Just short of One Hundred Forty-Four decades later

  “This causes those of us with fewer than twelve fingers to be at a serious disadvantage for spell casting. The Elves, for example, can cast spells up to the Twelfth Tier, while we humans can only cast up to the tenth. I know that some of you have eleven fingers, a sign of having another races blood somewhere in your family tree, and you can cast up to the Eleventh Tier.”

  Several of the students in my lecture smiled and nudged each other, whispers seeming to come from everyone.

  “Very few of us humans,” I raised my six fingered hands causing silence in the hall, “are born with twelve fingers.”

  One student in the very back of the class put both hands in the air in a victory pose. A few chuckles could be heard from those who saw.

  “This is usually a sign of multiple of the other races having bred into our bloodline. Twelve twelves of generations, six different sentient bloodlines. That is what it took for my blood to birth me.”

  Looking around the lecture hall there was silence.

  “That is also why I look the way I do.” I showed off my slightly pointed ears, opened my mouth to show what could have been seen as either fangs or small tusks, showed off my eyes where my iris were slit down the center with amethyst iris in one, and a sapphire color in the other, and lastly I “flexed” my palms causing claws to extend from three of my fingers in total.

  “I won’t show you the other discrepancies from a standard human form but let us say that there are at least five other manifestations.”

  In truth I had a total of twenty-four manifestations from the other races. My beard was from the Dwarves, my ears were, surprisingly from the Gnomish blood in me – along with my “baby” tusks from the Orcish, not a drop Elven blood.

  My toes were slightly webbed from the Goblin, and my pupils, along with scales down my spine were from the Kobold. Under my arms were pseudo-gills from the Sahuagin.

  These gills were a double-edged sword. They allowed me to breath underwater for a short amount of time before they were overwhelmed from a buildup of “stale” water.

  Others would think that Elvish blood is what gave my features their sharpness, but it was the Goblin, while the Hob-goblin did strange things to my strength.

  “This glorious beard that you see,” I moved my head slowly from side to side, “is something I was born with.” I meant that quite literally. That’s a definite way to tell that someone has some Dwarf in them.

  “Blood manifests in all of us differently. I can tell by looking at some of you that we have everything from Arrock blooded humans,” I pointed at young woman with feathers instead of hair, “to Orc,” I pointed at a student with a heavy forehead ridge that hinted at thick bone, “to Satyr, and more.” The last statement I punctuated by pointing at one of the auditing professors that had horns that curled up from their hairline like a ram.

  “All of these factors will help to determine what sort of magics can be cast or manipulated.”

  Pausing I noticed several people with their heads in the air.

  “Questions will be answered in the later half of the lecture.” A few disgruntled groans came from my audience as the hands dropped.

  “Six seems to be the magic number. That pun was definitely intended. The closer any of the attributes you have to that number, the more power you can convert through the mana. If there is a twelve instead of a six, then that is even more powerful. Not quite double – or so we think but measuring that is difficult as a test subject will not be the same as another test subject.”

  Looking around the room I finally spotted one of my colleagues that I got along with.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “Yerrimiah, can you come down here please, same with you miss.” I pointed to the Arrock-ish student that I had used earlier in my discussion.

  “Both of you have Arrock blood somewhere in your family tree, is that correct?” I waited for their affirmatives before continuing. “Miss, have you learned your basic spell-forms? I believe I have seen you on campus before which is why I am picking on you.” A small amount of polite laughter came from the audience, while her face reddened as she nodded.

  “Great, can both of you start with a ‘Roh’?”

  Roh was the seventh spell-form. It was included in ranged spells as the factor to determine the maximum distance. A perfect Roh could double the range while a flawed Roh could cause the range to be one sixth of its minimum potential.

  The young lady was able to quickly form her Roh, mana taking physical form in the shape of a fairy star, while Yerrimiah was able to shape his a little quicker with thicker lines and a brighter glow.

