A breath of fresh air for a family riddled with nothing but ill news for a long time: I now have a nephew! This being the first birth in this generation on either side of the family, there has been even more phone-calling, hand-shaking, back-slapping and teary-eye-wiping than such an event would normally draw.
I've realized that my depression has crept into my tone in my blog as well, and it's only fair that my joy should show as well. Expect my writings to change from tragic-type stuff about myself to... er... for now, tragic-type stuff about the rest of the world *grin*. You see, my next post is going to be on Global Warming for the science blog, to which I haven't contributed in a really long time.
Cheers - and I mean it!
Prashanth.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
For a fine cut....
It was one of those days in the hospital, when I was in pain and mentally at a record low. My Mom was holding my hand and chanting prayers to Dhanvanthri, the God of Health, reading from a little sloka book.
I have high regard for prayers, as they are pure expressions of goodwill. If you've ever sent a prayer my way, you've earned yourself a kiss (er... a handshake if you're a guy!). Still, if you ask me whether I believe prayers can help in healing, I would say, "Not really, though I guess the possibility exists." See, I'm an agnostic at heart.
That's why I asked my Mom, "The next time you pray, ask God, why me. Ask Him what I did to deserve this." She didn't say much at that time. But a day later, she recounted some things she'd told me before. My Mom believes that I am destined to do great things. In my Mom's dictionary (as well as mine), that means I will do service to mankind - helping a lot of people directly or indirectly. Of course, all Moms think their sons will do great things, but every astrologer who's seen my horoscope and every palmist who's seen my palm has told her the same thing, and my Mom puts great stock in such things (but I don't).
And then she wrapped it up by saying words to the effect that God sets the sternest tests for those with the most potential.
Ouch! How does she do it? She'd just scored a bull's eye. You see, that's my philosophy, too, and I'm positive I've never spoken to her about it. Not the God part, the rest of it. Put in Mechanical Engineering terms (yes, I'm incorrigible), use the hardest tool for the finest cut. For shaping the finest jobs, you would use a diamond tool. In other words, if you're a teacher or mentor figure, the better they are, the tougher you must be to help them realize their potential. Explaining how deeply this is ingrained in me merits a small story.
My elder brother went to the same school I did, and he would often tell me about a horrific chemistry teacher. He ended up hating the subject because of her, and tended to perform poorly. I had this gargoyle-type impression of her, reinforced by stories I'd heard from a lot of people. When she finally started teaching my class, I found out that she was every bit as ruthless as people said she was. There was not a shred of leniency in her homework and exam corrections; she made unreasonable demands and expected everyone to cope up, and punished them when they didn't; the slightest misbehaviour inside her class or outside in her range of vision was swiftly dealt with.
I still had no trouble with chemistry, it being one of my stronger subjects. One incident sticks in my memory: the teacher had asked a question in class that nobody could answer because it was not in the text (not that anybody would have read the text in advance of the class!). So, she asked us to find out the answer for homework and submit it the next day - with a rather high minimum length of writing. It was an interesting question, and fortunately I had my brother's IIT-JEE reference books, so I did a little research and penned the answer with some flourishing language in order to fill up the sheet. I duly submitted it in class the next day, only to find that nobody else had done it, as it was outside of our syllabus.
After a lengthy diatribe to the class, she read out my answer. Complete with english words that many people in the class probably never heard, and references from IIT-level texts. I sank lower and lower in my chair. The class already hated me for consistently getting the first rank; I wondered if I would get lynched anytime soon. But wait, that wasn't the worst of it. You see, I'd made a good impression on her. How her eyes glinted that day! Ah, those evil eyes!
A year passed, and one day I found myself unceremoniously summoned to the chemistry lab.
Her: You missed the chemistry practical class yesterday.
Me (bewildered): Yes, I was sent to that inter-school quiz contest.
(See, we won it and it was announced in the assembly earlier that morning. So she very well knew why I missed the class.)
Her: If you are missing a practical class, you have to take permission from me in advance and schedule a make-up session.
