<blockquote>


    Magistea


    Mah-gihs-tea-ah


    Type: Noun


    Definition: "Magistea" refers to a sacred and rigorous ritual of the Menschen, serving as a rite of passage for mages aspiring to ascend to the esteemed status of Magi. This trial tests the participants'' mastery over the elemental forces and their ability to integrate these powers with Spirits and ethical insights.


    Cultural/Contextual Background: The structure of the Magistea has evolved under the guidance of various architects of the ritual, with the most renowned version being the "Trial of Elements" led by Headmaster Magi Mediah, who followed the teachings of Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune. The trial''s length is not fixed, potentially spanning from a few moons to an entire Winter if not more, depending on the individual mage''s progress and depth of understanding. Historically, the Trial consisted of a continuous process but was later structured into nine distinct disciplines, each spanning one moon, commencing after the first summer of its formal inception. The Magistea not only marks a mage''s formal transition into a Magi but also deeply influences their philosophical and magical perspective, molding them into Battlemages, leaders, officers, commanders and scholars who are respected and revered across the land.


    </blockquote>


    Redfred''s mind and spirit were in endless conflict with the recent event of Yeso''s trial. An unfair verdict!!


    He found himself lost in the musty scent of old paper, wandering in the vast archive chambers located in the Magi Sector. The aisles were filled with rows upon rows of forsaken files, reports, and manifests from past Trials of Elements.


    He roamed these halls leisurely; however, Redfred was too distracted to get fully immersed in one of these manuscripts. The Trial of Yeso lingered in his thoughts, a sour note of injustice. Despite their differing political views, Redfred felt nothing else than respect towards his Master, Yeso Sternach, a shared code of honour. The Commander''s commitment to value life above anything else, whether on land, sea, or sky, resonated deeply with him.


    He shook his head slightly, his expression turning grim as he thought of Yeso''s unjust downfall—a fall that seemed more the result of personal vendetta than any real failing. To Redfred, this wasn''t just an attack on Yeso; it was a betrayal of the core values of the Magis Order, values that the Herbstdame, with her lack of the black robe''s wisdom, could never fully grasp.


    Her actions were unworthy of her title. To Redfred, she was no longer a true Dame, at least not his Dame. One way or another, he would restore Yeso''s honour to right the wrongs of a biased verdict. To return the Menschen to their true glory!


    A sudden sharp, cold wind sliced through the silence, pricking at his skin and raising goosebumps that made him glance up. The sun had retreated, yielding the sky to the nine moons which bathed the chamber.


    His bare feet flinched from the sudden chill seeping up from the stone floor, and he pulled his robes tighter around him. Redfred peered into the quiet between the shelves, seeking the source of the cold.


    He ventured down the aisle with measured steps, his ears straining for any sign of life. A high-pitched giggle, light and haunting, stopped him in his tracks.


    There, amidst the shadows, stood the Winter.


    White crystal hair framed a pale face, and piercing blue eyes regarded him with an intensity that belied her youth. She wore a tunic of the purest white, her presence devoid of colour except for the startling blue of her eyes. Rumours had whispered through the corridors of Veilla''s twin daughters, and recognition dawned on Redfred. Fiona.


    "You grace..." he began, the formality struggling against his chattering teeth.


    The girl regarded him with a gaze that seemed to cut sharper than the wind. "You should use shoes... to keep you warm," she advised, lowering her gaze to his feet. She spoke with a clear and devoided tone of any warmth.


    Redfred''s nod was but a courteous bob, a surface gesture that masked the whirl of contemplation within him. Fiona''s words echoed the chill in the air, running opposite to the traditions of the Menschen, who honoured the elements through the touch of bare skin to earth.


    "Indeed, I shall heed your advice, my lady," he replied, his breath misting in the cold air.


    Redfred''s teeth chattered not solely from the cold but from the daunting presence before him. He was a man who had faced the scrutiny of the court and the puzzles of politics, yet the small figure swathed in white unsettled him more deeply than any cryptic blueprint of war. Redfred was afraid.


    "I will consider it next time," he managed to articulate, repeating himself, though his voice quivered with an unease he couldn''t quite explain. But he knew it was more than just about shoes.


