Metamorphology

In Comalan, the term metamorphology refers to the study of any one of four styles of magic that are used to change one's appearance. These sorts of spells are frequently confused for one another, so many people throughout the have clamored for a guide that distinguishes these styles.

Illusion Magic- Seen throughout the world, illusions are the most common form of metamorphology. Illusions are used to create visual and auditory effects that are only observable to those who fall under their enchantment. Casters of illusion magic are known to employ three different techniques. The first is the creation of psychoactive chemicals that create illusions for all who inhale it. The second is the use of hypnotic techniques that can modify the perception of an individual subject. Finally, some illusionists can use simple light-refracting and sound-generating techniques to produce the desired effect on their immediate vicinity.

Glamour Magic- Common in Galeon, Resta, and parts of Midania,  glamour spells are used to alter a person's physical attributes. They are popular with people transgender people as well as those who are experimenting with their gender identity. The effects of glamour magic differ from illusion magic in that the change in form is physical. However, since these spells are generally offered either as a professional service or to spies looking to hide their true appearances, glamour spells are designed to be temporary.

Transformation- Transformation magic allows a caster to take the form of another creature entirely. This practice is practiced primarily by druids from Tanis, Resta, and Sister. This allows the druid to take the form of animal they have taken the time to bond with, assuming both their appearance and natural instincts. Some spellwarriors also possess the ability to transform into one of three ancient creatures. The thick-skinned Frostback pachyderm, the mystical Hempact phoenix, and the magically-infused Silverfist gorilla have long been extinct, so there is little question that to see one of these creatures  means you are looking at a rare breed of spellwarrior.

Shapeshifting- The practice of shapeshifting is a rare ability that allows one to alter the shape of their body at will. It's the least understood branch of metamorphology because shapeshifting can't be learned or taught. It occurs naturally in an incredibly small number of elves and has been seen in only one human throughout history. Lack of understanding has led to some fear among most people, but military forces who uncover a shapeshifter will inevitably attempt to conscript them in order to make use of their abilities.

Tales of the Starlight Crusade: What We Fight For

Absolutely hopeless. These words bubbled beneath the surface in the minds of Elidol and each of his companions for two years. No one dared to utter them because giving up hope was the only sure way to ensure their demise. But there was no other reason not to. After fighting the odds for so long, waiting for someone to find a way to cross the void of outer space and rescue them from Mennon, they all had so little left. Some bore this better than others. Eione seemed bored all the time, but reasonably focused on studying every corner of Saganta City. Harley always seemed to be having a good time since he figured out how to brew alcohol with local sea fruits. And James was always getting into trouble with one of those two.

Those three did a lot better at concealing their stress than anyone else. For his part, Elidol faced a daily struggle to keep his nerves in check. Many would consider these attempts to be a failure, however. To others, it always seemed like he was in a perpetual state of rage. While it was true that anger motivated him to come to this saltwater globe in the first place, he scarcely had time to think about his mission to punish Broger for his betrayal. Being trapped beneath an endless ocean with his friends and surrounded by enemies was a much more critical concern. It didn't help that everyone had somehow misinterpreted his focused intent on surviving long enough to get his revenge as leadership.

This didn't stop him from facing the challenges that his comrades and enemies alike laid in front of him. Several days without sleep had found him incredibly irritable and anxious. The last time he'd gone this long without rest, Ekera had held him down in bed to force him to sleep. But there was no shortage of things to keep him up. This time, it was a damaged water purifier. This was a device that Shar and his renegade Sho'kai followers had no use for and only Aennin had the expertise to maintain. But she was consistently busy with every other machine that the Comalanians needed to survive this other world. This left him with the responsibility of trying to learn everything she knew.

It wasn't always successful.

"No, no, no! The other way! If you tighten that crank too much with those gorilla arms of yours, you're going to break it!"

After all of his angry outbursts, there were only three people left with the guts to say speak so boldly to him. Aennin always seemed to have a bit of a death wish, so she didn't seem to have any reservations with testing his patience.

