamaralists are glad that their nickname is not associated with bladders or wind, but still bristle at being likened to servants.

Implications

What if the Pneumametricians are right? What if someone can somehow determine the quantity of spells a wizard can cast independently?

Well, to begin with one might expect a greater use of magics. Mages could be assessed with a certain set of standards: a trained soldier can march X miles with a full pack, a trained wizard can cast Y first level spells in a day. It would be an end to the hedge wizard and the court mage; the adept that could once cite exhaustion, or lack of resources, or mystical circumstances to refuse an aristocratic patron would find it more difficult to do so. A magic-user could still bewilder the layman, but the benefit of the doubt would be lost. 

The loose magical college and its quasi-feudal privileges and rights is set aside for employer-employee relationships. Wizards are no longer 'priests'; they are 'lawyers'. Beyond this, there might be the production of official mage-cadres to be deployed in dedicated military capacities. This last part is a favourite theme of Opponents of Pneumametrics, usually employing the spectre of a 'malevolent foreign potentate' - our own beloved Sovereign would never do such a thing. 

Even further in the future is the potential for centralised wizarding assessment and certification (rather than reputation - 'she trained under Malphoebe') and the attendant bureaucracy. But that is likely beyond the lifespan of any player character. 

Debates such as these are poised to be a cornerstone of TRoAPW. The next one is probably going to be on the necessity of spellbooks. 

Comments, nitpicks, &c welcome - I'd rather work out the problems now than later.

Sprezzaturra on the Breeze

The slowly evolving Enlightenment-inspired setting (White Hot Sparks, I suppose) includes, among other things, a desire to talk about magic and how it manifests in different ways, thus leading to theorising and speculation on the part of in-universe magicians. Thus, the appearance of magical prospectors and surveyors in recent posts: one is seeking for magic as one would search for a vein of metal, the other tracking ley-lines, assessing connections and distances. 

Part of me was concerned about running dry on ways to properly describe this sort of thing, but then I struck upon a useful source: the Winds of Magic in Warhammer Fantasy.

These are the most characteristic features of magic from Warhammer; a brief history of their appearance and treatment may be found here, courtesy of Joseph Manola. 

From The Empire army book from 2000, the 6th edition of Warhammer Fantasy. 

Image found via Lexicanum.

Men learned [from the Elves] how the raw power of magic blew from the northern realms of Chaos in the form of eight sorcerous winds that represented unique types of magic....

The magical energies of Hysh are the most effusive of all kinds of magic and quickly penetrate solid things and soak away even into the very rocks....

The magical energies of Ghyran precipitate like rain upon the earth, forming pools and eddies which only those attuned to the sight of magic can see....

The magical energies of Ulgu boil across the ground like a shifting mist.....evoking only a sense of mistrust and concealment to ordinary folk. It is the most affected by the mortal winds....rears into mighty clouds beneath the influence of storms and gales.

Aqshy.....gutters like flame in the breeze and runs wild over hot sands and sun-baked fields.

Well, that gives you some idea of the premise. These are the base sorts of magic, that some wizards combine. The Imperial Colleges of Magic teach only one each. In successive editions of Warhammer, the single-colour magics have become more prominent - to the point that Age of Sigmar, in its role as the successor to Warhammer Fantasy is characterised by the existence of eight realms, each named and characterised after a Wind of Magic.

***

Why do I mention this, other than to cite it as an example? Well, it struck me that there was something well-constructed about the Winds of Magic as presented by Warhammer Fantasy.

Firstly, it doesn't feel over-planned. It has established the themes and flavours of each Wind without worrying over much about fitting it all together perfectly. Yes, Life and Death are there, but conceivably Light and the Heavens could be the same thing, likewise Life and Beasts. They haven't felt the need to balance out Fire with water or ice or what have you.

Similarly the names of the Colleges: The Light Order, the Jade Order, the Celestial Order, the Grey Order. They didn't feel the need to name each for a colour, or even to be have the names of the orders follow any one given pattern: gemstones, colours and adjectives all mix together.

Sprezzatura is the Italian term coined by Castiglione's Art of the Courtier, referring to a certain nonchalance on the part of the courtier: whatever effort and artistry has gone into your speech or dress, however many hours you spent on those verses, are not to be reflected in their presentation. 

