The Empirical Theory

[Io Beauregard]

Dear Iorwerth Beauregard,
Allow me save the formalities for when we meet for it is much more pleasant to experience the novelty of your company in person. Here are your instructions, should you accept my invitation to Eluriand. Make it your mission to get to town the day before the autumnal equinox. Check into the Elegance Inn, bathe well, and get a good nap. Your homelessness is not a secret, and I suspect your journey to Elruiand will not be a comfortable one that keeps your hygiene in tact. If you have any belongings do not unload them. I repeat, do not unload them. You won’t be staying there for long. Dress your best and meet me at the southeastern wall of the city’s pentagon parameter. If you can see the fresco painting of two lion cubs fighting you’ve met your destination. Arrive by nightfall.


I look forward to seeing you.
-Aria Aerotone-

Io’s light deck shoes tapped like soft snares on the smooth brick of Eluriand’s side walks. The setting sun bathed the smooth stone and stucco of the architecture with a tangerine tint. His signature maroon suit was now a radiant violet as its silk composure bore a peculiar luminosity. The surrounding Elves took notice as there was a slight dip in the volume of the dull hum of conversation that naturally flooded the streets of a vibrant city such as this one. Io suddenly stopped to turn and face a narrow alley. It led to the outer wall of Elurand and likely led to his specific destination. He quickly went through the alley and crossed the shallow river of Elven activity to find himself in front of a small circular glass table. On it sat two wine flutes and a bottle of Anebrilith Pinot Gris. No more than a few feet behind the glass ensemble lay the outer wall of Eluriand and on it a pair of lion cubs of the Raiaeran wilderness wrestling with one another.

“As much as they’re enjoying that little game I cannot help but wonder if they know that they’re preparing for events that could decide their fate.” Io’s ears led him over his right shoulder to a graceful lady Elf. Her smiling amber eyes only followed the contours of her gleeful face, her bouncing golden locks, and the gesture of her welcoming open arms. Io couldn’t help but mirror her. They met in an embrace more fit for Human family members. Even the closest of Elves, as far as Io knew, rarely showed such enthusiastic affection in public. However, that is what Aria Aerotone was to him, a member of his international extended family. “How goes life abroad?”

“I’m enjoying it so far.” Io shrugged his shoulders as he sat in a chair of weaved silver. “I went to Fallien and did some rather gratifying work, I fought in the Citadel for the first time, and joined the House of Sora, and there’s plenty more. Good times. How goes everything with you? Is your husband doing well?”

Aria avoided eye contact as she nodded her head and a small “mmhm.” barely escaped her mouth. She took a screw out of her embroidered cloak and began to open the bottle of wine. Io crossed his arms and leaned in towards Aria with a raised eyebrow of skepticism. Her response was less genuine than his response and that was two thirds a flat out lie. Being forced out of Fallien with a broken heart was not enjoyable. Having his ass handed to him in the Citadel by a poser centurion was not enjoyable. The only thing that was half enjoyable was meeting the interesting members of the House of Sora family. Joining them was a serious matter not necessarily to be enjoyed.

“I am one half of the first recorded divorce in Eluriand history.” Aria said dryly as she poured the flutes to their traditional thirds. The smile lines around her mouth were the remnants of a happy face. “One thousand years. We had been together for one thousand years. Every century or so we would become bored, annoyed or flat out angry. But we would survive. This time we didn’t. Perhaps because there was a third party involved. Istien. I came to love my work as a professor more than I loved him.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” Io leaned back to give Aria room to breathe. What a pair they made. One was a wealthy professor, the other a starving artist, both heartbroken to one extent or another. His memory forced him to reach back and revive those feelings of anger and heartbreak and empathize with her. Then his memory reminded him that constant reminders of what he had lost never helped. It was best to move on to another subject. He spoke in a jovial tone. “So why am I here?”