Me: But, it was the Principal who sent me to the contest, so I assumed that was permission.
(I'm fourteen years old, for heaven's sake. What teacher would punish me over a technicality when I'd missed the class in order to win laurels for the school?)
Her: That only means I would give you permission to miss the class without argument. I'm giving you a zero on that experiment.
I was stunned, but offered no argument because technically she was right. It was exactly the kind of thing she would do, but I seriously didn't think she would be that heartless, as it costs her nothing to let me attend the make-up sessions specially set aside for such situations in the academic calendar.
That term, I scored 451/500 in total on my exams. A bright new girl in our class had scored 452. Calculation revealed that the zero in the lab class had cost me 2 marks overall - which meant that zero had cost me my first rank, breaking a seven-year streak. I didn't care that much, because I acknowledged my mistake (however small it was), and I knew I should have done way better than 451 (which, by the way, is exactly the kind of attitude that people mistake for arrogance - sorry for repeating this). But the story spread like wildfire, and people were extremely sympathetic. Me, I was grinning, for I'd figured this teacher out. I knew what she was doing. I already suspected that she'd graded my exam papers even more strictly than she normally does. Basically, she was pushing me to do better than I usually did. I appreciated the sentiment.
She was probably the most hated teacher in the school, but not by me, and as the years passed, she would talk to me on occasion. I remember very well, we had a free period in which she sat in our class just to ensure we didn't get too loud. I had a long conversation with her then about science and spirituality, and things like pranic healing etc. which I was familiar with because of my Mom. I always got the feeling that she was trying to tell me something important that day, which I didn't quite grasp exactly, but understood at some level, in my heart.
Thus, I have this to say, if there is a God: Hi. I understand. I don't hate you.
I have high regard for prayers, as they are pure expressions of goodwill. If you've ever sent a prayer my way, you've earned yourself a kiss (er... a handshake if you're a guy!). Still, if you ask me whether I believe prayers can help in healing, I would say, "Not really, though I guess the possibility exists." See, I'm an agnostic at heart.
That's why I asked my Mom, "The next time you pray, ask God, why me. Ask Him what I did to deserve this." She didn't say much at that time. But a day later, she recounted some things she'd told me before. My Mom believes that I am destined to do great things. In my Mom's dictionary (as well as mine), that means I will do service to mankind - helping a lot of people directly or indirectly. Of course, all Moms think their sons will do great things, but every astrologer who's seen my horoscope and every palmist who's seen my palm has told her the same thing, and my Mom puts great stock in such things (but I don't).
And then she wrapped it up by saying words to the effect that God sets the sternest tests for those with the most potential.
Ouch! How does she do it? She'd just scored a bull's eye. You see, that's my philosophy, too, and I'm positive I've never spoken to her about it. Not the God part, the rest of it. Put in Mechanical Engineering terms (yes, I'm incorrigible), use the hardest tool for the finest cut. For shaping the finest jobs, you would use a diamond tool. In other words, if you're a teacher or mentor figure, the better they are, the tougher you must be to help them realize their potential. Explaining how deeply this is ingrained in me merits a small story.
My elder brother went to the same school I did, and he would often tell me about a horrific chemistry teacher. He ended up hating the subject because of her, and tended to perform poorly. I had this gargoyle-type impression of her, reinforced by stories I'd heard from a lot of people. When she finally started teaching my class, I found out that she was every bit as ruthless as people said she was. There was not a shred of leniency in her homework and exam corrections; she made unreasonable demands and expected everyone to cope up, and punished them when they didn't; the slightest misbehaviour inside her class or outside in her range of vision was swiftly dealt with.
I still had no trouble with chemistry, it being one of my stronger subjects. One incident sticks in my memory: the teacher had asked a question in class that nobody could answer because it was not in the text (not that anybody would have read the text in advance of the class!). So, she asked us to find out the answer for homework and submit it the next day - with a rather high minimum length of writing. It was an interesting question, and fortunately I had my brother's IIT-JEE reference books, so I did a little research and penned the answer with some flourishing language in order to fill up the sheet. I duly submitted it in class the next day, only to find that nobody else had done it, as it was outside of our syllabus.
