Category: Catalyst Project

That magic fails to operate within our understanding of physics, is not a failure on either the part of magic or physics, but of our imagination and our understanding of both.

While it is commonly held knowledge that only solid catalysts are of use when casting, it is also incorrect. This can be proven by simply looking at the various multipart catalysts that people have used over the years, things such as a rather famous amber amulet, complete with it’s encased insect, or the various fused skulls on display in the archives of forbidden practices. While such things are considered to be exceptions to the rule, they are in fact evidence that the rule is simply incomplete. It Is much easier to use a single solid piece, such as the basic focusing crystals provided to all when they first start their journey down the illuminated path, and thus the usage of multipart catalysts must be taken as evidence of a barrier, but not a limit.

The fact that the powerful and the desperate can overcome such a barrier is evidence of the extent that desperation can empower us to exceed what we believe our limitations to be, not the nature of those limitations.

Fundamentally, it is the harmonics that matter when using the catalyst, and things that share a structure have far simpler harmonics than things that are constructed from multiple sources. One of the obvious complications is that most constructed objects will have unintended internal focal points, places where the energy gets tangled, which tends to result in ripples that disrupt the homeostasis of the framework of the spell.

In theory, one could remove such disruptions, either true careful design and construction of the object, or through preparation, understanding said disruptions and compensating for them. Generally though, such things are considered to be speculative.

The alternative, which was obvious to me, was a catalyst whose structure is known, but not truly stable. Evidence of this can be found in folklore, the classic scrying pools, made of liquid contained within a bowl. Not a solid structure, but acting as one for the purposes of amplifying the forces being called upon in the ritual.

Why is this relevant? Well, this is what got me expelled in the first place. And I’m fairly sure that if I hadn’t been expelled, none of this would have turned out this way. I’d have completed my studies, been given the appropriate paperwork, been offered a handful of “opportunities to serve our community” and probably settled down to a peaceful life.

Instead, well, if you are reading this, you’ve likely heard the rumours and the official story. Or perhaps not, perhaps this text reaches you in a time or place where I am unknown, that this is merely a novelty. Regardless, should you continue, I’ll try to elaborate on the truth, at least as I understand it, and hopefully that will be entertaining, if not enlightening to you.

It was not my intent to mock the examiner, nor their processes, I merely had discovered something I found fascinating and I had thought that it was a wise idea to demonstrate my theory to someone who held some authority; that by showing them, under conditions that they controlled, the merit of my theories. In my youth and my ignorance of the politics, I assumed that they would see the potential in what I had found. Instead, they declared it was outside the rules of the test and insisted I use materials that they had on hand.

In theory, this would not have been a bad thing, I’d just adapt, and work with the tools provided, pass the test, and find some other chance to prove my theory. In practice, this meant that instead of using the tools I had practiced with, that required such delicate manipulation to achieve the structures that I was pulling together, I was instead using a tool that functionally magnified the power. Instead of using the precise balance of interwoven forces, I was aligning all that force along a single channel.

An astute and educated reader will have already guessed what happened next. The spell I cast, freed from the limitations of the materials I had been working with, roared into reality, and in the process consumed the safety protocols, part of the wall, and my chances at a quiet future.

I said I was expelled, and while that’s true, it’s less relevant that I was expelled and more relevant how the folks in charge decided that expulsion needed to be carried out. Given that I’d just exploded the testing chamber, they were intent on an implosion of my skull and all contained within, before I could do further harm.

Having made the determination that my existence was no longer to be tolerated, it would be expected that any enforcer of the rules under which our society exists be able to quickly martial their wits and remove a mere student.

Funny thing though, when a spell has just shattered, the way those wards did, is that there is so much invisible noise that visualizing more than the most basic spell is nearly impossible.

Under those circumstances, for all practical purposes, the only ones who would be able to cast would be those who did it without visualizing it. Which in most cases meant the spells that folks had internalized to the point where their casting was done entirely by rote memory, without the need of visualization for control.

