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Chapter 8 - Introductions - Erik Morsin
🕑 Added 2025-10-20 12:52:59 +0000 UTCAN: Originally I considered starting off Song from Erik's POV, not Felix's. Felix works better because he's new, but quite a few traces of 'I'm starting a series' can be found in Erik's chapters. Hopefully it's new framing on concepts, and not repetitive.
ALSO! WHAT'S THIS!? A CHAPTER ON MONDAY!?
Yes, that's right! I wrote so much last week that I've got a whole SEVEN CHAPTERS FOR YOU ALL. Monday! Tuesday! Wednesday! Thursday! Friday! Saturday! Sunday! Seven days, seven chapters! Add in last week, that's 11 chapters in 11 days! Let's GO!
On a different note, Erik's the last character to be introduced. The Prydwen will begin on chapter 12, and everyone will meet, and we'll be back to regularly following Felix around. Except when one of the other POVs are important.
Chapters are scheduled at the usual time. This one's early because I can.
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The treaties were signed in silence and smoke.
The Morsins stood, not merely one of the dukes -
But first among equals.
Richest among the families.
Hated, deeply.
But in a world hollowed by plague and war,
Still standing, proud atop the bodies they made.
The Saga of Bjorn, Verse 54
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Erik swung his morningstar at the zombie. The spiked head went through the zombie’s skull, splattering bone and brain across the training room floor. The zombie collapsed onto the floor, and Erik took a quick step back. There was no sense in having the zombie’s claws scratch him on the way down, not when he had space to maneuver. He lifted his shield and mace up into the proper guard position, ready for the next challenge.
The zombie vanished in a sparkle of light and magic, then reformed at the end of the training room.
“Good!” Magnus shouted. “Again!”
The zombie looked around confused for a moment, before spotting Erik. Enraged at life, it shamble-sprinted across the room, intent on eating the young lord’s face and ripping him limb from limb. The teenager hefted his kite shield up in front of him, knelt down slightly to brace himself, and swung his morningstar with perfect timing. It went through the zombie’s head again, but the momentum had it crashing against Erik’s shield. With a grunt, Erik shoved the twice-dead, never-alive body off his shield, taking up the ready position again. Sweat poured down his face and soaked into the back of his shirt, every breath felt like fire, and the morningstar and shield felt like they had gained 30 kilos since the drill’s start.
Magnus flicked his wand, and the zombie dissolved into magic once again.
“Good form.” He praised as he walked over to Erik. The stout man had been one of Bjorn’s raiders back in the day, and was as good at fighting as he was bad at magic. A full adult, and the only reason he qualified as a Wizard of the First Circle was that everyone who could do magic was automatically of the First Circle. He didn’t even have a soulbinding! Being able to control the training room was about the extent of his magical abilities. “Three’s enough for your first time, but you didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate, and remembered your lessons. Hand check.”
It took a moment for the words to register, then Erik put down his weapons and shuckled off his gauntlets. Magnus shot Erik a look that promised a later scolding over his poor weapon handling, but more pressing matters took priority. He carefully looked over Erik’s hands, first the back, then the front.
“Does it hurt when I do this?” Magnus asked, slowly pressing on each one of Erik’s phalanges.
“Nope. No. It’s good.” Erik repeated, suppressing a sigh. It was important for a wizard to have full use of his hands - even the slightest injury to his hands could have devastating impacts on his ability to use a wand or other conduit - but it was tedious constantly getting his hands checked after every sparring session.
“Right.” Magnus good-naturedly slapped Erik’s shoulder. The blow was heavier than anything the zombie had done, and Erik meanly thought it was a bigger risk to his entire arm than anything else they’d done that session. It would be a fatal mistake to think that simply because Magnus was a poor wixen, he wasn’t good at killing things. “I think I’m done with you for the day. What’s Ronan got for you next?” He asked.
“Swimming, then wand movements.” Erik replied. Magnus slapped his forehead.
“Wand movements!” He exclaimed. “Almost forgot about those. Grab one of the sticks and do a set. Got to be able to swing a mace then swing a wand without trembling. Go!”
Erik started to measure time in his head, his eternal trick for getting things done.
Two-three-four, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four…
Musical. Melodious. Practice for when he couldn’t practice, a reminder of his violin waiting for him. Practice was today, the one hour a week he could be himself
He forced his leaden legs to move, syncing his counting to his steps as he sprinted across the room. He slammed into the wall - far less painful than anything Magnus would do if he thought he’d been slacking - and grabbed one of the ‘wands’ hanging there. No true wix would let another use their wand, but Erik wasn’t old enough to have his own yet. He forced his trembling hand to obey him, and slowly went through the 44 fundamental wand motions that built every spell.