After a lengthy diatribe to the class, she read out my answer. Complete with english words that many people in the class probably never heard, and references from IIT-level texts. I sank lower and lower in my chair. The class already hated me for consistently getting the first rank; I wondered if I would get lynched anytime soon. But wait, that wasn't the worst of it. You see, I'd made a good impression on her. How her eyes glinted that day! Ah, those evil eyes!
A year passed, and one day I found myself unceremoniously summoned to the chemistry lab.
Her: You missed the chemistry practical class yesterday.
Me (bewildered): Yes, I was sent to that inter-school quiz contest.
(See, we won it and it was announced in the assembly earlier that morning. So she very well knew why I missed the class.)
Her: If you are missing a practical class, you have to take permission from me in advance and schedule a make-up session.
Me: But, it was the Principal who sent me to the contest, so I assumed that was permission.
(I'm fourteen years old, for heaven's sake. What teacher would punish me over a technicality when I'd missed the class in order to win laurels for the school?)
Her: That only means I would give you permission to miss the class without argument. I'm giving you a zero on that experiment.
I was stunned, but offered no argument because technically she was right. It was exactly the kind of thing she would do, but I seriously didn't think she would be that heartless, as it costs her nothing to let me attend the make-up sessions specially set aside for such situations in the academic calendar.
That term, I scored 451/500 in total on my exams. A bright new girl in our class had scored 452. Calculation revealed that the zero in the lab class had cost me 2 marks overall - which meant that zero had cost me my first rank, breaking a seven-year streak. I didn't care that much, because I acknowledged my mistake (however small it was), and I knew I should have done way better than 451 (which, by the way, is exactly the kind of attitude that people mistake for arrogance - sorry for repeating this). But the story spread like wildfire, and people were extremely sympathetic. Me, I was grinning, for I'd figured this teacher out. I knew what she was doing. I already suspected that she'd graded my exam papers even more strictly than she normally does. Basically, she was pushing me to do better than I usually did. I appreciated the sentiment.
She was probably the most hated teacher in the school, but not by me, and as the years passed, she would talk to me on occasion. I remember very well, we had a free period in which she sat in our class just to ensure we didn't get too loud. I had a long conversation with her then about science and spirituality, and things like pranic healing etc. which I was familiar with because of my Mom. I always got the feeling that she was trying to tell me something important that day, which I didn't quite grasp exactly, but understood at some level, in my heart.
Thus, I have this to say, if there is a God: Hi. I understand. I don't hate you.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
A Short Story: Mending a Rift - Concluding Part
(Continued from here)
Author's Note: I had to sacrifice a lot to keep the short story short. I couldn't give shape to the characters and the fantasy world, and the story goes too fast at some points, and there are a hundred other things I am unsatisfied about. Ah well, next time I won't try to keep it short!
The Green Blade Company is a mercenary company characterized by the enchanted sword each member carries, purchased at great expense from the Kharygian Dwarf Smiths. The magical residues lend each sword an olive green sheen. Because the wielder must have some limited talent at spellcasting to use the sword effectively, and most magicians do not have the time or the interest to learn swordplay, the company is composed mostly of Wizard Tower rejects or runaways. Sal Sorde, leader of the company, expertly persuaded such people to join his company and even more expertly trained them to be a fighting unit... - Mercenaries of Hesnia, A Guide
Nevin struggled with the flint striker as he watched the other apprentices pitch tents and pile on firewood with practiced smoothness. Finally, he gave up and started chanting a "Scorcher" spell to light the fire, but the words of magic died in his throat as a black robed figure loomed in.
"No spellcasting from this point. They might be able to detect it," spoke an oily voice from behind a mask.
"Y-Yes, Wizard Xartan," he stuttered, as the figure nodded and headed towards the wizards' wagon.
He sighed his relief, just as someone behind him burst into laughter. Nevin turned, "You think that's funny, new kid?"
