58 - Ritualism

Draw the necessary energy from the island itself.

She could maybe manage that. But of the major magical disciplines, ritualism was by far her weakest—and certainly her worst among the three fields Osmian was testing her on. Vivisari had been an accomplished spellcaster for obvious reasons: her adventures against the Cataclysms had forged her into such. Likewise, a decade of campaigns had given her plenty of rare materials and experience in enchanting by constantly making legendary gear for herself and her teammates.

But rituals? Vivisari had never concerned herself with rituals. She had more experience dealing with their catastrophic fallout than creating ones herself. At least a few of the Cataclysms had spawned from rituals gone wrong—or right, depending on perspective. The Umbral Regent’s ascension into Lichhood, for example, but also some of the more grotesque of the Flesh-Weaver’s work, and, of course, the Shattered Oracle’s glimpse into the unknowable and his subsequent madness. Vivi wouldn’t be surprised if the Colossus and the Maw were results of rituals themselves, though it was conceivable they were simply ancient mega-fauna. The game’s lore had never concretely defined their origin.

“Fuel the enchantments using the flora of the island,” Vivi said, “but without killing anything, I assume?”

Osmian snorted. “Yes, the orbital enchantment should persist indefinitely. That was implied.”

Vivi didn’t think he needed to be snarky about it, but she knew by now that this man wasn’t very pleasant. She wouldn’t stoop to his level and return the attitude.

“I expect that will be outside of my capabilities, then,” she admitted.

Osmian paused, then blinked at her. “Truly?” he asked quizzically. “You say so definitively?”

“I know very little of ritualism. The basics, yes, and I could compose the structural elements of the ritual, but when it comes to the conceptual, the decisions and guidance there…no. I don’t have much confidence.”

“Conceptual elements?” Saffra asked. “What does that mean?”

Osmian shot an annoyed glance at the catgirl, and Vivi summoned and raised her staff in a vaguely threatening manner. The ghostly archmage wisely chose to let the interruption pass, though Saffra colored, probably not having meant to interject—she was just curious.

“Rituals are considerably less ordered than enchantments and spell circles,” Vivi answered. “You haven’t taken a class on them? They aren’t in the curriculum?”

“Higher up, but not for the early years, no. They weren’t even talked about in general terms.”

“I would hope not,” Osmian huffed. “Ritualistic magic carries far greater potential for catastrophe than ordered magic. Even a low-level mage could call down ruin, with nothing but basic knowledge. It’s well-guarded for a reason.” Lifting his chin, he continued, “That said, the potential for any working of wonder is greater—those of noble purpose, too. Merely look at the Institute: no mage could lift an island and keep it afloat for more than a millennium with their own mana.”

Saffra hesitated at his words, then shared a look with Vivi. Vivi could intuit what she was thinking—could Vivi do such a thing?

Probably not. Not in a single cast. A millennium was a long time, and the Institute’s campus quite large. Even she had a limited mana pool.

Answering Saffra’s question, Vivi said, “Creating the framework of a ritual requires familiarity with spell design and the runic language of High Arcana—that’s what the ‘ordered’ half of a ritual is. But in the best of cases, those designs are just a skeleton; the instructions might not be strictly obeyed, like with spell casting and enchantments.”

Osmian snorted. “By an amateur’s perspective, perhaps.”

Vivi almost sniped something back, because the man’s smug attitude was getting on her nerves, but she reined herself in and considered. Osmian genuinely might be one of the most capable—non-insane, non-cultist—ritualists in history. In this domain, his arrogance had been earned.

She gestured for him to expand, and he paused, grimaced, and did so. Though with an impatient tone, he quickly explained the basics:

“There is the ordered design, yes, written in High Arcana. But there are also the conceptual elements that guide the ritual’s effect, and arguably more so. Foremost: all rituals are invoked with a sacrifice. This sacrifice must have weight, and will influence how the ritual manifests. This is why so many cultists use blood sacrifices.” He wrinkled his nose. “A shortcut, but an effective one. Life is heavy and in all cases provides ample fuel. In any sacrifice, you must have conceptual dominion over your target, what you are drawing energy from. Dominion over, for example, a man strapped to an altar with your knife at his throat is easy to understand: control cannot be questioned. Such a sacrifice will always be accepted. Though there are more conceptual dominions to claim than the bloody ones preferred by cultists.”

A sudden realization hit Vivi. “Like that of a founder of an institution and the sworn mages within.”

Osmian paused, then turned and eyed her. “Indeed. That is certainly a dominion of sorts.”

