Lady Mage in Formal Regalia (Mageworlds fanart design)

The Mageworlds concepts and series are (c) to Debra Doyle and James MacDonald, with additional thanks to Donato Giacona who created the cover art for The Stars Asunder for further inspiration.

The vignette below is NOT an excerpt from the Mageworlds series; these are just the fragmented imaginings that guided me as I drew this outfit (you’ll understand why the warning gesture). I will not expand it any further, so please do not ask. And since I have not yet completed the series, facts introduced in other books may contradict some of what I’ve drawn and written…plus different Mages and Adepts have different opinions. For the full truth, please go to the source. If you like this ramble even a tiny bit, I highly recommend visiting this link and snagging your own copies of the real Mageworlds series. Believe me, the books are a billion times betterâ€"if you like sci-fi or fantasy, you won’t regret it!

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It was an inestimable privilege to at last don the full dress regalia of a Mage after a generation of Adeptworld oppression so thorough that when found, even these outfits were publicly burned after the execution of their owners for the entire neighborhood to see. Hers was a relic found in an old trunk hidden from the invaders and their leash-trained Eraasian servants thanks to a deft working. The old First of their Circle, a survivor of the purges forced to work as a lowly haberdasher to disguise his noble blood and Mage’s gift, had considered it a sacred duty to take in the outfit’s seams to fit the petite young Mage from afar. Much travail she had borne to reach the ones who could train her into her full potential: the scorn of friends and family she had held dear, the threat of enforcers’ wrath...indeed, of anything once familiar and comforting to her. But for this exhilarating moment, everything was worth it.

Now the Adeptworlders would behold the Mages’ full glory on their soil and in the open once again, and repent of what was done to the homeworlds for over a generation. Honorless creatures that they were, their power-hoarding Adepts had not stopped with the execution of the Eraasian warlords responsible for the Entiboran genocide, a judgment by which the common people might have grudgingly abided as the price of defeat. No--some twisted soul among the selfish Adepts, perhaps even the thrice-cursed Breaker of Circles himself, had decided it would be amusing to not just dismantle the Eraasian war machine, but to force their worlds back into the primitive days of chemical engines so they might poison themselves over a thousand years, dying the Entiboran death by inches instead of parsecs. Shrouded behind the hyperspace-drive-killing Net as if for live burial, the people of the homeworlds had faced a dreadful choice: repeal their technological infrastructure even further and resume the life of simple hunters and farmers without the means to immunize their children against even the simplest of illnesses to cure, or in hope of lasting until the more lenient Republic regime that would never come, take the technological stake their enemy handed them and drive it into their own hearts that they might every day live the pain that the Entiboran dead could no longer feel.

Did the average citizen of the Adeptworlds comprehend this? She doubted it. Their blockade worked both ways: the Republic needed not admit the sort into Eraasian space who might protest the injustice obvious to any with real eyes to see. Thus for her, this appointment as one of the Mages to openly display her status on the soon-to-be-conquered Galcen was to expose herself as a high-profile target for any soldier or civilian looking to avenge him- or herself for what the Adepts’ Guild had brought upon them. For the sake of those who had no sway over the selfish power-hoarders’ deeds, she hoped this fine regalia would serve like the bold patterns of creatures with a lethal sting or bite: a warning against any rash actions that might require her to wield her power. Regardless of the fantasies some of her comrades might hold--against the commanding admiral’s explicit orders--she was in agreement with his solemn decree: never again that slaughterhouse--better the death of every last one of us before such dishonor!

Yes…in that statement was the revival of the true Eraasian spirit, the one that had suffered such a staggering blow even before the First Adeptwar. Perhaps she would die today, but with hope, her death would come in the service of life--not just for the people of the homeworlds, but for their distant sundered kin who like the Eraasians craved peace. That the Mages’ voyage now brought war was no contradiction for the Eraasian mind, most especially not a woman and a Mage: for always pain marched ahead as standard-bearer before the coming of new life. So it was with childbirth and so it was with the combat-driven workings of a Mage-circle: for both would she lay down her life if called to that supreme sacrifice.

At last she girded on her staff, slipped the gearith over her face, at last emerging from chrysalis into her true self. Steady my hand with righteous discipline and strength, she prayed, and let these difficult deeds be as birthing pangs for a restored future of which we never before dared to dream, in death or life--

As the universe wills it.