Vivaforge

A long time ago, our kind broke off from mainland Equestria and sailed to find peace in the distant archipelago. We colonized it, fed it magic, and shaped a new life for ourselves. We discovered new magic, centering the power of our civilization on the power of our wizards and mages.

From that pool of spell casters and alchemists, my order rose. The Order of the Sculptors, the greatest magicians to ever exist. All other disciplines of magic are trivial to us, for we master the strictest power magic can hold. Sculptors have the power to sculpt new life entirely out of magic essence, the enchanted fluid that flows naturally through every Sculptor body.

As the years passed and the Sculptor order grew stronger, Sculptor colonies grew farms of unimaginable bounty and their citizens lived lives free of disease. All other magicians, save for a few rogue sorcerers, bowed to the Sculptor caste. We created harmony.

I am named Green Stone. Though I am still a student, and barely ready to Sculpt my first beasts, I am determined to stabilize my home islands, no matter what it takes.

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Vibrant lies

Vibrant lies #1 · Apr 11th, 2016 · · · Scala and Derette ·

This story shows promise, now spellcheck

and would me
I won't here

and would be
I won't hear

Chrome Masquerade

Chrome Masquerade #2 · Apr 11th, 2016 · · · Scala and Derette ·

"Bah! I'm too old for that pride the Order has. There are other wands that wizards use when they can't get a Sculptor's help. Why I should waste essence doing something a simple mage can do with a crystal?"
True, Sculptors often scorned normal magic, considering it beneath them. I never imagined a simple crystal rod could perform such a complicated spell.
"I also know why you're down here," the old Sculptor said. I froze. His tone didn't tell much of what he was thinking, but I was convinced my task was over before I could even start it. He stared at me menacingly and I felt like a wanted to just turn and leave. Sculptors always had that effect around their inferiors, either as a result of their power, their hooded robes, their demeanor, or all of it combined.
"Well, what are you waiting for? I'm not getting any younger, so ask away!"
"You don't mind that we think something's wrong with your island?" I was shocked he was so cooperative.
He hacked up a ball of spit and shot it into a trash bin by his desk. "The dry air's irritating and the dust gets all over my lungs. I already know it's a shit hole, and so do you. Besides, whatever you find out is between you and that piece-of-shit apprentice. Next question!"
Even for a Sculptor, his temperament was volatile. "Why haven't we heard from the island ever since Warren's death?"
"I don't care, that's why. And no matter how many times you hear that we've been trying, here's the plain truth: the governor's apprentice can barely Sculpt a seed, let alone a messenger creation, and Specialist Yien's got his head in the clouds and his dick in every place it's not welcome. Bastard only cares about what he can do to get more control, and that includes keeping a new governor away for as long as possible."
"You don't care? Ponies are struggling all over the island, and as part of the northern islands Derette's a crucial part of the Archipelago's economy!" I couldn't believe I was showing my frustration in front of a Sculptor who could turn me inside out and back again with a single look, but I simply couldn't accept that he wasn't lifting hoof nor horn to help his island.
Checks grumbled something to himself, probably a profane swear, before answering me back "And I've got one kidney left and a tumor growing out of my ass. The island can go fuck itself for all I care, I can't die before my research is complete. If helping the island could speed up my work I'd do it in an instant, but it's not, so here I am."
A tumor? Of all things, I wouldn't have expected a Sculptor to care about a simple tumor he could eliminate with a bit of essence. "Why don't you just heal yourself? Get rid of the tumor and Sculpt a new kidney, you'll have years added onto your life."
He spat again, this time with real hatred. "You ever read about all the times we've failed at Sculpting ourselves?"
I shook my head. He grumbled again and ripped a book its shelf and opened it to a page. He set it on a smaller table for tea, gesturing me to go sit. "You came to learn something. I hope you came ready to read."
I looked down at the book, which was causing the wooden table to creak a little from its weight. The Body and Sculpting, read the title of the section. I passed over the introduction and started reading the main content. Page after page, it was just summarizing dozens of experiments past Sculptors have tried and failed at.
One passage mentioned how a Sculptor thought having a second horn would double the power of his spells. He died from an imploded skull. Another passage described a Sculptor trying to dramatically increase his body's reserve of essence so he could Sculpt a giant twenty meters tall. He became a deformed figure spouting magically charge ooze.
And the list went on. A want for naturally armored flesh became an irreversible fugal growth. Extra limbs? He had no limbs. A faster metabolism? The Sculptor withered into leathery skin and fragile bones. After a few more pages, Sculptor Checks decided I saw enough to understand.
"Using magic on our bodies changes us in ways very few understand." He pointed to one of the things he had growing in his essence vats. "We become not unlike our own creations, inferior creatures with weak minds and weaker wills."
"That's it? You're just an overworked stallion with no concern for his responsibilities?" It felt wrong to condemn a Sculptor so many years my senior, but it just came out.
He sneered at me. "And you're an idealistic tool of the Sculptor Order. We both have our flaws."
I huffed at him. He was impossible to work with, even more so than Master Terran. "I suppose I'll get out of your mane then." I began trotting to the stairs before the old Sculptor threw a book at my head. I felt its weight and the durable leather binding; it was a Sculpting book.
"I told ya," he said, "Yien's sniffing everything out. You run into him, just nod and use that book as an alibi. If he even thinks for a second that you're snooping around, I won't here the end of it. Now scat!"
I lifted the book into my saddle bag and picked up my pace. Checks was the kind of Sculptor no one messed with, and he still paid some attention to Specialist Yien. I made sure to move quickly and stick to the inconspicuous hallways.