    "There will be no next time. You will do as I said." The command was resonating with the weight of long authority.


    Redfred bristled at the thinly veiled threat, his pride stung. "As I said, I will consider it," he retorted, attempting to cloak his fear with defiance.


    The girl''s eyes seemed to penetrate him, reading his innermost thoughts. "Don''t you want your house to stand in the Dame court? Dagurstea should be a name of nobility and respect. That is your goal, isn''t it, Magi? Instead, it''s a sheep name following the footsteps of a primitive baboon with pixie dust ideology," Her words sliced through the air, each syllable a chisel shaping the cold reality of his situation, "You agree with me, don''t you?"


    Redford, though not much younger than Yeso, had traversed the complexities of social labyrinths, mingling with the artful elves and cunning humans alike. The aroma of conspiracy was one he knew well—the scent of a coup d''état in the making. Was it this he had been wishing between these bookshelves?


    In this quiet chamber, the gravity of his choice weighed on him. But as he looked at Fiona, with her frost-touched hair and eyes like shards of the winter sky, he reminded himself she was just barely a woman.


    But that was not the story that unfolded.


    "I wish to follow the path of the Trial of Element and to harvest honour for the Dagurstea through my Black Robe," he stated, his voice carefully modulated to betray neither reluctance nor eagerness.


    Fiona responded with a smirk, a subtle yet unmistakable display of her confidence and control over the situation. "You have been summoned," she declared, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. "And I don''t accept no as an answer. Bring the boy; the more, the merrier." Her words were like a decree, an edict that sealed his fate.


    He had no choice.


    With a turn of her back, Fiona began to walk away, her departure changing the very atmosphere of the chamber. As the distance between them grew, a peculiar warmth seemed to fill the space she vacated. It was as if her presence had been a cold front, her departure allowing the room to return to a more natural state. Winter leaving.


    Redfred watched her leave, a myriad of thoughts racing through his mind. The implications of her words, "Bring the boy," echoed ominously. It was clear she was mentioning Muru.


    Muru, like himself, came from a legacy—the Ann. It became increasingly clear to Redfred that Fiona''s strategy was to methodically gather individuals linked to influential surnames, those who carried significant weight within their communities, politics, and the intricacies of court life.


    She was fortifying her position, weaving a web of alliances that could sway the tides of power in her favour.


    Yet, as Redfred pondered this realization, a sense of unease crept into his thoughts. Change was indeed on the horizon, and he had yearned for the last weeks, but this shift in the delicate balance of power had a taste of vile and corruption.


    Was he ready to be a cog in Fiona''s machinations, a pawn in her ambitious game to reshape the political landscape?


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    After a few days, the Magi received a letter. Redfred found himself holding an official invitation addressed to both him and Muru. The elegant script on the parchment left no room for doubt; it was a summons that could not be ignored. Redfred knew, for his safety and his protegé, there was no alternative but to accept. The wheels set in motion by Fiona''s ambitions left little space for dissent.


    And so, both Redfred and Muru found themselves journeying to a place far removed from the grandeur and opulence they were accustomed to the last weeks.


    They ventured into a ramshackle neighbourhood, a stark contrast to the Capitol''s affluence. This part of the city, with its narrow, winding streets and dilapidated buildings, squatted almost apologetically in the looming shadow of the Capitol''s splendour.


    The neighbourhood was a patchwork of cramped houses and makeshift stalls, the air filled with the sounds of daily struggle and the faint echoes of forgotten dreams. It was a place where the harsh realities of the true Ormburg life were laid bare, a stark reminder of the disparities that existed just a stone''s throw from the seat of power.


    Redfred, with his broad shoulders cloaked in a black mantle, glanced at Muru, whose youthful face flickered with doubt under the hood that concealed his dark red hair. They slipped through the doorway of the designated place, and the oppressive weight of the building''s silence enveloped them with guilt—and treason.


    Within the cavernous room, a dim oil lamp cast elongated shadows across the gathering—a macabre dance of figures drawn from every corner of society. The hushed tones of the congregation blended into a single, susurrating entity, betraying a unity formed not by commonality but by shared greed and prejudice.