At least that was the common understanding of the theory. In practice, there was a second type of caster who could function under those circumstances. Someone who didn’t, and in fact couldn’t, rely on the visualization of the spells to cast them. Someone who suffers from what those outside our society have defined as aphantasia. And truly, I mean outside our society, since I am at this point sure that all those that the magical society would consider peers do not suffer from it. Evidence for this is in their teachings, and how they all teach the visualization of the spells first.

That in fact, is my secret, the thing that truly set me apart from the others. I’ve told you this now, so you can put the book down and move on, without later being upset that I’d wasted your time. After all, the idea is purely absurd to anyone raised with magic. It would be like a blind sharpshooter, somehow able to find the target without seeing it.

So, if you are continuing to read this, then my absurd claims haven’t killed your curiosity about my methods. Simply put, I don’t have the ability to see things within my head. I don’t have the ability to create the delicate structures that allow the harnessing of the forces beyond. And I kept this hidden, a secret shame, while learning my craft, while trying to complete my course work, and in the end, while attempting to pass my exams.

With the exam room at least partially deconstructed, with the noise and the chaotic whirl of energy in the room, their somewhat complicated non-lethal spells were not an option, and as we both realized that, it became clear in their posture that they were going to attempt something more primal, raw force to remove me quickly. At that point, my own reflexes, built in the dueling arena and then honed by the jealousy of my peers, took over, and I pulled up a structure to protect me from them; a shield that would hold off most simple attacks. It came without thought, just a reaction to danger, and it is fortunate that it did, otherwise their similarly honed spell would have put an early end to my tale.

Grabbing my previously confiscated focus, I was able to spin the energy into a doorway and quickly make my exit. Anyone who has been involved with any sort of gateway travel is probably aghast at this point, thinking of all the ritual elements used to reduce the chaos of such magics. Instead, I was embracing the chaos and leaping through a hole that had just been spun into reality, without an anchor and without any beacons.

It is my firm belief that their disbelief in the survivability of such an unstructured spell is why they didn’t simply follow me into it, and why it was generally reported that I had perished in that incident.

Clearly, I hadn’t, or I wouldn’t be writing this memoir.

That is not to say that I was unharmed or unshaken by my rather expedient escape.

The journey would have likely been a memorable one, but I must have blacked out, as the next thing I knew I was on all fours, on some soft and damp shore, sinking in, with nothing to push back against. My face hadn’t entered the muck yet, but it seemed like it would be inevitable that I would soon submerge and thus soon have difficulty with that whole breathing and staying alive thing that we all need to do.

I’d have sank down into that rich and murky broth, concealed and preserved, becoming just a footnote in the examiner’s logs, with no supporting evidence. Even if they managed to trace the gateway to this point, the life inherent in the bog would have masked my body from their divinations.

However, once again, the fact that I was not well liked came to my aid. Folks who had for their own reasons decided that my head should be submerged in various substances had inadvertently taught me how to quickly create a simple mesh in my mouth that allowed me to continue to breathe under the water, as long as I didn’t exert myself.

As I sank down, disoriented, disillusioned and dejected, I slipped into a state of meditation, as I slipped deeper under the surface. I tried to piece together all the jumbled pieces of what had happened, as for the most part, I’d been reacting and I hadn’t really caught up to what I’d done.

Pulling myself together, I began to put it back together. The exam, the catalysts, the explosion of raw power, the gateway. It hit me all at once how truly fucked the situation was. I’d attempted to impress someone, and instead had painted myself with a target. They had attempted to kill me, as soon as they realize that they couldn’t pull of a stun under those circumstances. And if they’d decided to kill me, it was unlikely that anyone would question that decision. Not until the council got together for a post mortem, and clearly that would be too late for me, as I’d be the one morted.

I’d escaped, and for the moment wasn’t likely to be pursued. But, it wouldn’t be long before the tale would travel, and once that happened, my being not dead would be justification for anyone to try to change that.

Of all the possible outcomes of my exams, this was not one I’d considered. I’d considered plenty of ways I could potentially fail the exam, but nothing quite so disastrous and life altering.

