Blood and Bone

Almost two months had already passed since Mortius’ first arrival at the Gholgrad Institute of Magic. It was already nearly the end of the Sixth Month and the wintery season of Sïele was coming closer. Slowly but surely, he’d managed to acclimate himself to his new surroundings, his new classes, and his new classmates. Where once he would have been shocked and confused at seeing a D�"mon say good morning to him, he was now even able to disregard the horns protruding from their heads and tails coming from their lower backs, greeting them as if they were anyone else in the world. The days rolled past and he treated them as if all was fine and regular, though even his busy school schedule hadn’t stopped him from visiting the Library at least once every day and finding a new book to peruse. Mortius had learned so much in this time, yet he still didn’t feel fully caught up on everything he felt he should know. Sometimes, he could even forget the past as he dove deep into his classes and books, but every time he would read more on Warlock culture, his mind came back to everything before. Ania, his mother, Oxilian, all of it. The nightmares of that day on the Path were less frequent, but still chose to haunt him. Though with each dream, his resolve steeled and his heart hardened.

Clive knew this well enough too. Mortius had chosen not to hang around too much with others, but somehow that Angel just wouldn’t leave him alone, prompting him to relent and allow him to stay in a capacity of acquaintanceship. Over time, Clive didn’t pry about his dreams, but had reached the point where he knew he’d had a bad one, or had thoughts of Oxilian. He was a strange one, that Angel. As if he always knew exactly how Mortius was feeling at any given time. Perhaps this was a trait of many Anglas. Waking up for his second week at Gholgrad Institute, he already familiarised himself with the basic routine, putting on his uniform and looking at his surroundings again. The entire boy's dormitory was rife with banners, portraits, and tributes to Morzust, her eyes almost following them and making Mortius a little uneasy. The walls were painted in the circle’s signature blood-red colour. They had varying runes on the walls as minor protective spells to keep away intruders. Mortius looked at all the runes, remembering what each stood for from his reading. One on the far wall above the door to the dormitory was Inmirc Aber, the most basic rune for locking, protection, and privacy. On one of the walls to the right was Inmirc Morzus, the blessing rune for Morzesti, which was one of four for each circle. Looking to the far back of the room, near his bed, he saw a huge portrait of an ugly and deformed creature. Tentacles sprouted from its open mouth and, what looked like, a planet crumbling away and being sucked into the endless abyss of its throat. The painting itself was very artistic, but the monster was horrifying. Mortius began to get prepared for the day when he heard a voice chime up nearby.

“What are you doing?” his bed neighbour asked as he got into a strange-looking robe.

“What does it look like? I’m putting my uniform on”, Mortius retorted, staring at the robe but then quickly remembering why. 

“It’s Sunday. Time for the prayers at the chapel!” the kid replied, giving a derisive snort and looking baffled at Mortius.

“Oh, right, I almost forgot we still have to do that nonsense…” he muttered as he opened his bedside drawer and saw a similar robe inside. The student next to him grimaced, giving a sour look at his comment but Mortius paid it no attention. Putting it on, he looked down at it and saw the mark of Morzust on the front in its bold blood-red and tribal-looking designs going down the sleeves. Growing up, he remembered attending the mandatory weekly chapel services and having to sit and listen to the Dholar muse on and on about how great the Old Gods were. For entities that only caused chaos and cared little about the world, they didn’t seem worthy of worship at all. The journey was long and quiet, and Mortius followed the single file rule in the line. One of the girls tripped up, and everyone glared at her, some even hissing at her to get back in line. After passing through the Institute gates, the students went in small groups of four from the Main Floor going through the stone archway and down to underground level.

“Students. My name is Sir Kaelis Henning and today I will be leading you all to the Chapel. So that you all remember, this is the Nether Floor, an underground floor where you will find the Chapel, the Īdelcræft classroom, the Laboratory, and the Battleground Arena. If you will all follow me, I will hand you over to the Priestess, where you will conduct your prayers to your Gods”, he explained in his lowered and weary tone that Mortius remembered all too well. Seeing him before when he joined was unsettling, but seeing him acting more normal was even creepier. Mortius hadn’t had much interaction with Sir Henning since he first arrived, apart from seeing him once or twice around the Institute. Everytime he passed, with his unsettling hairless face, he would shoot a glance at Mortius. Not even moving his head, only his eyes. Walking across a giant stone floor towards a big, black archway door, Mortius and the other students entered the chapel and looked around the grand room. It was all grey painted concrete with a bit of white stone here and there, blending nicely with the sinister vibe that the rest of the underground level upheld. It almost looked the same as the chapels Mortius would find back home, except with one major difference. The stained glass portrayed the same creepy, weird-looking creatures Mortius had seen before in the Morzesti rooms, ones he’d learned were depictions of the Old Gods themselves. Accompanying them were animalistic-looking Fél, some looking too similar to the creatures he’d encountered outside Oxilian. Lǣcgin, they were called. Fél that had been fed Warlock blood in order to also become Warlocks and instead turned into those horrible creatures. Mortius winced a little upon seeing them, but forced the images out as quickly as possible to keep his composure. 