Some measure of Sprezzatura - or something like it - goes into the presentation of the Colleges. They do not look overworked; there is a pleasing variety to them. The very names - 'The Amber Order' - provide a greater implication of subtlety and variety, over the abstract image of a single colour. The base ideas - alchemists, druids, astronomers - are gently twisted into a distinctly strange image. None of them are trying too hard to convey the Grave Import of their work: magical study seems insular indeed - though we are aware through the context of a wargame that these wizards are called up to serve in the field and lob fireballs at Beastmen, Goblins and Chaos Marauders. WFRP 1st Ed's Realms of Sorcery lays out more of this, as Manola discusses in the above link (unfortunately, I cannot find any good images of the black and white illustrations - far better than the technicolour depictions of the Winds found from later editions). 

Image of an Amber Wizard, found via Lexicanum.
Not a man who cares how people look at him in the street.

Anyway, to contrast this with other grand arrays of magic or cosmic powers, this is quite unlike the bizarre conglomeration of ideas that were combined for the various Lantern Corps of DC Comics. Likewise, however beloved Avatar: the Last Airbender might be, the elevator pitch for it sounds moderately hokey. I suggest that Warhammer's Winds of Magic and Colleges are slightly more compelling (at least, in bare-bones lore terms) because of their relative 'artlessness' and ramshackle demeanour.

Consider the naming of institutions. Oxbridge colleges, founded over many centuries take on several different types of name. They are named for religious figures (St John, St Hilda, &c), places (Girton, Newnham, &c), founders and donors (Balliol, Downing, Queens', Queen's, &c) - or simply as University or New College. What is more, there is ample crossover between names. Cambridge sports not only Christ College and Jesus College, but also Corpus Christi College and Emmanuel College. Likewise, there is not only Trinity College, but also Trinity Hall. There is St John's College, but also Peterhouse...named for St Peter.

To take another example, see the naming of (Association) Football clubs. Certainly, they are named for their city or district but with various additions: City, County and United (Coventry City, Derby County, Leeds United) will be familiar enough, but see teams named for the day of the week their founders had off work (Sheffield Wednesday), occupations (Queen's Park Rangers, Bolton Wanderers), plants (Partick Thistle), works of fiction and fictional characters (Heart of Midlothian, Tottenham Hotspur).

The point being drawn is that for any fictional organisation or group of such to be too neatly symmetrical in its structure or conventions looks rather odd. The neat regularity of American Football team names strikes me, at least, as slightly comic and rather on the nose. 

Well, that's probably an opinion you can safely ignore, but ask yourself: is there any city in Christendom that named its first twelve Churches after the Apostles? (It sounds like something Umberto Eco might confect: the twelve districts of a medieval city are named for the Twelve Apostles, the four colleges are named for the Great Doctors of the Western Church, each gate into the city is named for an Old Testament Prophet....) But while I haven't gone so far as to check terribly hard, I would warrant that no such thing took place. However neat the scheme might be, other Saints loom larger in the Christian mind - the letters of St Paul cement his place above the lesser-known Apostles, the Virgin Mary has a status all of her own, and this leaves aside the appeal of local or national Saints. 

The point I'm driving at is probably clear by now. Overmuch uniformity can strain credulity, no matter how well-concieved it is. Consider including some redundancy or clutter in your world-building. Of course, planned cities or perfectly square-bordered states or revolutionary calendars have all been known. Further, the scientific marvels of the far future or visits to other planes of being could maintain such a state beyond human frailty or expectation: the very alien-ness of such a state could be apt, aside from the potential for GRAND COSMIC UNDERSTANDING. (In successful media doing this sort of thing, I always suspect that a certain amount of arbitrariness is the key: 'Look, old boy, there's seven of them and they all begin with D, just go along with it.')

But I'm acting under the assumption you want to include a human level of understanding and history and mess in your work. In this regard, the Colleges of Magic, being both evocative in name and irregular in nature are a fine example.

More Unlikely Golems

Another bid to produced golems divorced from the elemental concept. These are inspired less by a distinction from Natural or Elemental ideas and more from a viewing of portions of the From Software video game Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice. I saw portions of this and was captivated by the textured appearance of the exaggerated, semi-mythic Feudal Japan it depicts.