“This trial obviously mirrors your lifting of the Institute,” Vivi explained. “I was wondering how you fuel those enchantments. You want me to drain the plant life on the island…you drain the mages of the Institute, don’t you? That’s where the ongoing power comes from.”

Saffra’s eyes widened, and she looked nervously at Osmian.

Osmian scoffed. “You think it some nefarious plot? The ritual only targets full Magi or higher, girl, and siphons those idling with nearly full mana pools. They are aware of it. Or should be.”

Vivi was impressed. “That’s a sophisticated ritual, if it targets so precisely and never goes astray.” And, knowing how magic went astray, that meant draining unsuspecting mages to a husk in the best of cases.

“By the standards of an amateur, perhaps,” he sniffed. Then he cleared his throat and shifted in place. “Well, no, it was a significant working even for me—one of my crowning achievements. Nevertheless. Such a thing is more than possible; rituals are only unpredictable to the unpracticed.”

Vivi worked hard not to roll her eyes. “I see. We were discussing dominion…?”

Osmian glared at her. “I’m glad you’re using my limited lifespan to provide a lecture on basic ritualism.” But he continued nonetheless. “Dominion. You may sacrifice anything you have conceptual control, or dominance, over, though the less distinct and undeniable that control, the more likely something will go wrong. Rituals are fundamentally wild magic. All magic is, but as your master indicated, some forms less so. You may establish a complex framework in High Arcana if you desire, but in the end, a ritual’s design may be as simple as this.”

He traced his finger into the air, and a rune appeared.

Summon.

“Fuel that with sufficient power, and make a sacrifice and proper invocation, and a ritual would succeed—it would even vaguely align to your mental intent, regardless of formal instructions. Though what form it might take exactly, I shudder to imagine. I would advise against giving such free rein to magic,” he said dryly. “Magic is not evil. Neither is it good. It is wondrous. And what is wondrous to man is often horrible beyond comprehension.”

He waved his hand, dispelling the glowing symbol.

“In the best of cases, the guiding framework you lay down is a suggestion. A [Fireball] will always produce a fireball, and of roughly predictable size, velocity, and power. A mage’s self-formed mana is the most docile version of magical energy to work with, hence the inherent stability of spell casting—and the stability of the Institute’s ritual, for that matter, since it intentionally uses mana as fuel.” He smiled. “Stealing a living being’s life force is far more unwieldy. Plants, lacking a mind, less so…but still, vital energy is many, many times more prone to rampage. A trial is not supposed to be easy, is it?

“Now, enough wasting my time,” Osmian said. “Begin.”

Vivi humored him, if merely because she agreed that Osmian did have limited time on this mortal coil: his soul fragment decayed not at a rapid rate, but she would be surprised if he had more than a few months of life left in him. No doubt, he went into hibernation between trials. Even five minutes was a concession, and he’d given it for something as mundane as lecturing—however condescendingly—for Vivi and Saffra’s sake. A crotchety old man who clearly liked the sound of his voice…but Vivi didn’t get the impression he was a bad person.

She didn’t hold great hopes for success. Her spellcasting and enchanting abilities likely surpassed anybody in the world’s, but when it came to ritualism, she was probably beneath the average archmage in capability.

Nevertheless, she would give it a college try. Her only hope was that sufficiently elegant instructions—the ordered half of the ritual—could make up for her poor grasp and control over the more conceptual factors. Clearing out an area of flat stone, she began inscribing runes. If nothing else, she enjoyed the challenge of creating a framework that drained an island’s flora without killing the weakest of the plants, or draining too much such that the ecosystem collapsed over the years. Truly a conundrum.

Still, the first half of the task fell in line with traditional spellcasting enough that she could create something she felt had merit.

Then came the more conceptual parts.

The sacrifice. What sacrifice was most suitable? A poor decision could destabilize the entire project.

Technically, she could target anything she held conceptual dominion over. Osmian owned this island, and had ceded it to her for use during the trial; anything within was thus up for grabs. But did she sacrifice an initial pool of vital energy, distributed across all the flora? A specific plant within, or maybe a whole section to consume entirely? Something else—her own mana, possibly? Each choice would affect the ritual in drastic ways, guiding High Arcana be damned. Rituals were wild magic. Osmian might have implied that a truly competent ritualist could have consistent control…but Vivi simply didn’t believe that. It was his ego speaking.

After a long deliberation, she decided to target a sacrifice that most closely mirrored the ongoing effect. She would sacrifice a small portion of the island’s collective vital energies, hopefully without killing any individual plant, down to a blade of grass. That might be an excellent conceptual choice; it might be a terrible one. For once, Vivi was well and thoroughly out of her depth.