At the front of the room was a giant altar, and a podium in front of it. Drifting down from the platform was a woman in full blue attire with perfectly blonde hair and fair pink skin. She looked nothing like Sir Henning and seemed more like she spent every day outside of the Institute in the daylight, rather than inside and hidden underground. Her bright and bold blue eyes trailed all over the class.

“Good morning, everyone. I see many of you are here for prayers”, she said in a very calming and breathy tone. At least once every year, all the students would participate in a special ‘prayer’ to their gods, depending on their faith. Some students who were more devout than others would conduct their prayers more often, perhaps once every month or even every week. Though he knew how important the Old Gods were to Warlocks, Mortius was not feeling very devoted and never truly did. Still, he knew that the Old Gods gave Warlocks strength and power, and now that he knew so much more about magic, he felt it was probably worth it to do this more often.

“The Gholgrad Institute of Magic, as you all know, was founded primarily by Warlocks. In the history of the Institute, worship of the Old Gods was made mandatory, but quickly the Chapel was reconstructed to accommodate the religions of all students that would set foot in this building. The worship of the Old Gods, Adonai, Baphomet, Elil, and Fyriel, was heavily supported, making the Gholgrad Institute one of the most devout Institutes in the world.” Mortius rolled his eyes at this. From the reading he’d done, this Institute was by far not the most heavily religious, no more than any of the others. As the students dispersed, Mortius broke off to follow the rest of the Warlocks,  moving on through an exit door to the left. As he entered, he looked upon the altar and towards a giant black book above it, the Falgriem. Inside the altar, it smelled rancid, and what was inside was even worse. It was a gross collection of blood-filled Warlock meat that looked like it had been almost completely charred. Marks on the singes could easily be seen, the marks of individual circles, most of which held the Kherza symbols and some Gardah and Morzesti. It was disgusting and mortifying to look at, but it was about to get so much worse as he read the book.

“In the lore and history of the Warlocks, it is well known that the Warlocks gained power from their ancestors taking in the D�"mon blood. From here, the Warlock lines were bound to be inherited…”, Mortius continued to read. Within the book was a compendium of history as he read about all of the Old Gods and how they came into being, with the final four Vizird, Durn, Brük and Sïl. The more he read, the more interested he became as he continued reading and skimmed through the pages to the part more focused on the creation of Warlocks. The book told of a god named Bālr, a mistake made by Anx that took the blood of Baphomet and used it to create the very first Warlock. It seemed from this, all Warlocks had the blood of one D�"mon in their lineage. All of this made him wonder, whose blood did his family carry? He stood at the book momentarily, until he heard the same raspy and deep voice call out his name.

“Maleos! You are missing your tribute!” said Sir Henning. Mortius slowly turned around to see the tall, bald man holding a candle and knife and glaring at him expectantly. 

“Well, I'm Just waiting to see where-”, Mortius began to talk but looked to his side and his eyes widened at what he saw. One of the older Warlocks, taking a deep breath and carving out a small chunk of her own flesh, groaning and wincing as the knife sliced through and left a sizeable hole in her arm. Once it was out, she shakily held it over her candle, the flame rising and burning the meat almost instantly. After pouring a bit of her pooled blood into the altar, she threw in the chunk and the Kherza symbol appeared on it.

“What the…”, he began to say, but Kaelis shoved the knife and candle into his hands.

“Chilling, I am aware. But this is how Warlock prayer is done. Enjoy”, he gave a sick grin, clearly enjoying Mortius’ horrified face. Now, he was beginning to understand why some of the students called it a tribute rather than a prayer. Just when he thought he’d learned the worst things about his religion, he had to learn even more. He looked between the knife and the candle and clenched his teeth, almost ready to throw them on the floor and leave. But he was in front of everyone, and some of them were looking right back at him. He couldn’t be seen backing out now. Taking the knife, he cut into his right arm, wary of any veins and took out a small slice of his flesh. It stung and burned, throbbing greatly with pain and Mortius did his best to bite his tongue and focus on anything but the agony. He let the blood pour into the altar and then burned the piece of meat in his hand completely, causing the Morzust mark to appear on the blackened, charred areas. Dropping it into the altar made no visible reaction. Mortius began to walk away, nursing his wound, until the altar shook slightly as blood came sloshing out, and a small fire lit in the middle. Mortius raised an eyebrow but disregarded it until he saw Sir Henning’s face, which looked paler than usual and slightly concerned.

“Erm… Sir, is it supposed to do that?” he asked nonchalantly. The man-creature was momentarily speechless until he looked down at Mortius and said in a deeper and quieter tone than usual, “No.” It was daunting, especially since this didn’t happen on his first time, but Mortius knew better than to ask further, especially when he had a chunk of his arm missing and had classes coming up. He headed to the Priestess to heal his arm and then returned to the dorms to change into his uniform. Collecting his staff, he looked at his timetable and saw he had Inmirc class in half an hour. It wasn’t exactly his favourite class. The thought of sitting around and listening to Scholar Djannis ramble on forever about the “art behind the Inmirc” made him fall asleep before even getting there. There was thankfully a bit of time before he would be subjected to that, so Mortius headed towards the Atrium to waste some time before that pain began.