Shit. I was rogue wizard.

An ethical question now, what does a rogue wizard do to survive and where are the lines. Yes, that authorities are trying to kill me, but I can’t disagree with their logic. And if I can’t disagree with their logic, then I probably can’t bring myself to harm them, except as a last resort.

That severely limits what I can do, and I’m those limitations, my options become clearer. Obviously, l will need allies, and since the system is against me, it’ll be among those also outside that system that I should look for my allies, though this is complicated by their reasons for being outside the system. The enemy of my enemy, might be my friend, or might be a mutual enemy. After all, we all have common ground, and if we are willing to see that, then perhaps we can find comrades.

Thinking of common ground, I suppose I won’t find it floating here under the surface of a random swamp..

Aa that thought crosses my mind, another follows it. There are things that I’ll find in the swamp that have the potential to be allies, if I’m willing to put in the effort to understand them.

Legends speak of things that dwell in the swamps and the moors, things glimpsed in the fog or in the night, Some are merely explanations for existing phenomena, but often in legends there is at least some truth.

Wraiths and Wisps, the ethereal and unknown culprits behind all the deaths that happen in places like this. How much truth is behind them?

Reaching out into and through the liquid, I had a thought that was at once both wonderful and terrible. The water was still; apart from the life within it.

The idea of scrying from within a pool isn’t a new one, folks had been using sensory deprivation tanks for such purposes for years. But those were sterile and mostly used as a method of removing noise while focusing on a difficult subject.

The audacity of trying to acry with a swamp appealed to me. Rather than excluding the noise, I needed to embrace it, accept it and learn from it.

Seeing them as distractions would quickly frustrate the process, they were not. They were sources of information. Vast and overwhelming, but no more so than being within a large crowd. Less so, I realized, as their motives were often simpler.

By reaching out and listening to the noise, embracing it, recognizing the patterns, it became easier to understand how each piece fit together, how it was all collectively a part of a greater whole, and in understanding that, it also became clear that there were parts that weren’t. There were places that didn’t have the same life, or didn’t have the same harmony, and it was in those places that I would need to look, to understand why they were, and how they fit together. It wasn’t a puzzle, I wasn’t putting it together, it was a vast canvas and I was learning to appreciate it.

There. I felt something different. Something that stood out. As I reached out to it, I heard a voice. “Oy, bout time you got here. I’ve been waiting ages for you to show up.” The voice wasn’t coming through my ears, but it was clear and it had a directionality to it. It was coming from whatever it was that I’d been touching with my mind. Only one thing to do, I suppose.

Attempting to direct my own thoughts, into something that had the same weight as the words, I tried to reply. “Hey, I’m a little confused here. I’m not sure I’m who you were waiting for, can you tell me who you are and who you think I am?”

“Grim, the bloody reaper, the skinny man wit’ the scythe. That’s who I was expecting. I guess you could be someone else, here to take me away. I’ve been here a while now. I guess we don’t need to worry about that bloody river then, since I can’t even recall my own name.” The voice seemed an odd mix of exhausted and cheerful, with an edge of something else. “I know who I’m not, that’s for sure. I’m not Bob, I sank straight down.”

It took me a moment to process what he’d said. And then to process the joke. “Okay, well, that wasn’t something I was expecting to learn today,” I thought back at him, as I concentrated on what I now assumed to be his body. It had indeed sunk into the mud, so I suppose he wasn’t Bob.

“What do ye mean, what is it you learnt?”

“That there is some form of life after death?”

“Nah, ye canna call this life, this is just waiting.”

“Well, you were alive, and now you aren’t, and we’re having a conversation. So that means you are conscious, despite no longer having the place where consciousness rests.”

“I follow, but surely I can’t be the first you’ve encountered in this type of work.” There was a pause. “It can’t be your first day on the job, can it? How does one even get a job like that?”

“I mean, I guess it kinda is, but probably not in the way you think. I was taking my exams, shit went wrong, and now I’m probably on the run.”