The lustrous smile returned to Aria’s face as her pointy ears twitched from under her hair. She took a quick sip of her wine before she spoke. “Do you remember the day we met?” She didn’t wait for Io to answer. “Your family had come to tour Eluriand, and we dined at the same table during a banquet. You were a tender sixteen then, but you were able to debate like the adults. We had a conversation, just you and I, about the state of music in Raiaera. You said, and I quote, ‘Raiaera is completely bound to its ancient roots and refuses to move forward. For almost ten thousand years the style, instruments, and theoretical elements have basically been the same. The only hope for the High Elves is Istien University, where people from all over come with their music to learn magic.’ Do you remember that conversation Iorwerth?”

Io nodded his head as he reached to pour another glass of wine.

“May I bring to the table another note of relevance? Upon leaving Fallien you discovered your ability for permanent enchantment.” Io raised his eyebrows to such an announcement. His parents must have relayed the news t her upon one of his letters. “Istien University has developed a new program, and I want you to be a part of it. Your potential for learning Istien’s magic is high, and with your musical talents you can be a part of Raiaera’s musical evolution.”

Io crossed his legs and awaited further explanation. He glanced at the white spire piercing the now purple night sky in the distance. “The Headmasters of the University had a meeting with the Bladesinger’s Guild, and after a long study of our failure in defending this city against the undead army, we realized the University was not producing Bladesinger material. In fact we weren’t producing practical bards for the modern world in general. We researched, we traveled, and we observed until we devised a teaching method that guided our students by experience and experimentation. We call it the Empirical Method. Although theory is the foundation, hands on learning is the preference.

“In Istien University’s case students are immersed in the experience, in order to more properly simulate the world outside the University’s walls. Students of the Empirical Major will choose their school and live in its new dormitories in order to have some degree of control over their environment. Rivalries between the schools will be encouraged, and the students will constantly compete musically and tactically. Musically, they will periodically showcase their music for the citizens of Eluriand. Tactically they will spar individually, in teams, or as entire schools. This system is predicted to produce better musicians, magicians, and warriors ultimately adding to the talent pool for the Bladesingers to select from. We are a week into the very first semester, and I would be honored if a talented man such as your self joined the student body. I shall cover all the expenses should you accept my invitation.”

Io sighed and gave Aria one of those sad smiles. “I’m sorry Aria, but I can’t take your money, and of course I can’t pay for this on my own. Plus I have the House of Sora to think about now. They may need me for something important and I won’t be able to come to their aid if I have a student curfew.”

“The majority of our students are around your age and your level of independence. We’ve had to accommodate for a wide array of lifestyles. I’m certain we can work around your circumstance.” Io glanced down at the table with a solemn look on his face. He began to speak, but Aria quickly silenced him by holding her hand up. “If you won’t stay an entire semester on my pocket at least stay a week on my pocket. Take in the experience before you confirm your refusal. Get to know the students, stay a few nights, audit a few classes.”

“Alright. Alright. I’ll give it a try.” Io chuckled at Aria’s persistence. He recalled the time he was in Akashima and a hotel manager aggressively attempted to keep him from choosing a competing hotel to spend the night in. Like the hotel manager, Aria’s desperation was apparent, but she didn’t allow herself to beg, bargain, or go on the offensive. On a more serious note, that hotel manager was Human. Aria’s appeal was very… Human. Perhaps she had learned some hospitality methods from the many inn managers in town. They knew how to appeal to tourist Humans. The two rose and left the glass table scene starting for the spire in the distance.

The two merged with the current of pedestrians and horses on the street. “Having known of the University, I assume you know each school’s major focus?” Io nodded. There was a new tone of formality emerging in Aria’s voice. “Then choose your school of preference.”

“Which school will you be teaching at?”

“I am the head of the Empirical Major at the school of Ost’Dagorlin.”

Io looked at Aria and smiled.

[Ataraxis]

“Good evening, ma’am – madam! I mean… miss? ”

Mind crying, cursing and crying some more, Lillian dropped her shameful eyes to the grey tiles that spanned underfoot. Not even four words into her greeting and already a blunder! On some days, both her skills in communication and her capacity to thrive under pressure would see a substantial decline, going from pathetically poor to downright dismal. This was such a day, it seemed, though the girl did have a decent reason to be such a nervous wreck. Today was her first day of school, her first day as a student of Istien, her first day as Winyar Sesthal.

