- The Tower of Ma'Jukal
Ivanilson watched as the acid arrow zipped past his head and into the chest of a fellow mage standing not far down the corridor behind him. He took a deep breath, steadying himself for a moment, before peering out from behind the pillar. One more down, he thought to himself, although he immediately hated himself for thinking it. He did not wait to watch the fallen mage twitch and spasm in his dying breaths, Ivanilson was more than familiar with the rules of the Conquest. This mage, whose name was of no significance now, fell with the first group of defeated participants. He would not be helped nor revived, only forgotten. He was unworthy.
Feeling slightly more steadied, Ivanilson slipped out from behind the pillar he had been hiding behind. He clung to the shadows cast by the nearby wall torches as he made his way down the corridor. He had to make it out of the tower’s ground floor before the High Mages watching the conquest grew bored and dropped the base of the tower into the black void of the cavern below. This obelisk, the Tower of Ma’Jukal, was constructed by magic once every year for the purpose of the Brujopo Conquest, and almost entirely destroyed throughout the event’s proceedings. The Tower had no foundation, instead it floated above the cavern by the combined magic of the Academy’s Six High Mages.
Picturing the floor falling out from under his feet caused Ivanilson to increase his pace, though he still clung to the cover of the dimly lit corridor’s shadows as often as possible. Eventually, Ivanilson made his way to the foot of a long spiral staircase, which appeared to ascend all the way up to the pinnacle of the tower, though he knew it did not. He stopped, turning his ear up the staircase, listening for even the faintest sound of a footstep or the chanting of a spell. Once he stepped onto the staircase, Ivanilson knew he would have no cover and he would become an easy target. He heard nothing coming from up the stairs, so Ivanilson quickly and quietly started his ascent of the tower.
No sooner had he scrambled up the first few steps, than the ground floor of the tower dropped into the cavern below, plummeting several of Ivanilson’s classmates into the black abyss. Ivanilson took a big gulp, trying to quickly clear his head before continuing upward. At least this meant that no one would be coming up behind him, he somewhat assured himself. A little more cautiously, Ivanilson continued his way up the tower. The good news, he now knew, was that he would not be ending his day at the bottom of the cavern. Only those mages eliminated in the first round of the Conquest were dropped into the void. Mages who failed in the second round could look forward to being burned by the impossibly hot magical flames that would soon engulf the next level of the tower. Ivanilson found himself once more encouraged to walk a bit more quickly as he neared the top of the staircase.
Unfortunately, Ivanilson realized the error of his haste a moment too late, when he found another mage awaiting him at the top of the staircase. He was ready to pick off anyone who tried to make his or her way up the stairs. Ivanilson raised his hands in front of his face, desperately preparing himself to counter whatever spell this young magic-user decided to throw his way. To Ivanilson’s amazement, the spell never came. It became increasingly clear in the seconds that followed, that his adversary could not see Ivanilson at all. Since Ivanilson no longer relied on the shadows of the corridor for cover, the only possible explanation for this phenomenon was that the foolish mage had not cast a basic detection spell, which would have allowed him to see any invisible threats. Ivanilson had completely forgotten casting the invisibility spell at the Conquest’s initiation, as he had hardly expected the illusion to do him much good against such capable rivals. Of course it would be Brian, Ivanilson thought to himself. He had known this mage for a long time; Brian had been a classmate of Ivanilson’s since their youth.
Several years ago, Ivanilson watched Brian attempt to turn a textbook invisible in their Illusions class. Brian accidentally set the book on fire and burned his hands in the process. It was safe to say, illusions had never been Brian’s forte. Since that day, Ivanilson had always somewhat pitied the hapless mage. Brian was perhaps the only wizard who received more hateful jeers than Ivanilson.
A moment later Brian was bleeding out on the cold stone floor, with a clean gash across his throat. Ivanilson returned the dagger to a hidden compartment in the sleeve of his wizard’s robe. Classmate or not, it was kill or be killed and Ivanilson refused to lose. Ivanilson came to terms with the fragility of his mortality years ago. Death was a glaring risk of progressing into the Upper School of the Academy. Defeat, on the other hand, Ivanilson had never prepared to accept as a real possibility. Success was the only outcome Ivanilson visualized, the only result allowed.