  “Professor Yerrimiah has much more experience with the casting as he is quite a bit older, while this young lady has only started with her practicals. See the difference in brightness, line consistency, and size? The Professor’s is close to, if not, a perfect spell-form. This is what practice can do. There is also, likely, a component of natural talent.”

  I nodded to both, and they returned to their seats.

  The lecture on Race to Mana Conversion, as it was commonly known, continued as normal. This lecture was a mandatory discussion that occurred once per semester.

  I had been called in twice this year while the other two semesters were covered by other staff members. My normal position and title were “Dean of Magical Research”. A rather pretentious title if you asked me, but none did before it was engraved on the door to my office.

  As the lecture ended, a small cluster of students approached, and all started to talk over one another before I held up my hand and said simply “Form a line”. After a short period of milling about, a line formed reaching to the lower door of the lecture hall.

  “Dean Veridian, thank you for todays lecture,” a perky blond man said, energy overflowing. “If you have some time, could I schedule a meeting with you to discuss the further ramifications of multi-racial bloodlines?”

  “Talk to my secretary.” I responded dully while packing up my materials.

  “Well, I did, but he,” I cut him off.

  “My secretary holds the keys to my office. If Jon doesn’t put you on the schedule there is a reason. Usually because your question is something answered in one of the professor’s courses. Next!” I announced ignoring further attempts for my attention from the student. Several people in the line immediately left having received the hint.

  “Dean, are you able to point me in the direction of research papers or books that further…”

  The questions continued and soon the line of students clamoring for my attention came to an end.

  ***

  The Maran Academy of Magic was known for the multitude of course tracks it contained. Physical Enhancements, Magical Studies, Research into Spell-Forms, Alchemical Studies, Natural Enchantments, Magical Scribing, and of course, Historical Spell-Forms, were the most common tracks, and there were many, many more. If you could do something with magic, there was likely a track for it.

  I first began attending when I was twelve and had been teaching at the school for twenty-four years before I was promoted to Dean. I was nearly done with my first 12-year contract, but there was no talk of extending my incumbency.

  Politics.

  I would be turning 54 soon enough and it looked like I would have nothing to do after the end of the next semester. Thinking of what my life would be like with an early retirement – something very few outside academia ever achieved, I knew that to increase my magical knowledge I would have to dive into portals.

  Becoming a diver had never even crossed my mind when I was younger. I had thought that I would become an academic and learn magic. Then have a safe job, get married, and have a few kids of my own.

  The problem was, I am more than a little ugly thanks to all the different traits I had from my blood. My love life was dead in the water before it had a chance to float, so I threw myself into work.

  “Thirty-six years,” I muttered to myself. “Was it all for nothing?”

  “Well, you did learn a bunch of things that you probably will never use. Does that count as ‘nothing’?”

  My secretary, Jon, was as much of a smart ass today as when I first hired him. It took us a year to really understand each other, but he had been a graduate from the Scribing track. When he was unable to get a position with any of the town guilds, we hired him at the academy because we take care of our own.

  Fortunately for me, my previous secretary was myself, so I had an open position.

  I couldn’t help but share a sentimental smile with him.

  “I was talking to myself, you know.”

  “Yes, it is a bad habit I fear you may have picked up from Yerrimiah,” Jon replied, his sarcastic tone almost sardonic.

  “Well, is there anything else on the schedule for today? I mean besides my open hours?”

  “Tonight is your dinner with the board of trusts. Formal dress is recommended,” Jon started. “That is at the sixth bell. Before that, I have cleared your schedule so you have time to go home and change. I updated your office hours for today so you can leave as soon as you are ready.”

  Three bells to go home, change, oil and re-braid my beard, and from there, the dinner where I know if I will continue my position as dean.

  “Well, nothing to it, except to do it.” I stood up and bid Jon a good evening.

  When I arrived to my office the next morning, Jon’s only remark was “Perhaps failing the Crown Prince was a bad idea.”

  I had my contract terminated mid-year.