- The Wealthy live up above ( the chosen) and use magic which leaves a waste residue that runs down the mountain
- There are different factions above (those who want to control the use of wanton magic (heating baths, transport, glamour, etc) and those who want to put into place restrictions. A third group don’t see the harm and are too far removed to understand what their actions do to those bellow
- The Priestess (Media) is of the mindset they are destroying their world slowly and the shimmer (an expanding field of energy outside the empire) is the ‘gods’ response to their disregard of the repercussions of their frivolous use of magic
- The magic waste while toxic has been repurposed by those in the lower city. They use old technology and mix it with the magic to make weapons.
- They also use the glowing waste for graffiti which also works as a light source
- Above is sort of Art Deco? flowing forms with gardens and magic mixed with technology
- Bellow is grungier with a Victorian train station, greenhouse, industrial vibe
Other Worldbuilding ideas
- Chained dogs (dog master) - Tubes placed in dogs body that inject the magic residue into their hearts, making them rabid, strong, and fast (kept loyal by addiction to magic residue)
- Weapons using the magic residue as power feed off the life force of the user.
- The magi (higher tier people) send out their specialists to deal with dangerous uprisings and individual powerful people from below who have gone mad (from using weapons or the magic residue in different ways)
Plot points still to be figured out
- Xasa’s (Jason) parents die after surviving the shimmer. (Their deaths are not due to the shimmer but because a member of the tribunal had them killed for what they saw inside) While inside the shimmer Xasa was born
- Xasa ends up growing up in the lower city as an orphan
- Equal and opposite reaction (the shimmer is a reaction to something the magician's order (they have a rep on the tribunal council)
- Golden Fleece is the object in the shimmer
- Media is a priestess in the mages city
- Being born in the shimmer Xasa is later discovered and sent back by the mages in hopes he can destroy it (plot twist is it’s actually not something evil)
- Golden Fleece is the object Xasa is sent by Pelias to retrieve from the shimmer
I followed in Tal’s wake, a boy three years my elder and almost the height of a man. Dressed in silk and finery, but without the extra frills the nobility thought fashionable, he cut a striking figure among the ordinary folk; a squirming mass of faded colors and threadbare garments.
Tal pushed past a balding man who had arms as thick as the pine boughs used for my shelter. He grumbled something then looked down, and whatever he had been about to say stilled on his tongue, “pardon me, my lord,” he said bowing his head and pushing back to make space. Only members of the ruling class would dress like Tal, and all commoners knew that messing with the elite was like opening Coshee’s box and unleashing a storm of trouble.
I could smell stinkweed on the man’s breath, it reminded me of the tangy smell on my fingers from climbing the copper troughs that lined the roofs of buildings. I swallowed my nerves and followed through the gap with a quick step.
A gruff voice growled behind me, and I made out the words ‘street rat’, then something struck me in the back of the head. Everything went black before snapping back into focus. My eyes watered blurring my vision as I rested on my knees, not remembering how I got there. Tal stood above me, his icy blue eyes frosting over with the intensity of his glare. “I demand satisfaction!” His voice would have sounded regal, if it hadn’t cracked, ending in an off-pitch whine.
The balding, barrel-chested man, kept his eyes carefully averted, glaring down at me. I could see the red rings and dark pupils, stinkweed. “I swear on Lunn, I ain’t know he with ye.”
Tal nodded, managing to keep his nose in the air and maintain a look of repugnance. If my head weren’t throbbing, I would have had a hard time stifling a laugh. It was a good act. Tal’s hand latched onto my arm, making me wince as he pulled me to my feet. I whispered to him once we were swallowed by the crowd, “what would you do if he had called your bluff? Fancy clothes ain’t make you royalty. That man would kill you.”
Using his free hand to steer us through the throng, Tal continued to grip my arm pulling me after. Even though he didn’t turn to look at me I could hear the grin in his voice, “That’s ye problem Xasa, ye always stuck in your head, it worked didn’t it.” His tone changed to one of longing. “Soon'll join the Wolves, an learn to fight. Then none will look at us sideways, eh? An ye will get into Northview, learn that bookish stuff ye like.”
We continued to push forward, receiving more than a few hateful glances, but nobody said a word. I felt trapped, with every glance, every touch, my instincts screamed at me to run. People all around with no escape. The Claustrophobic feeling reminded me of a nightmare I had the other night, hands closing in on me, death promised in the black eyes above. This was Tal’s idea, why did I let him talk me into this stuff.