Wasting no time, Ivanilson quickly glanced around the room. He knew it would not be long before the entire second floor of the tower erupted into a magical flame which would burn everything in its path to a crisp in mere seconds. Hiding in the shadows of the corridors had kept Ivanilson alive up to this point. Few mages knew how to hide in the shadows created by a wall torch. Ivanilson learned the skill in his time growing up in the Sewer District of Dourtraka, years before his enrollment in the Academy. Dumb luck and the prideful ignorance of his classmate kept Ivanilson alive on the stairs. Now, he desperately searched the room for anything that might help him reach the third floor of the tower.
This time Ivanilson came up with nothing. He raced across the room and through the door, for he knew that he had no time to waste. No sooner had he made it through the doorway than he found the legendary Portal of Ma’Jukal. At the center of the room stood the magical portal, one which all of the mages knew would teleport them to a random room on the third floor of the tower. In front of the portal stood four young mages, battling it out to see who would emerge victorious and progress through the portal. Ivanilson recognized all of the mages, as there were few people left in his class with whom he was not familiar. This Conquest would reduce his class to no more than a score of wizards. It appeared that these competitors were fighting in teams. A young man by the name of Dungar and his girlfriend, a short but vicious enchantress named Ariela, hurled spell after spell across the room at their opponents. Two twins, Jaime and Sebastian, stood across from them, countering as many of the vile spells as they could, and occasionally throwing in a few offensive spells of their own. All four of the mages were far more advanced in the arcane arts than Ivanilson and boasted more powerful and extensive complements of spells.
Ivanilson ducked back around the doorway and into the previous room, he did not have long to think through his options. If he joined the seemingly even standoff, he had no doubt that he could tip the scales of the battle and determine its victors. No sooner would he help defeat the twins than Dungar and Ariela would turn against him, and after giving the matter more thought he realized that the twins were fairly likely to do the same. He could try and sneak past the battle. However, even if he got past unnoticed, the portal would take a moment to activate. The delay would almost certainly reveal his position and make him an easy target while he waited to be teleported away. Pressed for time, a truly sinister idea popped into Ivanilson’s head, the kind of thought he was particularly good at devising under pressure.
He grabbed the torch that hung next to the doorway and inched his way back to the entrance. Ivanilson knew that in order for this to work, he would have to be quick and there would be very little room for error. Reaching into one of the many pouches of his robes, Ivanilson pulled out a small container filled with Pig’s Grease. He quickly rubbed the grease onto the palms of both his hands and murmured the arcane words “Cerdovo Pisobo.” The Portal Room became filled with a black greasy film, which covered the entirety of the floor. Caught entirely off guard by this third party interference, all four of the mages stumbled about in the incredibly slippery substance, before falling to the floor. Each of the mages required only a split moment to rise back up to their feet and hurl the vilest of spells at their newest combatant. Unfortunately for each of them, a split moment was more time than they were afforded. Immediately after finishing the incantation, Ivanilson reached down to the ground, holding the torch to the black grease that coated the floor of the entire Portal Room. The entire room instantly erupted in flames. There was no time for a counter spell, no time for anything at all. Within seconds all four mages were burnt to a crisp. These flames were at least more merciful than those of a less arcane nature; their deaths had been instantaneous.
Ivanilson knew that the flames would not burn for long, but he had no time to waste. Taking a deep breath, Ivanilson chanted the words for another spell, “Levantarkas Airendo,” and he levitated off the ground, above the flames. He lowered himself into the gateway of the portal, and quickly initiated the portal sequence. As he stood in the portal, waiting to be teleported away, he saw the adjoining room of the tower burst into flames. Ivanilson knew that he had once more made it off the floor by a matter of mere seconds.
Ivanilson sighed in both relief and exhaustion. He had used more spells on the first two levels of the Conquest than he had hoped. Ivanilson was not as advanced as many of his classmates; he was considerably younger and had started studying at the Academy at an older age than most. He would have to be both frugal and clever in order to make it much further, particularly given the remaining spells at his disposal. As he waited to appear on the third level of the vile tower, Ivanilson knew that this was no time for rest. He raised his hands out in front of his chest, knowing fully well that he may be teleported into the middle of another brutal battle. At least, Ivanilson thought to himself, I am halfway through the Conquest.