    Redfred''s gaze swept over the assembly. A Magi unknown, cloaked and enigmatic, traded hushed words with a stern-faced Noble whose fingers idly traced the hilt of a concealed blade. An emissary from a far district shrouded in anonymity provided by the room''s penumbra watched the gathering with sharp, calculating eyes.


    In this den of treason, identities were guarded as fiercely as the cause they championed. Redford could feel the pulse of peril in the room; they were all acutely aware that beyond these walls, the Herbstdame''s justice wouldn’t protect them. But they were all men with power, if not magic, then coin, influence and politics. This was a crowd needed by any ruler to be on their good side.


    Redfred''s gaze landed on Muru. His brow creased with concern. Muru, whose innocence still clung to him despite his convictions. Redfred saw the internal conflict playing out behind the young man''s eyes—the ideals of segregation clashing with the reality of his experiences among the halflings.


    The atmosphere had been taut with the electricity of whispered rebellion, but as a silence descended, it grew so thick it could have been cut with the ceremonial daggers some attendees bore at their belts. A chill followed as though the very air had recoiled from what was about to unfold.


    Fiona Mageschstea emerged like a wraith from the shadows, her young face etched with an authority that belied her years. She stood before the hushed crowd, her small frame clothed in a heavy cloak that seemed to swallow her whole. Yet, despite her youth, there was a gravity to her that anchored all eyes upon her.


    Her attempt at a smile was a contorted thing, failing to touch the icy glint in her eyes. It was a smile that did not invite warmth; it demanded respect and fear.


    "Thank you for all of you being present," her voice cut through the crowd as ice. "Today is the day of change. The day we choose our people over their people. We choose to be Menschen and not to submit to others. We claim order, and we claim it now! To separate our nation, Ormgrund, from what drags us down. Flocks of weakness usurping our magic. We are magic! And have the audacity to chase us down! Enough! Enough to bend to lesser creatures. Enough!"


    Fiona paused, her gaze sweeping across her captive audience. "My mother has served her people well but long enough, and it is clear she is tired. After all, she will be a mother again. It is time for us to aid her in her mission. To lead our people to prosperity and not just temporarily—not a feeble attempt but with a firm hand! It time we to take Ormgrund as ours! To take it far away from the Great Continent!"


    "She speaks of division,” Muru''s whisper was almost lost beneath the murmurs of agreement that began to swell around them. “Redfred... of severing ties... is she suggesting what I think she is?"


    Redfred nodded.


    She was the flame igniting the kindling of unrest, and it seemed the fire was catching fast. "She speaks of a future," he murmured back, "with no weak blood, with no humans. With nothing."


    Muru''s voice, even whispering, spoke angrily: “No! She is talking about cutting the continent! Literally! Don’t you hear it?”


    A solitary but brave hand cleaved through the murk of tension that hung over the gathered crowd. Fiona paused, her fervour momentarily arrested by the interruption. The weight of her gaze drew the room to a breathless standstill.


    "Speak," she commanded, her tone a blade of ice itself.


    Their voice emerged from the throng, less assertive than the hand that had heralded it. "I think I speak for many when… when you speak of division—are you speaking to sever the map in two? I mean, geologically? This could cause natural catastrophe with… with no precedent! This could be the End of Times!"


    Whispers spread like ripples across the crowd, a sea of unease and curiosity.


    "Yes," Fiona responded, the word cutting the whispers short. "We are the chosen ones. We are magic! We have more than enough resources to build a world far away from any faux little red crown. If they don''t bend their knees facing their superior, why should we still be their neighbour? And if nature replies to my cry, it will separate the weak from the strong. It''s simple."


    "What about those that have their lives in the Great Continent? What about trading and exchange of technology? What about the ley li—"


    The words fractured under the sudden eruption of ice. Fiona, with a flick of her wrist, had summoned a crystalline shard, launching it towards the man who dared question her vision. It struck with a deadly precision, bursting his head into a cloud of frozen blue blood mist.


    For a moment, the room was caught in a macabre snow globe, where what floated down was not snow, but the remnants of rebellion turned to slaughter.


    Silence once again claimed dominion, as the grim spectacle of power served as a gruesome punctuation to Fiona''s message. Fear, raw and unadorned, seeped into the marrow of everyone present. The message was clear: dissent would not merely be silenced; it would be annihilated.