"I'm going to crank your head one of these days," Elidol grumbled.

Aennin sighed and dropped her socket wrench. "I'm sorry. I know you have a lot of other crap to worry about. But you need to loosen that. We want to drain this entire valve so we can clear out the gunk."

"Right," Elidol said with exhaustion as he turned the crank in the opposite direction.

"You know, no one really expects you to help me with this," Aennin said as she leaned back against the wall from her perch on top of the drainage tank. "There are plenty of people here who don't have anything better to do. Why do you feel the need to be involved with everything?"

"Everyone else is too miserable. I don't want to pile extra work on top of their torment," Elidol grumbled. "The only two people who could use the extra work are the drunk and your ward."

Aennin nodded and threw her arms behind her head. "Eione would definitely balk at something like this. I don't even think telling her she's the only one smart enough to trust with assisting me would help."

"Kaleth doesn't seem to be busy," Elidol grunted as he removed the valve he was instructed to. "I'm sure he'd be most willing to help if it means spending time with you."

Aennin chuckled. "If you leave us alone together, I guarantee nothing will get done. What about Volt?"

"If you want her help, you can ask her yourself," Elidol said with a sigh. "She really misses Gyanda and the fact that I look exactly like him has been making things kind of awkward around her."

"Yuck," Aennin said as she made a sour face. "If I catch her in a mood to talk, I'm definitely going to hear a lot about that. What about Telandra?"

Elidol shook his head as he began to kick down the loosened valve. "I need her where she is. The Sho'kai in the city are only cooperating with us because they revere her for some reason. Can't have her getting dirty and ruining her saintly image. And Ekera's out too because taking care of our food situation is a full time job. What about Desmond?"

"What's a saint without her attendant?"

Elidol sighed. "James?"

Aennin shook her head uncomfortably and Elidol immediately understood why. As useful as he'd proven to be with his intelligence gathering skills, he wasn't discriminate enough in the application of these abilities.

"Never mind him. We need him keeping his eyes and ears peeled for threats." He emphasized that last word, knowing the windlord would probably be listening.

"Well, that answers my question," Aennin concluded. "Still, it can't be healthy to be doing so much even for a freak of nature like yourself."

Elidol rolled his eyes as he shoved aside the removed valve. "I'm tired, Aennin. There's no point in denying that. But you know what will happen if any of us stops moving for even a moment. We have to survive until this fleet from back home gets here."

Aennin groaned and jumped down to the floor. "This sucks."

What Have You Done To Me?

Deidre,

I would have written sooner, but I was only just released from the stockade today. I was arrested for breaking a man's jaw in anger. I have never stricken another man before, but so much has happened in my life lately that I never thought possible. I never thought a friend would turn to ridicule me for failing as a provider and husband. I never thought you would leave us to fool around with that slut you call your "friend". I never thought I would forget about our children because I was blinded with rage.  Our world has changed so much this year and I can't help but blame you for some of it.

I was lost when I found your letter. It took you just fifty-two words to explain why you left. Fifty-two words to justify forsaking me, Jonathon, and Emily. Looking back, that was where my unyielding anger began. The idea that the past fifteen years we have spent together was worth only fifty-two words was a slap in the face. I have never hurt you, but have worked hard to keep you and the children as happy and healthy as possible. I have given my soul to make your life as easy as I could and I have given you experiences that have paled in comparison seemingly only to whatever you have with Annette. I deserved better than to have lost you, never mind to have it explained away with the paltry sum of only fifty-two fucking words!

With that in mind, I wasn't about to give up on you. I left the children with poor Clara thinking she could use some wholesome company after what became of her husband. I then took to the road when I should have been resting from my last hunt. If nothing else, I wanted to get the explanation I deserved. I wanted you to look into my eyes and tell me that this was how little our family mattered to you. But along the way, I ran into the magic-wielding brigand that destroyed Edward and Clara. I gave him everything I had so he would let me pass. I thought that was the end of it, but now that I think back, the righteous anger I felt seemed to deepen after that encounter.

