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+--- Thread: NYC Mage (/thread-938.html)
NYC Mage - Guardian - 12-18-2009
I've had an idea floating around in my head for a story I planned to call NYC Mage. My original intentions were to do it in a third-person person perspective with insight into the mind of the main character, but I was thinking about it yesterday and I had an idea. What if I try to make it a collection of monologues? Well, this is what I wrote earlier today and I want to see what others think of it. I'd like your thoughts on the idea of using monologues like this and also any critiques of what I've written so far. Just a warning though: this isn't exactly a happy story.
I still remember the first time I heard the dreaded phrase "soul break". We never hear it outside the magic community and even inside that community it's something that's whispered and hushed. I supposed it's something one born into magic would hear of before being told they have to watch someone experience it. But of course, my idiot parents couldn't even use a telephone, so I wouldn't expect them to fucking handle magic.
Anyone and everyone who wants to be a part of the magic community has to watch someone experience a soul break. In a way, it's an initiation. We're told it's "to prepare us for the harsh reality of what someone might try to do to us", but anyone with a brain knows it's just a scare tactic. The OC is usually the only group who can successfully soul break someone, so their lecture on the dangers are complete bullshit.
The victim was John Andrews. I had seen him around the city once or twice and he was fairly average. In fact, I was incredibly surprised to find out he would be anywhere in the magic community. As with most people who the OC decided deserved a soul break, they read through the reasoning behind their decision. No one wanted to actually watch, but they gave people the opportunity to listen so there wouldn't be questions and couldn't be decisions made without reasoning. I hate laws and politics. But the OC was fair and open and they've always had my respect for that.
The room was simple. It was large, gray, and empty except for a huge stone chair in the center. Two guards struggled to tie John down with chains and magic while a judge read off the accusation to me and one girl who also had to be "initiated".
"John Andrews, registered as an advanced medium, was confronted on October fifth by three humans meaning to rob him of his possessions." John screamed as the guards slammed his feet into the front of the chair. "His action was transferring his visions to all three non-mages, permanently scarring them."
"Those bastards deserved it!" John roared in a demonic voice. A guard waved his hand over John's mouth, muting him.
"For this action, which violates several laws regarding conduct with non-mages and medium-specific laws, John has been sentenced to a soul break. There are no exceptions." With that, the paper in his hand disappeared to somewhere in The Archives.
Translated, that means John snapped. Mediums see both our realm and the realm of spirits. When they begin working for the OC, they are taught to enhance the ability so their mind can enter the spirit realm at will. The things in there...no one wants to be there. But since the spirit realm is tied strongly to magic, the OC offers a lot of incentives to people with the ability. So some take the path, but the end result is always insanity. It's never a question of if; it's a question of when.
I turned to the girl next to me. She was still fairly young - somewhere in her mid teens. I doubted she would handle this well judging from the look on her face.
The guards had finished strapping John down. Chains that grew from the stone wrapped around him so that no matter how he struggled he couldn't budge. And there were likely numerous spells around them to make sure John couldn't break free or use any abilities.
The judge moved toward John so that he stood directly in front of him. A demon's eyes glared back in protest, then closed as he realized his fate had been decided. The guards hovered their hands over John's shoulders as the Judge grew silent in concentration. The victim's eyes opened slowly and focused on me, standing in the background against my will. In that moment, I wanted to help him. I saw the human - the sorrow, the sadness, the torture he had been through and now the betrayal of the ones who taught him how to succumb to the torture.
I felt the energy coming from the judge as he started to direct it at John. The victim grimaced in pain and struggled against the chains. His mouth opened wide in what would have been a bloodcurdling scream had he not been muted by the guard. The sheer pain I saw in his face made me want to look away. I didn't want to see it. I wanted to turn and run and never look back. But I was frozen in place, watching a man's soul get torn to shreds and listening to a girl sob next to me.
After a few minutes, John stopped struggling. The guards started releasing the chains while he stared at me with empty eyes. The eyes of something no longer human. The judge turned to me and the girl like he had just accidentally squashed a bug. "You may leave now."
NYC Mage - Guardian - 12-26-2009
Rayzack
No one knows what "OC" stands for. There's a whole history behind the initials, apparently stretching far beyond the current era. From the little I've learned of it, the organization adopted the initials from some ruins they found. Tom finds the idea of a gap in our history fascinating, but I don't care whether or not magic faded from our knowledge for a while. The answer won't do shit for me now.
If it has to be extended, it's usually "Overseers of Conduct". Only the morons who hide behind formalities actually try extending it. "OC" is just easier and some claim even that is a mistranslation from the original language found in the ruins. I've come to the conclusion the only people who give a fuck about the name are the ones who complain about every little thing anyway. People like Tom who are curious don't even bother with challenging the name. The OC has its own definition now.
The political structure of the OC is simple, as it should be. There are eight elected members of the Ring, each focusing on a different department of magic while convening to vote on new rules or amendments to existing ones. Unlike the ridiculous campaigns of human politicians, it's pretty much just a vote on who we think will do the best job. In a community where about a third of the members can tell when you're lying, political bullshit goes out the window real fast. Underneath each of them are various other positions, like the judges and guards. Each member of the Ring works separately and controls his or her department, which seems to work surprisingly well.
