Weaving

A Lecture on Magic in The Flameforged Saga
This will be the seventh time I’ve covered this with the two of you in the last week. Seven times. Yes, I know: you’d rather be out cavorting amidst wreckage and stalky long-walkers. I assure you I find no pleasure in repeating this piss forsaken course. Let it be over with and pay attention this time, would you? We’ll start from the beginning.

In order to discuss the role and nature of magic, it is first necessary to explore life; they are, quite literally, intertwined.

So we begin by examining the nature of the umbilical: that ethereal cord that tethers souls to corporeal forms. You cannot see it, but its presence is indisputable. No, songbirds, you cannot grab it, and if you could you would do well to avoid tampering. They’re remarkably fragile. We only know they exist for two reasons.

Far less common but more empirically applicable are the accounts—some my own—of those select few who can travel into the Fabric, that lonely other-side-of-the-mirror world of flowing crimson and white. I’ve seen and touched them; many of my experiments have been on your shared umbilical. You are, as you say, special: only twins have a mutual umbilical. Of course you’d remember that. Still, it’s because you share a life that elven twins are generally, well, let’s get back to the lesson.

The more widely observable indication is visible to those attuned to weaving—a magical craft realized by threading one’s will into their umbilical; hence the term. When a living being is near death, weavers can sometimes observe the telltale signs of an umbilical upsetting this side of the mirror in its death throes.

That tether, which connects to your ethereal form via the vertebrae on the back of the neck, isn’t entirely understood. Far from it. It is murky how exactly they work, though a great deal of tinkering has brought certain things to light. For example: the umbilical intersects and will sometimes be assimilated by the elemental planes—the other side of the other side of the mirror. The latter was demonstrated when we were chosen by Everautumn. Where our cords came to an end before spiritual migration is a question for your daughter, perhaps.

What this has to do with magic, with weaving and weavers, was touched upon when explaining the title we’ve come to know them by. When a weaver inserts his or her will into their umbilical, they are granted access to the areas by which the cord travels: Grea Weralt, the Fabric and the elemental planes. As the farthest point from the source, wherever that may be, those on Grea Weralt—or common reality—have access to greater weaverial potential. The Fabric acts chiefly as a conduit between the common world and elsewhere. As far as anyone can tell, it provides no real benefit beyond the connection. Then, of course, there are those elemental planes which lend their power to weavers who know how to pluck a well-tuned chord.

That weaverial dichotomy results largely in two distinct areas of magic: Terra and Aether.

Terra magic resonates within Grea Weralt as a control over forces of nature. Despite its relative proximity, few weavers are capable of plucking at the required frequency. Both Descarta and I once exhibited clear signs of control, but I fear my conscription into the realm of fire has drawn her umbilical too far away.

Aether magic is exceptionally common, and even individuals with no weaverial training can display rudimentary control over the elements; nothing routinely beneficial, mind you. Sometimes an enterprising woman with fire in her eyes really does have fire in her eyes. While it isn’t exactly orthodox, your ability to conjure a flame-wrought mace or bow at will is a shining example of aether magic. Previously unable to weave, you were granted limited control over fire because your umbilical was re-anchored to Everautumn. Yes, my songbirds, you are super-shining. Calm your tittering for just a slight longer. It should be noted before we venture further that weavers are not magicians or mountebanks. Mountebanks, Almi. Not mountain goats. We do not dabble in illusions or tricks. Weavers pluck at the umbilical connecting us to the world beyond to reshape this one, very regularly through hardship and sacrifice.

Maintaining a firm control of both schools is both wearying and potentially dangerous. As you near the horizon of your capabilities, the chances of a spell backfiring grow exponentially such that even those who display an affinity for Terra and Aether content themselves with one of the two. We’ve come to learn the reason for this backfiring lies in a weaver’s pool, or weaverial endurance. Naturally, the closer it is to emptying, the less control one exerts over plying magic. So it is that the risk takers become either powerful or dead.

The applications of weaving are as numerous and varied as those who would wield it. The grander uses can be seen in the creation of entire cities, such as Quellsfar and Cartesium. Weaving played a large part in my creating homunculi, and eventually Descarta. So you see it can even be used to create new life on rare occasions. Warfare results in a mixed bag of weaverial uses: it is at the same time a conduit for death and advances in the field of magic that oftentimes yield discoveries beneficial to civilization. It has its everyday uses as well, but not many nations have the resources necessary to support such ventures.

You will often find weavers utilizing their proficiency for personal affairs, though; from heating alembics to carrying missives. Much of my alchemical work involves a measure of supplemental weaving. While it isn’t the time, yes, you’re right in citing my magically heated touch as a personal use of weaving. Never one to miss an opportunity for crooning over that, are you? On second thought, I think we’ll cut the lesson short today.