“They only let highborn into the Wolves,” I said, keeping my eyes down, focusing on stepping only on the center of the cobblestones and avoiding the cracks to distract myself. Whatever was happening up ahead caused the crowd to begin shouting, men and women prayed to the God Lunn under their breath as we passed.
We stopped, and I looked up, feet carefully placed in the center of a block of stone. We had reached the front of the sea of bodies, a group of Reg’s, their dark rust-colored uniforms pristine with stripes of black, worked to keep the throng back using pikes. Behind them, large white marble steps rose to a platform in front of the high domed courthouse where the accused was being sentenced. The Justice’s black robes billowed out behind him, caught in the warm breeze. He had sharp angular features and his eyes roved over the crowd like a hawk.
“Order!” The justice shouted, his voice cracking like a whip through the uproar, bringing the plaza to silence. Although the voices had quieted, the hush was unsettling. It reminded me of Refin on the hunt; Men spoke of the eerie stillness, Goosebumps rising along arms, hairs on end, before the beast struck leaving behind death.
A man stood on a platform lower than the justice, his hands bound behind his back, surrounded by Regs. Blackwood batons, and longer folded steel swords, of the thin Coverhagen style, hung at the guard’s hips. Even with death all but guaranteed, the man stood straight, eyes shining with an intelligence that I found intriguing. He had dark brown sun-kissed skin, and hair the darkest shade of night. His desert garb wrapped around his limbs and torso in swaths of thick tan fabric, the warm breeze ruffling the folds making it appear to writhe like a desert python.
There was something deadly in the way he regarded the crowd, an unspoken challenge. His eyes passed over me and stopped. The corner of his lips pulled up as he winked. I looked behind at the people around, their eyes were alight with anger, then brushed off the feeling of uncertainty. That look had not been directed my way, it was meant for the throng at large. The man next to Tal pushed forward, but stopped when a Reg lowered the blade of his pike.
The Justice cleared his throat, and the commotion that had been building back up ceased, his eyes now trained on the foreigner. “Citizens, Chosen and unchosen alike, this man stands accused of espionage of the highest order, caught in the act of spying on the council with intention of subverting the peace treaty between our countries. You are hereby accused by the council's own, Thaddeus, of espionage and the forbidden use of magic. The sentence is death by hanging.”
The swaths of fabric rapping the desert dweller fluttered as he laughed, a deep baritone that invaded my mind, setting my instincts into high alert. When he spoke, his voice was thick and rough and clipped with his Azdan dialect. “I would see my accuser. Or do they make men soft, to hide behind mothers skirts in these southern lands. We of the desert we have a saying, ‘a doting mother breeds weakness and cowards.’” He looked around the square, eyes resting on the farmer’s carts that ringed the edges of the square, piled high with all kinds of produce.
The common folk began to shout at his words and push forward, the Reg’s put their Blackwood batons to use, and two men went down.
At the top of the marble stairs a man pushed his way out of a group of affluent onlookers. He was dressed in a green silk doublet that to me looked both uncomfortable and ugly; but the chosen thought it the height of fashion. He regarded the Azdanian with contempt. “It was I who accused you on all counts. I will gladly watch you hang.”
(Missing part)
Tals voice practically bubbled with excitement, “that’s a Magiblade! H’eard they part steel easily as me knife through a purse. He has to be a chosen, none else can touch one.”
“I think the chosen is drunk.” I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the man, now in the process of stripping out of his more ostentatious and frilly outerwear, was wobbling on his feet; though his confident glower seemed heedless of the fact.
He sneered at the desert dweller, “You should know your place, sand crow. However you attained that writ, know it will do you no good. I will make your death prolonged, you will wish you had taken the rope by the time I’m am through.”
At his words, the crowd, which had been close to storming the stage and handing out justice themselves, quieted and began to murmur. I could taste their excitement - nothing that could please a mob more than a show of death, the bloodier the better. Once I had seen an unskilled pickpocket lowered into a dogfighting pit with a growling Odis hound, saliva dripping from its barred teeth. The boy had clawed with his hands at the earthen walls, only pulling loose a tumble of grit. It had been a short moment before he cried out as teeth tore into his calves, dragging him into the mud, the dogs teeth had closed on his throat with a sickening crunch. All the while, men and women surrounded the pit, hollering, eyes soaking in the carnage gleefully. It made me sick just thinking about it.
The desert dweller waited patiently as a guard undid the bindings from his wrists. I thought the man would wince when the Reg’s knife ‘slipped’ drawing a trickle of blood to meander down his palm, but he showed no reaction.
The chosen had handed off his frills to a servant and was almost casually whirling his Magiblade around himself in a dizzying pattern.
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