Then there's Rayzack. His position is called "Lord" or some fancy title like that. He's the one who really runs the show. The Ring does mostly background work, so they needed someone to be a figurehead. If there's a tie in the Ring's voting, Rayzack also acts as a deciding vote. That's the technical weight of his position.
In reality, Rayzack has enough influence to do just about anything he wants. Unlike the Ring members, who have to go through an election ever decade, Rayzack is in for life. And thank the heavens for that! Some disagree with his decisions occasionally, but no one with a brain denies that he's effective.
Rayzack is the type of person who oozes with confidence, but not with that snotty "I'm better than you" attitude. He spends most of his time helping the teachers and students, which is where I first met him. He was sweeping the floor in one of my classes during break. With a broom in hand and ordinary clothing, I assumed him to be a janitor.
"Hey!" I called to him. He looked up with a smile and leaned on the broom. "Have you seen my notebook around? I left it on my desk...I think."
"I put it on the counter," he said, grinning and pointing to the area on my left. I looked over to see it lying there, perfectly aligned with the corner of the counter.
I picked it up with a chuckle. "What's your name?"
"Rayzack," he responded smoothly. When the look of bewilderment crossed my face, he returned his attention to the paper and dirt on the floor. Everyone knew him, the head of the OC. And here he was, sweeping. Not even sweeping with magic; he was using a human tool. I couldn't say anything for a time, so I just watched as he hummed a tune and swept the floor. He wasn't lying; I'm one of the third who can pick out lies. And he looked so...normal.
"Why are you...sweeping?"
Rayzack got that wicked grin on his face. "Because I enjoy it. It gives me time to think." He grabbed a dustpan from the counter and swept a pile of dirt and papers into it. I backed up as he walked over to the garbage can next to me. Then he looked directly at me with his hazel eyes. "You're going to miss your lunch! Go on and eat while you can! We'll get a chance to talk some other time."
I couldn't do anything but nod and start walking toward the lunchroom while Rayzack went into another classroom with his broom and dustpan.
Some say he's crazy. I think he's brilliant.
NYC Mage - Guardian - 12-26-2009
Grandfather...
"Grandfather, I hate to bother you, but I desperately need your guidance."
I looked over at the man sitting a few graves down from where I was kneeling. He had his eyes closed and hands clasped together, so I turned my attention back to my sister's grave and the weeds growing into it.
"I'm not sure what to do with mom anymore." I turned back to the man near me, but he still had his eyes closed and was facing the grave in front of him. "She's still unhappy with Dan, but she won't do anything about it."
Was he...talking to himself? I watched as he seemed to listen to a non-existent response and felt decidedly uncomfortable being near him. I never liked people who claimed to be "mediums" or "psychic"; it was all in their head and that made them insane and unstable. I was so naive back then.
"Thank you. I promise I'll visit again soon." With that, he pushed himself up and brushed off his pants. "Think I'm crazy?"
I hadn't even noticed that I was still staring at him. "N...no, of course not!"
"I can tell you're lying," he said, looking at my sister's grave. "I would have thought me insane a few years ago. She's your sister, I'm assuming?" He gave a gentle nod toward the grave in front of me.
"Yeah...car accident..." My eyes feel to the ground as I tried to hide the sorrow.
"I'm sure she appreciates the time you spend here." With a smile, he turned around, got into his car, and waved to me as he drove off. I didn't really know what to say. Regardless of his insanity, he understood, so I reconsidered my opinion of him. Looking back, I'm not sure why that one sentence meant so much. I guess I was beginning to think the trips a waste of time. Whatever the reason, I'm glad he said it.
I saw him again about a year later. He seemed much more solemn as I walked up to my sister's grave. "How's your grandfather?" I asked with a slight snicker.
"He moved on," he said quietly, picking out a couple of weeds.
"He wasn't here last time, so what's different? What does that mean? You can't talk to him anymore?" I was a snippy bastard most of that year.
The man nodded slowly, brushing off the stone in silence. I wondered what his name was. It was probably something stupid-
"I'm Tom," he snapped. "If you're going to be like this I'll just leave."
"Mark, be nice." My sister's voice. I turned to look at her grave, but everything was silent. We were the only two people here.
Tom started chuckling. "I take it you heard her? That's the face most people make when they hear a spirit." I stared at him skeptically, trying to find some source of noise - anything that I could misinterpret as her voice.
"And you thought I was crazy!"
"You'll get used to it eventually," Tom whispered with a grin. "Either that or you'll block it out and struggle with the voices your entire life. If you choose to accept it..." He reached into and inside pocket on his jacket and pulled out a small index card. The background had OC in huge letters with a name, phone number, and e-mail address in the front. "Send me a message or something. It's a bit more...involved than you think, though."
I nodded and started to trying to think of the extension for OC. He glanced at his grandfather's grave one last time before leaving.
"It's nice to be able to talk to you, little brother."
I grinned and started cleaning off my sister's grave, tucking Tom's card into my pocket. "It's nice talking to you, too. I've missed you so much..."