Well, technically speaking.

Today was actually the seventh day since the beginning of the semester, and Lillian wasn’t actually a student just yet. There had been a minor snag on her trip to Eluriand, delaying her scheduled arrival by a whole week. Some would call that a dire lack of foresight, but in all honesty, how many in this world would have foreseen their eventual imprisonment in a patchwork dimension by an entity from beyond, hell-bent on robbing the powers of any and all users of magic? ‘Not a lot, I'd wager’, she told herself with a knowing nod. With the threat of impending death set aside, however, Lillian had to admit that the experience was highly educative and even entertaining at times. As a scholar, she made startling discoveries on the mechanics of temporal and dimensional magic, which she would put to paper as soon as she found the time. As a person, she forged many friendships, all having thrived under the heat of unrelenting peril.

One of these 'friendships', for the lack of a better word, was with Orophin Súrion, a song-mage who had recommended her to the renowned establishment upon his return to the capital. This had come as quite a surprise, considering his snotty attitude and his thinly-veiled distaste for the girl, but such changes of heart were not so rare to witness in those who had seen their allegorical buttocks rescued by the very individuals they held in highest contempt. This was more of a way to pay his debt than any real act of good-natured generosity, Lillian knew; hence why she did not expect to see his highfalutin head poke around the school grounds – or anywhere in the eminent city, for that matter – just to make a friendly visit. This was for the best. At this particular moment, she had many, many other things to worry about.

Red nails slid onto the edge of the stonework counter, the tip of long fingers pulling into view a face of porcelain and puzzlement. The registrar was leaning over the slab of white marble, the obvious curve of her blond eyebrows a chink in the mask of professionalism she was wearing. “Hmm?” she began in mild interest, staring down at the smallish, raven-haired girl, her dewdrop eyes flashing mauve behind silver-rimmed spectacles. “What can I do for you today, dear?” she finally said after an awkward silence, dismissing the oddity of the apparition in white with a bat of the eyes.

“I, um, filled up an application yesterday, to enroll in the University.” Not wanting to seem impolite, she raised her chin and had almost managed to look the woman in the eye before glancing two inches left, to the spiral earring that hung from her tapered ear. “I was told to return the next evening for the results. I-I understand that there might be no openings left, this late into the semester. I’m very sorry, this is all because of a– ”

“Name?” The registrar asked in a sedate voice, paying no heed to her apologies and cutting her right as she was about to make her case. In her fluster, Lillian blurted out her full name, three of her monikers and her favorite color, before her nonsense was interrupted once more. With an expert ease, the elf drew open a wooden file cabinet that sat behind her and plucked out a beige file, her file, decorated with a red stamp that was not there the day before. ‘That can’t be good’, she thought with a foreboding gulp.


“Lillian Marici Sesthal, applying for the school of Ost’Dagorlin?” she asked, momentarily removing her aquiline nose from the paper stack in the open folder to properly address the girl. Taking her squeak and nod for a yes, the registrar went on, with only the slightest of apologetic tones lacing her words. “I am sorry to inform you that all classical courses for this school are full. There are always seats available for the core classes, but you will not be able to obtain a Bardic Certificate with those alone.”

“Oh… I see… Then, none of the tests I took yesterday helped me, did they?” The genuine disappointment in her dollish voice made even the century-hardened elf falter in sympathy. The most heartbreaking thing about the situation was that she didn’t seem to realize the tests had nothing to do with the University’s inability to grant her admission in these specific classes. A second look at her file forced a double take from the registrar, and the violet in her eyes had paled from the shock.

By the gods, her test results were stellar! That she would doubt her genius, or somehow not even be aware of it, was a most contradictory madness. Turning the pages, her scrutinous eyes fell on a slip of paper, signed with an all too familiar name. ‘Goodness gracious, Orophin recommended her? Either she has in her possession incriminatory evidence of his affairs or she truly left an impression on him.’ She knew the song-mage’s taste in females, from his overzealous poems and graphical lyrics; young, nubile and innocent girls had never fit his palate - a noble quality in a lecher, one could say. This alone cleared Lillian's name. That, considered with how the heir of the Súrion House was no slob in matters concerning adultery, and also with the fact that he had been at it for centuries (the males of Súrion are known to leave no evidence, only rumors), made her latter assumption the only likely possibility.