"He's just another Tower Wizard, even if he's a Necromancer. Nothing to be afraid of. And I have a name."
"Well, Kenneth Starfall," he stressed the last name as if to emphasize how stupid he thought it was, "You're new. You haven't seen the convicts being led into his dungeon, or heard their screams as he plays with their life-force. You haven't..."
"Starfall!" interrupted a shout from afar, "The scouts need you!"
"I have to go," said Kenny unnecessarily and scrambled towards the mercenaries' camp. Nevin grunted and threw his hands up in the air on seeing the grin on the twins' faces. "What kind of a name is Starfall, anyway?"
"It's his noble name," said Trent, "apparently he's descended from a noble family on his Mother's side."
"If I ain't a farmer and I ain't a noble, I might as well use my noble name, right?" imitated his brother, Flint.
"There's more to it than that, though, and Kenny himself doesn't know it," interjected a third voice.
"What do you mean, Deek?" said Nevin.
"I saw the expression on Wizard Harvin's face when he said that name, and Kenny was looking at the sky so he missed it. There's a story here, I just know it. We'll dig in the library when we get back," gushed Deek, and abruptly patted his ample belly, "Fellow apprentices of the Sixth Circle. Let's eat."
------
The Ethereal Plane is a spellcaster's boon as well as bane. For instance, the popular practice of "Going Ethereal", in which the caster gains a ghostly appearance and immunity from physical and magical attacks from the Prime Plane, is achieved by entering the Ethereal Plane while maintaining a partial grounding in the Prime Plane. This leaves the caster extremely vulnerable from attacks from the Ethereal Plane, which is not a friendly place... - Handbook of Planar Travel, Chapter Two
"This is the cavern where Wizard Verner became most agitated," said Kenny, and after a pause, "this time I can feel the disturbance myself." But the four wizards and the equal number of apprentices were already staring at the tunnel entrance to the west.
"Not good," said Wizard Giller.
"Not good at all," agreed Wizard Justyn.
Wizard Harvin turned and announced, "The rift is not far, and the demons are bound to block us. Sal, the Green Swords must keep them occupied at all costs. Xartan and the twins will support you. The three of us will slip by to close the rift - there isn't much time, we can all feel it. The other apprentices will cover us."
Everyone nodded as Harvin led them through the western tunnel, and into a large cavern.
Right into a trap.
The cavern had a ledge at a higher level with multiple openings, from which taloned demons emerged at the same time, surrounding them on all sides. A handful of them now blocked their retreat as well. From the only other exit to the cavern emerged a masked figure accompanied by a few demons. Black robes streaked with red identified him as a Necromancer practicing blood magic.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here? More gifts of Desune's Blood?" said the figure, and then visibly jumped as he took in the presence of the Green Swords , "All of you? A princely gift indeed!"
Hand signals flashed among the Green Swords as they slipped into formation. Trent abruptly found himself pushed into a circle of men sheathing their swords and drawing wicked-looking crossbows. He counted three concentric circles around himself, the outermost circle wielding swords and tower shields, alternating with circles of crossbow wielders. Flint found himself in a similar position.
A thundering explosion sounded from the tunnel behind the masked man, followed by a perceptible lessening of magical pressure. The Necromancer seemed surprised but still confident, "Very clever indeed. Your friend may have slowed things down, but he'll find the Rift Guardian more than a handful, I'm afraid. Now, if you'll be kind enough to die..."
Demons sprang forward to grab the three Wizards at the front, but they were prepared and had already gone ethereal. The demons found themselves going through the Wizards like mist. The Necromancer opened a dimension door to the ethereal plane, but the spell collapsed as a pair of black bolts crashed into the doorway.
"A fellow practitioner of the Art! Why, Brother, do you side with these pathetic losers? They have nothing to offer us!"
A demon that sprang at Wizard Xartan fell to the ground, convulsing uncontrollably. "Because, Brother, they give me a quiet and civilized environment to conduct my research. And because you degrade our Art by meddling with Blood Magic!"