She didn’t just have to worry about her decision-making, either. Implementation and control mattered too; a ritualist had to actively direct the magic once claimed, and through a far less structured process than spellcasting.

After invoking the ritual, she became conscious of energy all across the island, shimmering like pockets of green light to her senses. She reached out and grabbed, narrowing her grasp on each plant to only what was needed. She had very little practice with this, but Vivisari had experimented with most things magical. So she wasn't totally lacking experience. And Vivisari was a talented individual to say the least. She learned faster than most.

She made the sacrifice. The island seemed to groan, the bright green life all around her fading. But, importantly, not dying outright. That was promising.

Funneling the flood of vital energy rushing toward her—so similar to mana, but most definitely not—she shoved the resource into the orbital enchantments she’d inscribed in preparation. Some rituals were more than simple power-generators—most were, in fact—but not this one.

The enormous rock shuddered, then threw off the shackles of gravity and floated into the air.

Grass all around the island began to wither and blacken.

Her heart sank.

Instant failure…how depressing.

She aborted the ritual.

Canceling magic in any scenario was difficult—[Dispel] handled lower-tier spells just fine, and, for someone like Vivi, higher ones too. But an entire ritual fueled by vital energy, a force many times more unwieldy than mana? She needed to call on heavier dispersion-type magic than a simple [Dispel].

“[Dissolution].”

The command echoed across the island with such absolute authority that everything present—man, plant, or mana—froze. Like mist in bright sunlight, the vast energies running wild from the aborted ritual dispersed. In less than a second, nothing remained of what should have been a catastrophic amount of suddenly unbound power.

“I assume that’s a failure,” Vivi sighed, wrinkling her nose. She’d expected it from the start, but was still disappointed in herself.

Archmage Osmian gaped at her. “Did you purposefully abort a ritual? Are you insane, woman?”

“The guardrails I put down clearly failed.” She nodded at a patch of blackened grass. It would probably recover; she’d canceled the drain as soon as she’d seen the safeguards fail. “I didn’t want to ruin this lovely island of yours.”

“I had my own precautions for mitigating a failed ritual! Of course I did. What—what was that spell?”

“[Dissolution]?”

“No, the other seventeenth-tier magic you cast on a whim! [Dissolution]? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Vivi paused. It was actually two tiers stronger than seventeen, but she probably shouldn’t point that out. Osmian already seemed disturbed. “Yes. It works against most forms of energy, not just mana. I didn’t know you had your own precautions, and like I said, I didn’t want to kill everything on the island, which that ritual might have.”

Osmian stared at her.

“You aren’t a demon at all, are you?” he asked flatly. “I had my suspicions, but this…” He shook his head. “Seventeenth-tier magic, with no preparation. Good gods. What level are you, you monstrous creature?”

Vivi suppressed a grimace. Wonderful. Yet another person assuming she was a dragon, or some other ancient immortal. Saffra was bobbing her head, not surprised by anything that had happened. She seemed pleased that Osmian had finally come to ‘the obvious conclusion’.

“That was a failure, correct?” Vivi repeated.

He frowned at her. “It most certainly was.” His eyes drifted to the ritual inscribed on the sprawling stone surface they were both standing in the center of. “Your High Arcana was phenomenal, as before. I doubt I could have improved on it…besides adapting it better for a ritual. You’re clearly inexperienced. Too much specificity harms the design, in this instance; rituals are not enchantments. Suggestions over orders. Besides that, your choice of sacrifice was abysmal…though control of the resulting energies acceptable, if bordering on clumsy. A very strange set of capabilities you have. Clearly you are a warmage. How could you possibly have expected that sacrifice to be suitable, though?”

“Please, illuminate me,” she said dryly. “What would have been better?” She meant that, somehow, sarcastically and earnestly at the same time. Though she was embarrassed by the failure, she was more than willing to learn about a magical field she considered herself deficient in.

“Hmph.” He narrowed his eyes and didn’t answer. “You were, apparently, correct from the start: you are not a suitable woman to call yourself my apprentice, or inherit my grimoires. Our specialties are too divergent, and I can tell you have little beyond superficial interest in ritualism.”

She hesitated, then nodded in concession.

He snorted. “Very well, then. A conversation between peers. This vessel’s lifespan is limited, but I will make an exception for such an interesting guest.” He waved his hand and teleported the three of them back to the office. Saffra twitched in surprise, but Vivi met Osmian’s gaze evenly, not reacting to the sudden shift in environment. “What questions do you want answered?” he asked. “I have some of my own.”