“To be honest, dear, the University was most impressed by your results in the Music Theory test. You will still have to take the class itself, but you have been allowed to take the Songwriting course in simultaneity with it. Most people have to pass it before they can choose to take on Songwriting. Be proud.” The elf found herself pleasantly surprised from this sudden upsurge of emotions, though to any outside observer, her speech had only been tinged with a few more inflexions than the usual. Seeing the dawn of a gawk on the teenager’s face made her rose lips curl upwards in a mischievous smile.

“Oh, did I forget to tell you? This stamp on your file does not mean you’ve been rejected. It means that instead of taking the classical syllabus, you have been transferred into a fledgling program called the Empirical Major.” Faking a cough, she pulled down the grin on her face with a subtle motion of the hand. “As I said, dear, be proud; it looks like they’re loathing the idea of letting you go.”

With the same semblance of passivity, she slipped the lass her class schedule, a map of the locale, a pamphlet describing the aim and focus of the nascent Major as well as the key to her quarters in the western dormitories, quite new to the school grounds. There was a neat stack on the counter now, but Lillian was too dumbstruck to realize it belonged to her. “Well, are you going to take it, or do I need to shout ‘welcome to the Istien Univeristy!’ and throw confettis at you? Go!”

The squeal when she broke out of her daze was ecstatic, turning the heads of every foreign noble and haughty native in the antechamber. An ogre with golden tusks and a robe of regal vlince slipped from one of the benches that lined the lofty marble walls, eliciting a roar of bored laughter among the decorous crowd. The being only emitted a flimsy grunt as he slicked his combover back onto his bald, green, spotted skull, eyeing the teenager at the counter with malevolence. “Thank you! Thank you! Oh, thank you, mi– mada– um…?”

“Just Nessa will be adequate, dear. Now go, before you make any more enemies!” At last, she had sent the girl on her way, little arms heavily laden with various items of importance, and watched her disappear behind the carved doors of the building, into the night of Eluriand. ‘What a strange child’, the registrar thought. Her mind played a cockamamie scenario in which the bubbly little teenager imparted kernels of wisdom to random strangers on the streets while asking for directions, lost… which, for all intents and purposes, she was. ‘I wonder how long it will take her to realize she took the wrong door?’

She could hear a snarling voice fade in the distance, one of those stuffy, unavailing nobles attempting to gyp her into giving him an admission slip for a rachitic bribe. The registrar ignored him, as was the policy, but that was mostly due to her mind having already wandered elsewhere inside the vast chamber. Someone was propped against the foot of an ogive arch, under a stained window depicting a bard with golden hands, clapping in the midst of battle. It was a famous scene from the battle of Caradin, pitting the High Bard against the Forgotten Aesphestos. Her thoughts on the matter were listless, her true attention focused on the stranger and his single bulging eye, staring at the door behind which Lillian had vanished only moments prior. She couldn’t see anything but that one red eye, the whole of his face and body under the shroud of a frayed shawl, blacker than a moonless midnight. He had a target, she realized, and the registrar knew her name.

But what Nessa had not realized was where his other eye had been looking the whole time.

((Fwaaaah, that took some time. Sorry! And yeah, didn't quite make it to the classroom yet, but since most of them are in the morning, and it's now the evening... I thought we'd get to the dorms first. PM me if you'd rather skip to the next day!))

[Io Beauregard]

Io and Aria continued to drift along the pedestrian crowd. An awkward silence had ensued, for what reason Io did not know. He had questions, a plethora of them, but he wasn’t sure which one to ask first. The artist made a spastic glance over to the professor only to see that she was mirroring him. She was just as nervous. Was she thinking the same thing he was? Perhaps she had details, a plethora of them, but she didn’t know where to start.