My knowledge of the Sengoku era of Japan isn't that detailed or well-grounded, but the courtyards and turrets of the castles, gardens, shrines and monasteries seem in some case more an arena with appropriate set dressing than a realistic depiction. All the same, the drifts of leaves or bristling straw coats were curiously evocative of a closeness to and use of nature (despite having castles, monasteries, gunpowder, massive swords, &c), which does evoke a certain image of Japan.

Anyway, without necessarily being Japanese in any direct sense, it is a 'material-that-shows-its-natural-origin' that is meant to define these golems.

Basket Golem
In appearance: a wicker man, but without the sacrificial offerings. The head is squarish and larger than human proportions. Three main openings into the hollow centre - one in the head and one at the base of each leg (above the 'ankle' at the front').

Capabilities and properties: Hollow, flexible, lightweight. Capable of carrying a great deal inside itself.

Intended purpose: generally found in the ownership of agricultural buyers, touring rural districts with the golem as a self-propelled grain silo. (A basket golem made for a grain buyer is tighter woven than one for a dealer in potatoes, for obvious reasons). Some golems, as a cost-saving measure, have a seat for travel built into them. This can be rickety and precarious.

Location of the words of power that give it motion and purpose: Suspended on a plaque from the rim of the square head.


Dead Leaf Golem
In appearance: a greater drift of dead leaves, linked by vermillion threads that glints gently. If it rears up, it looks a little like a flat Green Man.

Capabilities: An excellent broom of sorts, gently picking across a floor to remove loose detritus.

Intended purpose: Cleaning, if stepped on they crackle alarmingly and can alert people to your presence. (Pine Needle Golems, a very expensive variant can muffle sound instead).

The words of power: Sewed into the one green, living leaf in the drift.

Compost Golem
In appearance: Largely like a regular clay golem. But made of compost. A broad funnel replaces the head. One arm is not compost, but wood, with a trowel in the end of it.

Capabilities: It's a walking compost heap, fed through the funnel. That knows when to extract portions of itself and spread them as directed.

Intended purpose: Composting.

The words of power: Set in a slot in the upper part of the wooden trowel arm.

Tile Golem
In appearance: Like a man in a sandwich board. But the sandwich board is made of lots of little sandwich boards. And so is the man's head and arms. His face looks a bit like several dormer windows. His head is topped with an ornamental antefix.

Capabilities: The tile golem can angle itself in several different ways, even bending right over backwards to form a shallow roof.

Intended purpose: A walking shelter, capable of holding itself in place over something for quite a while. More robust tile golems are used to shift great quantities of loose earth or other materials, forming a sort of whole-body smart-scoop.

The words of power: generally just behind the antefix, to prevent damage.

Moss Golem
In appearance: A teddy bear, with only a gentle dome at the neck instead of a head.

Capabilities: They walk quietly, blend in very well into undergrowth and have a soft skin on top of a solid centre. A moss golem is incapable of rolling.

Intended purpose: Moss golems can lift delicate things without breaking them, and are prized by ceramicists or antique dealers for that reason. They are also remarkable as stealth troops or commandos - if one remembers that stealth is a relative term given their size and weight.

The words of power: Carved into the head dome. This is frequently done to give the impression of a distinct 'face' uncovered by moss.

(Bonus thematically different golem!)

Distiller's Golem
In appearance: A normal clay or wattle-and-daub golem - but with a smoking metal chimney, and a hollow centre accessible by doors in the chest.

Capabilities: It is a normal golem, but with an arrangement of boilers, pipes and alembics inside to distill alcoholic spirits. Some advanced models can control parts of the distilling process themselves.

Intended purpose: by the laws of the land, a household is permitted to distil a quarter of a firkin of alcoholic spirits for its own use. Travelling distillers use these golems to move between rural homes offering their services.
Of course, said travelling distillers are often judged guilty of breaching the law on home distilling. Thus, their golems are often carefully made to look like run of the mill country golems.
The vicious rumour that some distillers have fitted their golem with a spigot and lighter to function as an eau-de-vie fuelled flamethrower has absolutely no truth to it.

The words of power: In a tablet in the head, generally - and concealed. A distiller may well have had an enchanter discreetly change the base spell.