The man laughed. "Degrade? Why, Brother, have you not learned yet? Blood is power!" and threw a pair of red-streaked bolts at Xartan.
The bolts smashed through magical shields like a hot knife through butter, but Xartan had already disappeared, and reappeared several feet away. "And Art needs finesse, not strength!" as he summoned a grey mist, that in turn melted away the other Necromancer's shields.
The Green Swords were too occupied to watch the tussle, as demons sprang from the ledge to attack them from all directions. The twins settled into trances to chant spells that had taken them all week to prepare. The mercenaries acted with clinical precision. Shields parted as reinforced crossbows fired into the demons at close range, punching through their tough armour, and then the shields snapped shut again. Frustrated talons tried to find openings through the shield wall. Abruptly, at a barked order from Sal, the shields dropped to allow enchanted swords to slash at demon necks, where their armour was weakest...
Heads rolled. Crossbows sang. And shields shut again. The chanting of the twins had reached a crescendo, and two smoky figures took form on the ledge. As their chanting ended, the terrifying apparitions could be clearly seen - with blades instead of arms and long, razor sharp teeth, standing twice as high as a man, they snarled and tore into the demons' midst.
The other apprentices refused to get involved in the mayhem around them; they had their orders. Deek wove an illusion around them to hide them from the demons, and three invisible figures darted through the cavern exit a short distance behind the Wizards. They came upon them in a room with an intricate pattern chalked on the ground, with urns of what looked like blood pouring the red liquid through channels cut in more patterns criss-crossing the chalked lines. One corner of the pattern was charred, the channels disrupted. High above the ground was a complex-looking weave of magical energy, enclosing a jagged tear in the fabric of the Prime Plane.
The Wizards were still ethereal, unable to re-enter the Prime Plane with three demons snarling at them. On seeing the apprentices, the demons turned their attention to them.
And charged.
--------
Materials have completely different properties in the Ethereal Plane. The strongest of steel swords will shatter like glass in the Ethereal Plane. On the other hand, obsidian, which is easy to break in the Prime Plane, is the hardest substance known in the Ethereal Plane. Since it is impossible to craft anything larger than a dagger using obsidian, some magicians are known to have crafted arrowheads and sling bullets out of obsidian to protect themselves on the Ethereal Plane... - Handbook of Planar Travel, Chapter Four
Deek was already prepared with his spell. The demon attacking him was suddenly struck by the apparition of a disembodied hand clutching at its throat, squeezing and squeezing...
It believed the illusion, and choked to death.
Nevin, on the other hand, found his own throat being choked by a taloned hand. However, the owner of the hand seemed very surprised when the throat proved harder than a rock to squeeze. Nevin grinned and pulled a rune-covered knife from a fold of his robe, striking it into the eye of the demon. Smoke sizzled from it as the demon sank to the ground, the insides of its head having been unceremoniously melted.
Kenny had been an apprentice-in-training for just a little over a week, and knew exactly two spells. He didn't bother throwing a magic missile at the demon, as he knew it would bounce off. He didn't cast a protective sphere barrier around himself. Instead, he cast it around the demon, whose talons couldn't break the sphere without room to swing. Then, he gradually resized the sphere, making it smaller and smaller....
Bones crunched and the neck snapped.
"Very creative," observed Deek in appreciation. The Wizards in turn had wasted no time in returning to the Prime Plane. They were casting jointly to break the weave that protected the rift.
Nevin frowned at the weave. The loose strands at the edges led away into planes far beyond his normal vision... but why weren't they thinning out the farther they went? He cast a scrying spell to trace their ends.
And nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Stop!" he yelled, "It's a decoy! You're opening the rift, not closing it!"
"What? Explain yourself, Apprentice Hatcher, we are running out of time!" said Wizard Giller.
"And now we have even less time! The energy you're putting into breaking the weave is being channeled by the edge strands! Follow them to the end and you'll see for yourself!"
Wizard Harvin closed his eyes for a second and opened them with a start. "He's right! The real rift is somewhere in the Ethereal Plane!"