“I’ve taken the liberty of arranging your schedule ahead of time.” Aria said nervously, finally breaking the awkward streak of silence. “We’re going to take a look at it now. I hope you approve.”

“Do you know it off the top of your head?”

“Elements of Music will be on Monday Wednesday and Friday mornings, Songwriting will be Monday and Wednesday mid days…”

“Wait.” Io said with urgency. “I don’t know how to write sheet music let alone read it.”

“Hence the purpose of Elements of Music, but for reputation purposes be a good actor and make believe you know how to read sheet music in Songwriting. Passing Elements of Music is a prerequisite for that course, but I believe you’ll be able to catch up and your sharp ear should suffice for some time.” They took a sharp turn and Aria pointed to a stone door in the middle of the city wall. Just as Io remembered, Aria was a subtle stickler for proper manners. He immediately stepped up and pushed it forward with one hand. It was light for a door made of stone. “If you require tutelage the faculty is more than willing to assist.”

“What about you?” Io said with a jovial tone as they walked through the nearly deserted registrar’s office. “I’d be more comfortable learning from someone I already know.”

“You could, but that would come at a very steep price, conflict of interest for the both of us. I’m already dropping some screenings to let you in, to do any more for you personally would make a spectacle of cronyism.”

They approached the registrar’s desk, properly resting their hands on the marble slab counter top. On the other side of Aria stood another Raiaeran Elf in noble garments speaking of money in high numbers as he haphazardly tapped his ashen pipe along the counter. A small dab of muted silver ash tumbled over the side of the smoldering bowl and onto the glossy surface of the counter. Aria’s amber eyes pierced the nobleman’s peripheral, but to no avail. His efforts were solely on the crooked task at hand. Finally Aria reached across Io, took hold of a glass ash trey and placed it near him.

“Thank you.” The man said nonchalantly. “Would you be so kind as to fetch me a glass of water as well?”

“Um, excuse me.” Io said as he leaned over the counter to make eye contact. “She wasn’t serving you. She was correcting you. This is Aria Aerotone, head of the very program you’re trying to buy your way into.”

The man stood up straight and turned shoulders square with the two of them. His small mouth halfway opened several times only to release single syllables of hesitation. Caught in the act of bribery he had nothing to say, so he made his exit.

“I could’ve handled that one myself.” The receptionist said as she descended below her massive desk. Almost an instant later she rose with a folder thick with content. She let it go and it dropped in front of Io with a deep and loud flop. “The anonymous one near the column concerns me more.”

The three turned only to see an elegant white column in the middle of the room. It was a lifeless scene with only one person sitting on a couch nearby. The receptionist quizzically shrugged her shoulders. “He must have made his exit as well, but he was an ominous figure, and his focus was set on a new student. She should be coming back through that door any moment now.”

“Document a visual profile and I will be sure to alert the rest of the faculty.” Aria reached over and opened the vanilla folder and pointed to the documents inside. “This is all the initial information you’ll need to go over tonight. It includes our disciplinary policy, class schedules, grading scales, course syllabi, and more. I never did finish telling you your schedule.”

That was at the top. Io picked it up and read it. “All seven days of the week?” the artist said with wide eyes. “And what’s Solfege.”

“Course descriptions can be found in here as well, Iorwerth.” The receptionist took the liberty to turn over half the stack of papers to lead to the description of solfege. “Solefege I is the basics of the pedagogical sight singing technique. Students will learn through exercises gradually increasing in difficulty primarily focusing on the Fixed Do style. Depending on the progress of the group students may move on to the Movable Do style.”

“Ah. So that’s when the competition comes in. Students in different periods will compete to see who progresses fastest and retains the most knowledge. That makes it more than just schoolwork. It’s a competitive game now.” Io had a smile on his face, proud of the supposition he had made. Aria nodded to confirm it. Then Io noticed something. He turned to the registrar. “How did you know my name?”

“Aside from the fact that I was told that you would arrive tonight?” She said with a wily grimace, “I saw your family perform at the Grand Theatre more than twenty five years ago. Most of your brothers and sisters were just children, but their talent was undeniable, and you hadn’t even made it to this world yet. I’ll never forget personally meeting your mother after the performance. You look just like her.”