[This is more France than Appalachia.]

Unlikely Golems

A bid to produced golems divorced from the elemental concept - and hopefully with some interesting structural elements. These aren't as wild, say, as some of those in China Mieville's Iron Council - but they are deliberately distinct from the natural or elemental ideas in that book.  The below are also intended to be for purposes beyond smashing things, as I hope the below makes clear.

Rope Golem
In appearence: much like a corn dolly; a roughly humanoid bundle of ropes and cables.

Capabilities and properties: it is able to knot or plait itself together into thicker, but stronger lengths.

Intended purpose: among other uses, the golem is known for its use in rescue missions, able to prise away broken rubble.

Location of the words of power that give it motion and purpose: stitched onto a central rope.


Reed Golem
In appearance: a great bundle of thatch, like a squat humanoid, with thickly ridged arms and a peaked head, somewhat reminiscent of a Pharaonic headdress.

Capabilities: it floats on water and is lighter than most of its kind. Water sheds from its exterior.

Intended purpose: a reed golem is often used as a 'less-lethal' means of crowd control. However, a popular model of golem can twist itself into a strange form of boat - the peaked head forming a prow of sorts. Their relative cheapness, bulk and ease of decorating often can see then used in theatrical work.

The words of power: these are twisted sigils made from reed stalks embedded along the line of the golem's 'spine'.


Wattle and Daub Golem
In appearance: a bulky, squarish, Deco sculpture - if sculpted out of packed earth. Neat lines of studs line its body - the protruding portions of its framework.

Capabilities: it has a distinct frame, making it slightly more coherent than the Clay 'Classic' Golem.

Intended purpose: it is much like a classic golem - but it is on the whole, cheaper and easier to repair.  The AK47 of golems.

The words of power: these are cut into the line of the thigh rod of the skeleton.



Wood shaving golem
In appearance: a wall of little curled cylinders all pointing the same way, elements of which separate to form arms and legs. If the wind is in the right direction, it makes a slow eerie whistling as it walks.

Capabilities: it is formed of lots of woodshavings, hardened with an alchemical varnish. It is remarkably lightweight and can become quite compact; it can walk almost silently.

Intended purpose: it is very popular as a silent servitor and useful for handling delicate articles.

The words of power: one of the cylinders is a scroll. Good luck on finding it.


Enamelware Golem
In appearance: a bulbous figure. Rounded covers protect the joints, of which there are few. The hands alone are primitive - frequently mitten-like, or pincers. It comes in a range of colours. It might put you in mind of a nineteenth century diving suit.

Capabilities: the golem is effectively a hollow frame. Tough, but not super-resilient. Easily cleaned.

Intended purpose: the fact that the golem can be cleaned is valuable for those who need it to do dirty jobs or deal with noxious substances.

The words of power: are kept in a hermetically sealed vial in the head.


Fur Golem
In appearance: an odd thing, like a slumped hollow sack made of fur. Its limbs bend trying to imitate those of a beast. It is, or can be, dead fancy.

Capabilities: hollow,  flexible and warm.

Intended purpose: is there something you need kept warm and safe in a cold place? Would this by any chance be yourself? A walking shelter is not to be despised. They can also be a status symbol of sorts.

The words of power: are stitched onto the interior.

Gravel Golem
In appearance: a torso and two heavy limbs that it lifts itself with. In form, it always seems like it is held together loosely by some unseen sack.

Capabilities: it is slightly flexible and resists beating. It shifts but holds - rather like a gabion.

Intended purpose: a movable, multipurpose prop or bastion.

The words of power: are carved on one stone, larger than the others.


Canvas Golem
In appearance: a bulky, flapping thing - slightly rigid. A bit like a man walking carrying a door frame around himself. It has a face of loose flaps; when it fills with wind this puffs out like a baroque cherub.

Capabilities: living, tough canvas that can keep off the water or gather the winds.

Intended purpose: the most obvious uses are nautical, but canvas golems can also be used as part of theatrical backdrops.

The words of power: are across the fabric of the golem in bands of Ogham like stitching.

Wear, Tear and Repair of Magic Wands, Staffs &c

Swords must be sharpened, or they lose their edge. Armour must be leaned and oiled, or it will rust. If you find an old battle-axe, it will be indeed of restoration before use. Magic wands and staffs are no different in that they must be maintained, but of course, the problems and the solutions are rather different.