    Redfred felt a chill that had nothing to do with the sorcery in the air. He exchanged a fleeting look with Muru, seeing his own horror mirrored in the young man''s eyes. They had come seeking allies in a cause for justice, but what they had found was a darkness that threatened to swallow their principles whole.


    As the echoes of shattered ice settled, Fiona''s voice resumed, now edged with an unmistakable warning. "Let this be a lesson to anyone who would question our path. Our cause is unity, but it is unity for the pure, the powerful, and the deserving—the Chosen! We will carve a new order from the old, and none shall stand in my way."


    The room, a tableau of shock and fear, offered no further protest. The consequences of defiance lay too starkly before them, glittering in the dim light like the frost of a winter''s dawn.


    "However, even I understand that we do have allies in the Great Continent," Fiona acknowledged, her voice as smooth as the surface of a frozen lake. "Allies that are not interested in living in our lands, in usurping our gifts! As we are not interested in living in theirs. Who have nothing to offer. Nevertheless, allies," she declared, the word was carrying a weight of grudging respect.


    “The high elves of S?grestein, the wardens of the Spirit of the Dual-Headed Fish," she intoned, invoking a reverence that seemed to resonate with the collective understanding of her audience.


    Then, with a deliberate pause that felt as though she were drawing the attention of the very stars above, she invited the tall figure to join her. As he turned, his face coming into view from the shadow of the room, a collective gasp rippled through the assembled crowd. Recognition dawned, followed by the stir of awe and disbelief.


    Finnegan Berdorf, the Elven King, renowned for his ethereal beauty and unfathomable age, stepped forward. His presence was like a balm to the raw fear that Fiona''s prior act of violence had sown. And yet, the implications of what was unfolding held a tension all their own.


    "The Elven King and I will seal our alliance by marriage," Fiona announced, her voice imbued with a triumph that left the room thrumming with the magnitude of the revelation. "Our frontiers will be severed forever, but our link will protect us from our common enemies, the Red Bloods, the disease of mortality."


    This last proclamation raised many questions that no one dared to speak out loud. Redfred felt Muru''s hand clutch at his own, a silent communion of uncertainty and shock.


    Fiona''s gaze swept over her rapt audience, and for a moment, Redfred saw in her eyes the glint of something beyond her years—a gleam of conquest, of empires reshaped and histories rewritten. What he saw was the new world order being drawn by the hands of a spoiled child who wielded her youth as both shield and spear.


    The once-muted whispers swelled into fervent cheers. The assembly united in their craving for change—at any price.


    Amid the clamour, Redfred knew that opposition could not be brazen. Raw defiance would see him join the ranks of the silenced, a frost-covered statue in Fiona''s crystal garden of order. No, his resistance must be subtler, more strategic. He was a weaver of words and a dancer in the dark masquerade of politics. He would carve a path through this winter.


    "Redfred, can we go, please?" Muru''s eyes searched Redfred''s, wide and reflecting a sea of turmoil. His plea was a whisper against the storm of applaus.


    Redfred placed a hand on Muru''s shoulder—a gesture both comforting and firm. "I''m afraid we need to stay... I''m afraid now we need to fight from the shadow. This war is not yet lost."


    <blockquote>


    The marriage between Finnegan Berdorf, the Elven King, and Fiona Mageschstea, the Winterqueen, remains an curious chapter in history. Public knowledge of their union was scarce; the two were never seen together, their relationship existing more as a tantalizing rumour than a confirmed fact but still documented and officially sealed. This air of secrecy extended to the speculation that they might have had a child—a notion veiled in even greater mystery. Their marriage, devoid of the usual public fanfare and visibility, has left historians and the populace alike to speculate. This child, shrouded in mystery, was first introduced to society at the age of seventeen. However, during this unveiling, the Elven Princess’s face was concealed behind a mask, further fuelling speculation and rumours about the peculiar union of her parents. The mask, rather than offering clarity, only added to the intrigue surrounding their unconventional marital contract tale. But a mask that would be broken on the 22th birthday of the Princess Eura Berdorf.——Between Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. II by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


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