Io dropped his head as the imminent demure smile emerged.

[Ataraxis]

When she realized how worryingly identical the school grounds were to the outside city sights, Lillian backtracked to the heavyset gates by which she had left only moments prior. Pushing one of its stone pans with her shoulder and her whole weight behind it, she saw the sepia lights of the lobby escape in soft waves through the widening interstice. With that effort done, the girl had returned to the greys of the reception hall, the nattering of nobles like white noise as she breathed hard from the momentary strain.

“Nessa,” she called out with a tone of humble defeat when she trod past the marble counter, embarrassment shining through her raised eyes. “Could you keep what just happened, um, a secret?” The poor girl’s only wish had been to start on the right foot, but that hit the gutters the very moment she had first stepped into these ancient halls; it was quite unfortunate that she was to blunders what a magnet was to metal. Ensuring that none would know about her inability to differentiate entrances from exits was all she had left.

“I will try my best, but I feel obliged to inform you that I was unfortunately not the only one privy to the occasion.” Even though the registrar was feigning her most apologetic tone, it was a poorly-kept secret that she enjoyed watching the teenager make a mountain out of nothing. Knitting her fingers, she leaned forward, elbows pressed on the countertop. “On a different note, you may want to introduce yourself to the Head of your major,” she said with a face plastered with nonchalance, broken only by the violet flash of a sideways wink.

Suddenly overwrought, Lillian let her eyes roll in the same direction, falling flat on the shapes of a couple she hadn’t noticed. The first to catch her eye was the woman, of course blessed with the enduring youth of all elves, yet she boasted a subtle quality in her fine-carved features and the amber fire in her gaze that made her more accessible than most of her kin, less untouchable. At her side was a tall man, dark of skin like men who’ve toiled under a desert sun all of their lives, sans the leathery harshness and the indelible smear of hard labour. Long and slim eyelashes, pencil-drawn lips and strong button nose made it hard to call him anything else but handsome. She blinked twice, and her eyes seemed to swell in shock.

In her haste, she had interrupted their conversation with the registrar – yet another faux pas she had noticed far too late. ‘Oh, what is it with me, today?’ Lillian quickly sidled around the reception desk and, about three feet short of toppling either of the two, she dropped into a bow. “I’m sorry for having interrupted. I didn’t mean to, I was very anxious about starting tomorrow and I hadn’t noticed much what was going on around me.”

Nessa coughed as she straightened out a stack of paperwork. “Oh! My name is Lillian Sesthal, and I’m a new student of the Empirical Major for the school of Ost’Dagorlin.” The words tumbled in one breath, without a break. Recalling a name in small print on the pamphlet she was given, the teenager leaned forward, slightly dropping her head in deference. “I hope I will not disappoint, Madame Aerotone.”

The receptionist smiled at the show of humility, but her expression was warped when she watched the cumbersome pile of maps and brochures that weighted down on Lillian’s willowy arms. In between two flaps of paper was her dormitory key stuck, and from it dangled a coin-like numeral plate, inscribed with the string of characters ‘W2-17’. “There must be a mistake,” she muttered in mild disbelief, one eye squinted more than the other, as if to aim an arrow. “It would seem that Miss Sesthal will be sharing her quarters with you, Iorweth.”

“Y-You mean the dormitories are mixed?” Lillian felt a wave of something more than discomfort rise inside her thrumming chest.

“Apparently, yours is,” Nessa said ironically, trying her best to be droll.

Alas, Lillian was not amused. The girl seemed to shrink where she stood, sending cursory glances laced with apprehension to the man she now knew to be both a student and her roommate. ‘I’ve never even been alone with a boy before... now I have to sleep in the same room as one?’

“Hi.” In her current state, she could not muster a much more elaborate greeting. Lillian would have presented a hand to shake, but her hands were already full and she wasn’t keen on looking like more of a klutz by dropping everything. With nothing else to do, she shuffled slightly on her feet, hopelessly waiting for the cloud of awkwardness to pass.