That was when I found my first deer in months. What irony it was to have struggled for so long to provide for you only to find this damned creature after I had already failed. I fear this wasn't the most logical thread of thought to follow, but I became infuriated nonetheless. I chased that animal deep into the woods and may have crossed into Tanis at some point. I wanted that unlucky bastard's hide, and to take its meat to my children. But before I could catch it, we both ran afoul of a larger predator. The deer rightfully belonged to the bear at that point, but I couldn't accept that. With nothing but my bow, I fought the beast and lost.

I woke up back in the village, embittered by my foolish mistake. Within days I had become an even bigger village fool than Edward, who looks more and more like a wanton wench by the day. That was when Joseph made the remarks that caused me to hit him. The most terrifying part was the satisfaction I felt when I sent him sprawling to the ground. It was as if my mind rewarded me for indulging my anger. I don't understand what's happening to me, but I know the anger isn't going away. But who is to blame? Is it you for betraying me so carelessly? Was it the bandit's sinister magic that did this to me? Or has this anger been hiding within me my whole life, waiting to be expressed? I don't know, and I'm starting to wonder if I even need to.

So, instead of continuing my journey to confront you, I am writing this letter to express the feelings you have left me with. I'm not sure I can even trust them after meeting the Robber in Robes. But here is what I can tell you: I'd better not see you ever again, for your own safety. I will never see the children again, either. Clara is good with them and she needs them a lot more than I do at the moment. Although you certainly don't deserve it, you can rest easy knowing they're safely out of the way of the man their father has become. I can't promise myself that I won't hurt anyone again, and a growing part of me looks forward to it. If only you could see what's become of me thanks to you, you would recoil in terror and I'd welcome it.

Sincerely,

Avery Hawke

The Last Maloran Prologue

Introducing a new story for World of Comalan's line of serials! The Malorans are a line of magic users descended from Resta's first king and the founder of Hem Academy. This story is about how the Malorans passed their legacy on to the elves who have succeeded them in modern times and how the history of Resta's throne became so turbulent.

Thea

Freedom at last! The world changed the day the Malorans abdicated Sunburst Keep to their Blackstone allies. Those with opinions about her father's decision to pass the kingdom into the hands of the new king, Rudolph Blackstone, considered this great change to be her responsibility. The logic was sound. After all, no one ever thought she was fit to succeed the great Artix Maloran. From a young age, she had proven to be unconventional in how she presented herself to the world. No matter how her father and the family retainers tried to get her to act more like a man, she could never deny the person she saw herself as. Despite the daily pressure that she was under, young Theodore Maloran could never accept the life that everyone else laid before her. 

This was a source of great shame for her father, but Thea never understood why. Who cared if she identified more with her Aunt Isabelle than her father? It wasn't as if she lacked the intelligence to protect her people. It wasn't even as if she lacked the power to carry on the Maloran family legacy. She was a skilled magic user, but that was the only thing she shared with her father. Somehow, this meant that she could never fill his shoes or his throne. This was something she could live with if the alternative was accepting the narrative that others had foisted on her about herself. Wasn't she entitled to determine her own identity? It was this belief that had turned her into a joke and somehow ended the Royal line.

Now she lived in Gyanda, where there was little to do but worship Chaos day in and day out. Here in the Grand Temple, many of the problems she experienced in the capitol didn't matter. Everyone here knew to take her seriously because she had been given plenty of opportunity to prove her strength. Here, where power was all that mattered, she was free to be herself without consequences.

Cierra

The world changed for the Blackstones when the Malorans abdicated the throne. Before Cierra's family name became synonymous with Royalty, their lives had been very simple. There were two choices for all of the children as they grew up. Some chose to be groomed for life in the clergy at the Monastery her grandmother Karla founded while others chose to preserve life by toiling on the family farm. As the source of the majority of Resta's food, Blackstone Farm was the pride of the kingdom. Many of Cierra's relatives jumped at the chance to experience a life of decadence at Sunburst Keep, but even that wasn't enough to convince her to give up the life she grew up with.