Every child learned them from an early age. Swish, flick, twist, jab, in every direction. Technically, a few more motions could be added in - there was no flick from the bottom-left to the bottom-right, for example - but they weren’t magically significant, and no spell used it as a wand-motion.
No matter the situation, Erik had to be the master of his own body. Regardless if he was sleep-deprived, drunk, or exhausted, a good wizard could cast without poor motions forcing a miscast. Howling dragon or raging zombie, a wizard paralyzed by fear and unable to move his wand or conduit was dead.
Mere muscle fatigue couldn’t be enough to foul his motions, and there was nothing like practice.
Swish, flick, twist, jab.
One-two-three-four.
Erik’s wand wavered on the twenty-third movement. He glanced at Magnus, who didn’t seem to notice the error at all, busy with the other warriors. A few of the heavily-armored goblin troops were trickling in, getting ready to run their own drills. One of them snarled at Magnus, who simply drew himself up and slapped his scarred, bare chest.
“Do you wish to challenge me?” Magnus threatened the goblin. The hook-nosed creature looked Magnus up and down, and bowed his head in submission. The wizard snorted.
“That’s what I thought. Line up!”
Erik corrected the incorrect wand movement, and continued through the rest of the motions. The goblins were starting to line up as he finished, and the teenager put up his wand, grabbed his satchel, and walked out to his next destination.
Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to have more personal care and attention from his various tutors, instead of being given a schedule and told ‘do these things’. At the same time, Ronan had explained to Erik why things were done this way.
“Heir Morsin.” He had said. “One day, far sooner than any of us would like, you will be the Duke of Ireland. On this day, you will need to be self-assured and self-directed. Yes, you will have friends, retainers, and advisors to help you out. But if you take any lesson from my teaching, it is to do what you need to get done, regardless of the freedom to do otherwise.”
Then Ronan had given Erik a half-dozen small books to read, studies of how other noble scions had utterly frittered away their family wealth, power, and influence, resulting in their eventual fall.
Erik got the hint. No bodyguards, no tutors, nobody hovering over his shoulder.
He left the training salle and passed through the gates of Dublin Castle, the guards nodding respectfully to him. Erik pretended not to see Eli slipping a communication mirror back into his pocket. Some brilliant enchanters had recently figured out how to make them, taking inspiration from the cellphones of earth, and managing to make the mirrors in Arcadia.
“Afternoon Eli, Adric.” Erik politely greeted them. “Still working on becoming a Praetorian?” He asked.
Adric nodded.
“I’ve put in three years of service already. Just two more before I can apply for training. Ego check.”
Erik gave the password of the day, proving it was less likely that he was an imposter, mind controlled, or otherwise compromised. That he wasn’t Light Magus Roko. A full set of Ego Checks could take far longer, but the castle was on the lowest level.
“Excellent. Conditioning potion?” He asked.
Erik nodded.
“Yes please.” He said. Another one of Ronan’s little setups, it was easier to leave the potion with the guards than create dead drops or have Erik running all over the castle. Self-sufficiency in some ways, but Erik’s time was valuable. It wasn’t quite a bonus for doing everything properly, but slacking off would result in none of the goodies being handed out.
Erik took the proffered vial with a grimace. Conditioning potions were nice and all, but they tasted foul. He plugged his nose and drank it down. Warmth immediately began to radiate from his stomach, all of the weariness vanishing from his limbs. It was more than a cheap energy potion - the conditioning potion made all the efforts of his exercise stick, like he’d had a week of rest and recovery already. More than that, it’d linger through the swim and continue to benefit him.
The young man had put on a good amount more of lean muscle thanks to the potion’s help. He shuddered as he finished it, and Adric took it back without comment.
“Thank you Adric.” Erik said, wiping away a drop from his mouth. “After all that, still planning on running off to join BAT?” He teased with a wink.
A lord is always well-presented, an echoing lesson reminded him.
Eli rolled his eyes.
“Camelot soon, eh Erik?” He asked, leaning on his spear. Solid steel could always be swung, while magical cores could be drained of mana after repeated casting. Only relevant against hordes of zombies, but the Dark Civil War was over. The undead were endless. Erik nodded.
“Letter should be coming in any day now!” He said cheerfully.
“Know which friend of yours you want coming along?” Eli asked, leaning more heavily on his spear. Adric glared at him.
“Come on. Can’t ask the kid that. You’re basically asking him to pick a favorite, and it will get back to everyone else.”
Eli straightened up and rubbed his helmeted head.
“Right, shit. Didn’t think about that. I’m going to miss you being around.” He said, looking anywhere but Erik.
Erik grinned.
“I’ll miss you as well. Miss you with a spell, miss you with a-”
Erik ducked as Eli good-naturedly swatted at him.
“Get out of here, brat.”
Erik danced back a few steps.
“But if I get out of here, how will I ever give you two my gifts?” He innocently asked.