This article will be discussing magical items that are used to cast spells. This is treated as distinct from, say, a sword that magically bursts into flame. IE, Sting glows blue when orcs are about - but this is part of the nature of Sting. Power is not directed through it in the same way as, say, a wand in Harry Potter. I've used wands or staffs as the example - but, for instance, an athame or amulet could suffer similar problems. 

This assumes a semi-Vancian magic - a wand is 'loaded' with spells, but may only be able to take one form of spell (like a relatively specialist gun and ammunition). Said wand may draw upon magic as a whole to recharge itself. The below is hopefully flexible enough to be applied across systems.

1. Permanently Submerged
How does it happen? What effects does it have? A magic wand or similar is submerged in water for longer than a day. It begins to take on the nature of the water and gains a permanently damp and slick surface, producing a substance called Thaumoleum, the colour of corroded bronze (this can be used as a base for low-quality potions, though the hands of those who handle it can be permanently marked). Handling said wand now becomes much more difficult.
How to fix it? Dry it off and keep it dry. Then place it in an oven lit or sustained by magical flames for a day.

2. Breaks the Law of Gravity
How does it happen? What effects does it have? The wand has slipped away from its mooring in this world. It begins to defy weight, though it still possesses mass. This is not cumbersome, initially. In time, it will slip your hand and disappear into orbit. It is thought that this may be down to a spell-caster's arrogance.
How to fix it? Stop using it. Perhaps permanently. If this is not an option, tethers are recommended.

3. Murmuration and tintinnabulation
How does it happen? What effects does it have? Wands, if unused, may store a great deal of potential magic within them. An unused wand, thus, if struck, dropped or touched, may sound like a bell or cymbal. The fabric of the wand has become as resonant as the metal of a bell.
How to fix it? Use it as much as possible in a short space of time. You must discharge every spell and leave it empty.

4. Reduced scope
How does it happen? What effects does it have? Eroded, abraded or lessened by physical means: if these happen to a wand, but the wand itself is still largely intact, it will function, but not nearly as well. A fireball will fly less far; an illusion cannot be cast at the same distance - and may be less convincing, expressing less of the sorcerer's intentions.
How to fix it? Painstaking craftsman's work to repair the physical elements of the wand without replacing any undamaged portions. Certain varnishes can be used, for instance - but their making is costly, and those with the knowhow are rare.

5. Back to Nature
How does it happen? What effects does it have? The wand has had its magical centre knocked askew and the material of the wand seeks to return to the natural state of it's substance. A wooden staff will start to grow shoots and leaves; a leather item will take on the texture of living skin; a metal rod will morph into a polished rod of ore, with vein of stone.
How to fix it? Isolate the wand from all magic using a lead casket, having first discharged every spell. Keep it within said casket at least for a day, far away from all wielded magics. Lead studs, pushed into the wood of a staff can also dissipate this effect - whilst making said staff much more unstable.

[At least one magician has cultivated this quality, producing a staff with a branch protruding from it that grows a single apple each day.]

6. Exothermic
How does it happen? What effects does it have? If a magic wand does not produce sound or light by its spells, it will grow in temperature slowly but surely. This will not alter the form of the wand - a metal wand will not melt or glow - but it can still scorch flesh if not dealt with.
How to fix it? Use the wand to light a fire in a quiet place. It must burn for at least an hour - and you must watch it burn. As the fire burns, the wand will reduce its temperature.

I may write a few more of these.

The Saga of Recluce: A Few Remarks

I referenced L. E. Modesitt Jr.'s Saga of Recluce in a post a few weeks ago. Thought I'd say a little about this - the 'schedule' is overdue for something airy.

What is it? A series of fantasy books, set in the same world. The plots generally operate along the same formula, involving a young man, with magical abilities, cast away from his home, making a life for himself, falling in love, rising against an enemy, coming into his own. They've been pithily called fantastical Horatio Alger novels. That's perhaps not quite fair, but they 'making a life for one's self' segment always seems quite detailed. The magicians of the tale nearly all possess some skill or handicraft that supports them when they aren't doing magic (no Hogwarts for these folk - mostly). It's quite prominent, really - and I should argue that it is part of the charm. (A bit like literary third-person Minecraft - a similar set of joys, I mean to say.)