The upshot of this was that she had the farm all to herself. She still had farmhands to help her, but no one around to argue with. She was free to plant whatever she wished and set her own schedule. This was what it meant for a devoted farmer like herself to be free. On the day this realization struck, she might have turned the entire property in her jubilee, but she had work to do.

The morning of Cierra's very first harvest was wracked with anticipation. The time had come to pull up the very first of her special golden potatoes. This marvels of agriculture were the culmination of many years of selective breeding that her father would never have given a single row of their precious fields for her to grow before. This was what she had been looking forward to since long before the abdication: the chance to bring her experiment into the world to delight the masses. But just as she was ready to rush into the fields with glee, an urgent knock rattled her door.

A messenger came to tell her that her brother Gaston had been murdered.

Kalaal

The last of the trees in the westland forests offered a strange sight to Kalaal as they scattered and broke away, revealing a clear blue sky. The wagon he rode in jolted as the horses pulling it took their first steps onto a Restan road. This was it; a hundred-year life in Tanis ended in that moment and gave way to something new. The forest he grew up with was now gone and in the sky he had already seen something few elves had seen before. It was hard to imagine that this was what people in the world beyond the trees were used to seeing when they looked upward.

Everyone called him crazy when he announced that he would be going to see the world. His parents even threatened to disown him, but he didn't care. Kalaal had never felt at ease in such a dark home as Setria. All that surrounded the places where he worked, ate, and slept was stone. To even have a chance of seeing the sky meant leaving the city entirely. Even then the skyline around Setria, the closest city to the Restan border, was almost nonexistent. Ever since he received that fateful letter from Olenia, he had been enamored with the world of blue skies and bountiful light. If his little sister could find more happiness there than among their people, who was to say he couldn't and who were his family to try to stop him?

The wagon turned southward to the city of Amora, where Olenia said she was staying. He supposed the odds of culture shock were minimal there, as the people there were said to worship the same goddess his people did. The cultural values that his sister described seemed so familiar, but couldn't be exactly the same in such an unfamiliar place. Kalaal was ready for all of it; what the humans had in common with his people, the ways in which they were different. In this country, he anticipated a harmonious blend of what he loved about his old home and something new.

And if everything was different, he could handle that too.

Give Back The Stars

The following is a short poem canonically written by Kaleth Marle, which was released to the public when acolytes from the Temple of the Children included the Avatar's journal in a book donation to the Royal Library by mistake. While the contents of the journal have been classified upon discovery, Resta's Princess Selena was so inspired by this poem that she used the Occulus to obtain Kaleth's permission to publish it. Many who've read it have since debated whether this poem is a product of or the inspiration for Kaleth's druidic inclinations.

I beseech you, give back the stars!

I don't want your light in the dark.

I prefer the light the gods made!

Is this what you call a fair trade?

When the world paved its long roads

to carry all the people's loads,

They divided miles of grass

Is this how the world's meant to last?

Whenever you fill up a car

with the fuel you need to go far,

You brew more poison for the air

Is this a world we can bear?

Why must boats sail out just to trawl,

creatures of the sea, one and all?

So much damage is done so we can eat.

Is it possible to live by these feats?

Mortal hands change this world every day

without ever thinking of the ways

we desecrate the world the gods made.

Is this the what we call a fair trade?

Adventures in Comalan: The Fever Plains

Following the aftermath of Salica's retribution for the War of the Gods, Akis' imperial capitol--now known as Midania--has long since had a featureless landscape in which the only people that can live comfortably are the sai'mul. Since the sai'mul have no need for anything but social interaction, all civilization on the once vibrant island have condensed to a handful of coastal cities. This leaves most of the inland space in Midania largely uninhabited. But an empire once thrived here, which explorers frequently note as the cause of their interest in the island. Those who go searching for the ruins of Old Akis, however, must pass through a desolate landscape of gravel and stone. While it is generally agreed by those who've flown over the area that there is little to see here, there has proven to be much to experience here nonetheless for those who walk upon it.