“Well then, I suppose ifen ye ain’t here to take me away to the great beyond, I don’t suppose I could convince you to take me along on the run perhaps?”

I paused, trying to wrap my mind around the idea. If nothing else, I’m sure I could use the company. Unless I’d lost my mind, and this was just a voice in my head, brought on by the stress. Though the alternative did have some appeal to it. This was a whole area of research where as far as I knew, nobody had ever really made any progress.

“While ye are thinkin’ it over, can you tell me if all my limbs are intact?”

Reaching out with my mind, I felt the body. The limbs were there. “Yeah, you seem to be intact, and pretty well preserved.”

“Well, I guess we learnt something else then. Clearly my name isn’t Mat.”

Despite myself, I found my spirits lifted by my new friend’s sense of humour. After all, my circumstances seemed quite a bit less dire, when compared to his. I began to reach into the muck, seeking the dirt and pulling it into a circle around me, pushing the solid matter out, while holding the water in.

As I did, I became aware of the light shining down on me. I could feel it around me, but it was somehow not what I expected. With the mud pulled back into a ring around me, my feet descended, eventually reaching a more firm platform under me. Pushing upwards, I felt my head break the surface, and I opened my eyes.

It was moonlight; bright moonlight. With no real sense of time, I was willing to believe that hours had past, but since the exams were traditionally held during the new moon, clearly weeks had past, as I was looking up at a full moon. Well, nearly full. Close enough.

I looked around, seeing that I’d managed to convert a portion of this swamp into a pool of clear water, ringed by a solid barrier of compacted mud.

Looking down, I saw that even my clothing was clean. While I hadn’t expected the spell to do something like this, it made sense that it would. I’d been pulling all the mud from the water away, and so all the mud had gone.

That left me floating in a pool, trying to put my thoughts together. I should be hungry, but I don’t feel hungry. That’s probably not good. If weeks had passed, I should be starving.

Thinking about it, there were a few options. The trip through that gate, while instantaneous for me, might not have been that way for everyone else. There were precedents in legends, though most of those involved various types of outsiders. I might have been in some sort of trance, where I used minimal energy, or even drew energy in from my surroundings. There were precedents for that also, folklore about monks, mostly. Maybe I was in shock, and didn’t realize I was starving. That was possible, and concerning. I should probably find food soon regardless.

With that in mind, I reached out to my new friend, and with similar effort, unearthed his remains. They’d been preserved by the swamp. Remembering a spell I’d used to entertain a cousin at a family function, I was able to wrap the energy around his limbs, allowing me to control the body, as if I were a puppeteer. My initial efforts lacked any sort of grace, his body swaying drunkenly. But with a bit of work, I was able to get us onto dryish land, and by reaching my energy into it, I was able to sort of push the water away and pull the mud in, adding more solidity to the path.

He’d gotten quiet, when the mud had pulled back from his body, and now, as we shambled out of the swamp, he spoke up. “I dinnae know who or what you really are, but you’ve managed to show me something new, so I have to thank ye.”

Looking at him, his tanned face expressionless, but his voice somehow heavy with emotion, I replied “Hopefully you’ll still feel that way if they manage to find me. But for now, do you remember anywhere around here we might find some food?”

“Aye, there’s an pub not far from here, I reckon we can find some grub there.” There was a brief pause. “I’d point the way, but I cannae move my arms.”

“Not with your arms, no, but I think I felt the direction you were trying to indicate. That way, right?” I asked as I pointed towards the way I’d felt his spirit shifting towards.

“That’s the way, to be sure. Well, isn’t that a neat trick.”

“I think I’ve got an idea how to give you some control over your body, but I’ll need some time. If I can sense the energy, I should be able to make it so that your body can react to the energy. I imagine it’ll be slow and awkward at first, but maybe…” I trailed off, getting a bit lost in thought. Shaking my head, I started off in the direction I’d been pointing, keeping my eyes peeled. If someone spotted us in the dark, we’d probably be fine, but if they got a good look, we’d probably have some questions to answer, assuming they bothered to ask and didn’t just act.