“Is it snails again?” Eli teased.
“I was four!” Erik protested. “I thought they looked neat!”
Erik had always enjoyed giving gifts to people, just like his father. The entire process had been somewhat tainted a few years ago when Ronan explained to him exactly how people reacted, and the unconscious idea of required reciprocity. Knowing that he was making people more inclined to like him and go along with what he wanted had thrown a pallor over the entire thing, and Heir Morsin had spent a year wrestling with the idea if he wanted to continue.
In the end, he decided that knowledge was better than ignorance, and he wouldn’t let it taint an activity he genuinely enjoyed.
Adric chuckled in fond remembrance.
“And we’re never going to let you forget it.” He said. “All hail the snail lord!”
Erik grumbled as he swung his satchel up front.
“Well… if you don’t like it, I can keep it to myself.” He said.
“To yourself? Not for yourself?” Eli asked.
Erik wobbled his hand.
“Half of one, half of the other. Adric. A letter of recommendation from me, for when you’re applying to the Praetorians.” Erik handed the sealed letter over to the guard, whose eyes went wide. “Sure, it’s four years until it’s from the Duke, and you’re aiming for two, but it’s still got the Morsin signature on it.”
Adric worked his mouth a bit before finding words. “I don’t know how to thank you.” He said.
Erik shrugged.
“It’s what should be done anyway. If you must thank me, be vigorous in your duties.”
Eli was staring intently.
“I hope you don’t have one of those letters for me.” He tried to joke, but Erik could hear the tension in his voice. He shot the guard one of his winning smiles.
“For you… just a bit of gossip.”
Eli’s eyebrows shot up.
“Gossip. At the same level of a Praetorian letter of recommendation. This I’ve got to hear.”
“Well, I like Adric more.” Erik teased. Eli scoffed, but didn’t interrupt. “Susie in the kitchens can’t keep her eyes off you when you’re around. See ya!”
“Wait! The one with the brown hair? Erik? ERIK!” Eli called after him.
Erik was still smiling as he briskly walked away from the scene of the crime, leaving the two guards to discuss Eli’s love life - or lack of one. Wasn’t much else they could do on guard duty. Even the mirrors were so new there weren’t any rules about it. For now, Erik was content to leave it be.
A brisk game of stavolux was going on in the game field, the fliers high in the air. Harmless spellfire crossed the field, and Erik was sure the flier with the crazy stunts was Sora. A flash of dark blue hair confirmed it, and he spent a moment spotting the rest of his friends. They had somehow talked Caleb into playing, getting the pudgy math nerd off the ground. Loren could tell him every deity that could fly, and probably had a list of gods they could pray to for luck in sports. Erik had gifts for all of them. A new broom for Sora. Not the latest model, but an older one that had proven its value over the years. A beautifully illustrated book of Far East mythology for Loren, which would let Erik ask if those gods could be invoked or manifest on this side of Arcadia. And a half-joke, half-serious one for Caleb - a pocketwatch.
While he was looking up, he tried to spot Sealgaire, his pet and mail bird. The golden eagle wasn’t anywhere obvious, and was probably hunting further prey. The bird was canny enough to avoid the zombies, and smart enough not to eat anything undead.
He hit the beautiful sand, the same color as his hair, a few minutes later, and took a moment to enjoy the view. The water sparkled like a multi-faceted sapphire. Sora had often said the harbor had snuck into his eyes, dyeing them the same blue as the water.
Only one ship was sailing through the harbor, the wind filling its three-masted sails. Erik stripped down and dug through his satchel for one last present. A stainless steel necklace he clipped around his neck for Orlaith, and making sure nobody was around, changed into his wetsuit. According to Caleb, noonies went shirtless when swimming. Erik couldn’t imagine it. He then waded into the chilly water before starting to swim out.
He hoped he’d see one of the mermaids on his swim, hopefully Orlaith, or perhaps one of the selkies.
Combat with Magnus had been a good distraction for Erik, but Eli’s comments had brought it all back home.
Before the going got too rough, before the waves forced Erik to focus all his attention on swimming, his thoughts were consumed with the change that was soon to come. The start of a new, regimented routine. The start of his magical education. The time where he’d lose a number of his current friends, and move onward to make more. The place where he’d learn to use his wand for real. The place to become a wizard. The place where he’d learn to tap into his magical potential. The premier college of casting and charmwork. The one name that resounded throughout history.
Camelot.
Comments
Framing Device
Typo: then Erik put down his weapons and shuckled off his gauntlets. → shucked taking inspiration from the cellphones of earth, → Earth
TeaGeek
Small edit - shouldn’t the golden eagle be hunting *farther* rather than further? There’s a moment where his weapon flips between being called a morningstar and a mace
RedInkQuill
Like the undead, the gifts keep coming, again and again.