A Katrinean explorer by the name of Mortimer Baltar chronicled his experience in this land in the year 2E274. His journal documents an incredibly surreal month out on what he dubbed "the Fever Plains."

Day 19

The unbearable heat seems to have let up today, but my thermometer disagrees. Could I be getting used to the climate or is this another symptom of my delirium? I can barely read the words I've written on this page. I've found shelter in a cave that is mercifully empty, but it's not the heat that's blurring my vision. There's something in the air. It's not only hindering my vision; it's causing the sights I can discern to be joined by impossible features. I thought I saw a tree near a pond this morning. I was only just thinking that a tree would be the last thing I expect to see out here and there it was. Or so it seemed. When I reached the pond, I saw nothing there but a pile of petrified wood splinters. It was like I was seeing this bit of land back when it was still alive.

What Mr. Baltar saw was an early, yet relatively mild example of the Fever Plains' most notable feature. Those who camp in the region tend to discover that the wildest figures of their imagination consistently appear as hallucinations. These vivid images can expose travelers to the sort of adventures that only they can conceive of. While it isn't widely understood how this is possible, experts have since come to attribute the cause to a layer of magical energy that rests higher off the ground than it would naturally occur. It is said that inhaling these particles causes them to eventually saturate the brain and project images from both their conscious and subconscious minds. While many are led to ask why this only seems to happen in Midania, there are far too many possible explanations to cover in this guide. For a comprehensive listing of the many theories surrounding the nature of the Fever Plains, we recommend Dr. Rolf Whitetree's book, Natural Mysteries of the Land.

Regarding the adventures one can experience in this place, however, we can safely assume that the only limit to what one can see here rests within the traveler's imagination. However, the Midanian government has asked that we warn travelers not to visit these lands without a guide, which can be hired in any of the island's cities. Sai'mul are immune to the hallucinatory effects of the island's ambient magic and so are the only people who can help you should you begin to lose sight of yourself. While extended stays are a difficult undertaking in a place without fauna or vegetation so far from civilization, it is still recommended that no one with a living brain stays longer than a month, as the effects of pure magical energy on the brain aren't widely understood. Despite this, those who spend a week living out their wildest fantasies in the Fever Plains often come back with a plethora of memories that persist even as the magic wears off and their minds return to normal.

The Magister's Rage Part 18

Read from the Beginning!

Back to Part 17

Much of what followed my initial defeat of Garanda has been well-chronicled in other texts and I see no reason to challenge them. The "Tale of the Flesh Golem" explains well the fate of the sparesoul that houses Garanda's soul. I would also recommend the "Forgotten Son" for those who wish to know more of Broger and how he has continued to influence the events that have led us to where we are today. As for the day I took the same mantle as Matthew Ryan and the king's late father Joseph Baldus, countless accounts have covered the details of how I became the Archknight. They exclude many details that I would consider intimate, but they are ultimately irrelevant to this story. I have written of my life leading to this initial triumph to provide the context needed to understand why I shed this title and, more importantly, what led to me reclaiming it.

The Avatars have encountered many threats since being declared by the gods, but none were more threatening than the Knightmares, a collection of powerful creatures with deep-seated hatred against the gods. A sentient cloud that was seeded by Crane much to its rage, a sorcerer once spurned by Salica, and a deranged golem in Tanis once buried by Serenity composed a terrifying set of adversaries on their own, but they were far from the most terrifying members of the group. That honor went to the Phoenix Council, a trio of embittered phoenixes who despised Chaos for enslaving one of their own and their leader, Erdas. They had power which eclipsed the majority of the Avatars and a seductive allure that had inspired a great many Templars to turn their backs on the gods, including my own mother. As it turned out, my heightened profile since becoming the Archknight wounded her pride and primed her for the Phoenix Council's manipulation. It was this unforeseen betrayal that allowed them to capture me and deliver me into the custody of their master.