The setting is a world of several continents; Recluce is a large island of one such continent. Some people of this world can manipulate the powers of Order and Chaos - at some cost to themselves. The two powers clash not infrequently - Recluce is dominated by Order-Mages. This leads to a society that does not accept much in the way of disruption, and so those that cannot accept their place go out into a wider society, with all the powers of chaos potentially arrayed against you - especially if you are a nascent Order-Mage. An orderly society seems almost stiflingly wholesome and virtuous (order mages experience pain when telling lies), rather than dictatorial, feeding into that Horatio Alger current again. Look it up on Wikipedia or other suitable sources for something more in depth.

It's all fine enough stuff. The world is well-observed (though one gets tired of the observation that the chops in a rural tavern, the 'luxury item on the menu', have been reheated several times and probably aren't that much good). Technology levels increase as the series goes on, to the point of black powder and steam engines intruding onto a previously somewhat-Medieval world.

But throughout the series, especially in the Order-based societies, women have a roughly equal standing (deliberately contrasted with Chaos-based) to men - in terms of dress, social role and so forth. Not that one gets many female protagonists - the whole series has a fairly masculine tone, I might assert - war, social success, hard work and craftsmanship all have a place.

[Yes, those aren't perhaps inherently masculine. But they have that link.]

Not only this, but there's an emphasis on washing ones' hands, on relatively polite discourse, on thrift and prudence that turn the mind more to a 19th Century American West rural community - baked and worked goods, respectful and mannered discourse, a somewhat sceptical outlook on the world (religion does exist, but rarely intrudes into the life of the protagonists - though semi-religious cultural influences have part to play).

Is this another example of an off-the-shelf fantasy world (complete with well-thought out system of magic?). Well, it's pretty close, I suppose. Not that that's always bad. But there's a few things that crop up that change that in my mind. Which probably constitute Spoilers of some kind. See after the picture break.

Cover of the first book.

So, as of the sixth book (said books rarely follow on directly from one another), we get confirmation of what had been hinted at previously. The Order and Chaos users of the world of Recluce are crashed astronauts, hurled from crashed spaceships across time and space - and perhaps dimensions. In the sixth, Fall of Angels, we get a Robinson Crusoe-esque survival story, about building a new state among hostile pseudo-medieval kingdoms with a starship crew of - mostly - 22nd Century women. Part of the joy of this is the craftsmanship-pioneer-building stuff elements, but a new element trumps it.

This element I take to be (roughly) the problem of maintaining a (for want of a better term) modern, liberal world view or values when the technological levels and cultural capital doesn't quite support this.

What do we get? Semi-military dictators, the foundation of female-dominated cultures as a counterweight to the rest of the world (Westwind men don't bear arms and are generally expected to sit there and be beautiful), the foundation of religions on manipulative grounds, breeding programmes for mages able to replicate some facets of lost technology. This isn't quite the half of it, in some ways.

This works into and contrasts the general third-act experience of the earlier, formulaic, books: the protagonist makes a home for themselves and their loved ones - but are forced by circumstances into action. Seeing as our protagonists are generally mages, said action is frequently full of mass slaughter, horrifying even to veteran soldiers. The efficiency of magical warfare versus drawn-out wars of attrition is frequently addressed; short term horror versus long-term evil. Rarely do our protagonists escape unscathed; rarely are they regarded as spotless paragons by their societies - gaining status by the raw fact of power rather than the acclaim of their peers. It's not altogether bleak - peace and all its attendant gifts can be attained. But it is not easy.

Having a formula means it can be changed up - that's half the fun of it. We get to see fully fledged military stories, life as a Chaos wizard (hitherto frequently straight villains), life on continents outside Recluce and Candar - and in the first ancient astronaut civilisation, Cyador, that maintained future-tech levels for a few generations. It takes a solid pseudo-fantasy base and works it through a little.

All this, as I said last time, is part of the charm of the Qryth. A little far from full-on science fantasy - but with a wonderful set of ideas to play with. There's a lot of stuff to dig into, and if these aren't the greatest of books, they're certainly good enough for their purposes - and you might find a little more.