What is not widely known is that Erdas is a god, one I would describe as the God of Suffering. According to the Avatars of Serenity and Salica alike, it would appear that he was their uncle. While his motives for declaring war on our gods and our people remain a mystery, I have experienced firsthand what he is capable of. Although the Avatars would ultimately declare victory over the Knightmares, they were unable to defeat Erdas himself because he remained hidden throughout their campaign. His aim was twofold. With the power of the three Avatars of the Children, he combined the magical essences of life, death, and time through some means indecipherable to me to create new lives for the Kilgor, the race that our gods once belonged to.

But his plan for me was far more straightforward: he wanted to break me. As the current living symbol of the collective will of mankind, it stood to reason that destroying my will and credibility would harm the morale of those he wanted to destroy. I do not say this lightly because I am well aware that this makes for a convenient excuse for a man trying to restore his damaged credibility. But it is well known that I have made myself into a pariah through quite deliberate actions. The reason for this is because, during my captivity, Erdas reminded me exactly why I was already tainted long before I publicly denounced the gods and my role as the Archknight. He forced me to relive, in vivid detail, the mistakes that I have committed to these pages. He reminded me of how I was once cursed with Garanda's presence, how I turned to Samson Amul for answers and performed unspeakable acts under his tutelage, and how I placed my trust in the wrong person, thus turning my greatest shame into an even greater danger. For days, without any chance to resist, he reminded me that I did not deserve the trust that I had gained. By the time I was rescued by the Avatars, I had regressed to the young man that had been tricked by blood mages to accept evil.

I turned my back on everything I had come to believe in, much to the widespread chagrin of my former supporters. I retreated to my home in Palon to recover, speaking to no one but my family. My beloved Voltairine was supportive and thankfully did not pry into my plight. I have yet to thank for her patience because fate separated us yet again soon after my escape from Erdas' clutches. The members of my old blood coven found me and took me at last. Recently, as Voltairine and I were entertaining a visitor, a portal appeared in the form of a blood pool and dragged me in. That was when I found myself once more in the caverns beneath the Solan Lighthouse, which the coven had occupied after Erdas left them for the planet Mennon.

What I saw there was evil, even by the standards I once ascribed to blood magic. Samson Amul, after many years of mastery in blood magic, had turned his curiosity towards something even worse. Dark magic had infected this coven and twisted their studies into the summoning of demons. Consorting with the likes of bladots, they had become something I no longer recognized. Samson was worst of all. He had actually turned one his former students, a man named Jacob Harret, into a wrathar out of curiosity. When I found them, the coven had been draining this demon of his blood for presumably academic purposes. What I saw was far more abhorrent than anything I was used to among the coven. It wasn't out of residual guilt for what I once did as a member, but complete revulsion that I decided that my old coven had to be stopped.

However, to defeat the entire coven alone would have been impossible. They took me so they could keep their eyes on me once more but, in this position, all I could do was attempt to reason with them. I managed to stay any decision to kill me for leaving because I never told anyone about them. Despite learning that plenty of my former friends were unnerved by this new direction, nearly half of them remained committed to the seemingly alluring power of dark magic. It was all I could do to convince whoever I could to retire to their beds when I decided to launch my attack. I knew that the gods did not truly forsake me for rejecting them when my attack was preceded immediately by the unlikely appearance of my youngest daughter Sarianna and a rifleman who called himself Damon Orion. The two had managed to track me down in an attempt to rescue me, but I wasn't ready to leave yet.

The battle that followed was quick and brutal due largely to the number of people who had taken my advice to hide while I wiped out the committed warlocks. With the power of my increasingly reliable silverfist transformation and both Sarianna's gun and Orion's gun to cover me, a defeated Samson laid at my feet only twenty minutes later, with the other dark mages dead. I slew the demon, thus finally taking control of the lighthouse. With that, I was free to leave, but a more pressing matter occurred to me then. If I had known at the time what had become of Voltairine in my absence, my priorities might have been different. But as it was, I felt responsible for the future of my coven. So I took over as their leader with the specific intention of preventing such evil being tolerated among them ever again.