Abruptly, Kenny cried out, "I got it! It's a puzzle knot! My grandma used to make me puzzles like these.... see, if you pull anywhere in the weave, it will tip the egg - well, in this case, open the rift - but there will always be at least one spot, where if you tug sharply..." he demonstrated by breaking a strand, "it will tear!"
The Wizards and apprentices studied the knot, but Kenny was already working too fast to follow. He would tenderly test a spot, and then suddenly tug at another spot to break a strand. Slowly, the weave began to unravel... and when it fell apart, the rift inside disappeared!
The Wizards now glanced at each other uneasily. "Giller, you're the man for the job. We'll protect you," said Wizard Harvin, and the three of them opened dimension doors to step fully into the Ethereal Plane.
"What was that about?" asked Kenny.
"I don't know. Let me find out," said Nevin, as he cast another scrying spell. He opened his eyes wide and said in a hushed tone, "Wizard Verner is there in the Ethereal Plane. He's fighting a demon with a staff and horns... they're really having a go at each other, with Ninth Circle spells and such. The rift is near, guarded by a bunch of summoned nasties. I sensed a summoning pool nearby, I think there will be more creatures the longer we wait. But the rift is almost open... there's too little time for Wizard Giller alone to destroy it. We have to go and distract the creatures so that the other Wizards can help him."
Deek went white at that statement, but nodded his head. "You'll have to step through the dimension door first, Kenny. I can't hold it open from the other end."
And so they stepped through dimension doors, into a scene of total chaos as Wizards Harvin and Justyn threw magical energies to rip through nightmarish creatures charging at them from all directions. Wizard Giller was seated in a deep trance, concentrating on the rift floating above them. Kenny whispered a silent prayer and let loose the one attacking spell he knew. Somehow, the raw magical energy worked against these creatures, and as the other apprentices joined the melee, the Wizards nodded and joined Wizard Giller in trance.
As more and more creatures fell away, there seemed to be less of them coming at them. We might actually survive this, thought Kenny. That was when Deek clutched his side with a cry as one of the creatures clawed him. Even as he fell, he had the presence of mind to dimension door back to the Prime Plane.
Nevin and Kenny worked feverishly to protect the Wizards, when the battle between Wizard Verner and the Rift Guardian shifted closer to their location. Realizing what was happening, the Guardian dropped his guard to summon two creatures to attack the apprentices. Wizard Verner did not miss his opportunity, a glowing blade of pure energy in his hand decapitating the Guardian.
Nevin froze as he recognized the creature. Y'garian hunter - fast, ferocious, and impervious to all combat spells below the Seventh Circle. Even the textbook said, Run! But he couldn't afford to do that. Even if he died, he had to give the entranced wizards the time they needed. He chose a spell and chanted.
Kenny was about to throw another magical missile when he saw Nevin go white as sheet and decided to change tact. He pulled out a sling and a stone from his pocket and let fly, just as the creature flew for his throat...
Nevin opened a dimension door in front of him, just when the creature jumped for him - and it continued its leap straight into the Prime Plane. And watched in disbelief as Kenny splattered a Y'garian hunter's brain with nothing more than a rabbit sling!
Wizard Verner unsteadily walked up to them. Nevin asked him, "How long can that thing survive in the Prime Plane?"
"About a couple of seconds, then it will crumble into dust," he replied as he dug in the remaining hunter's head for the stone. "Obsidian?" he raised his eyebrows.
"My lucky rock," said Kenny, and added helpfully, "my grandma gave it to me."
Behind them, the rift snapped shut in a spectacular explosion.
Back in the Prime Plane, the Green Company were still standing. Not a single demon was. The twins lay unconscious from prolonged spellcasting. Wizard Xartan sat on a rock, nursing unseen injuries. The other necromancer had gotten away.
Deek lay clutching his side, when a portal suddenly opened in front of him and a Y'garian hunter leapt out, heading straight for him! He screamed as it struck for his throat...
And opened his eyes to see a pile of dust lying in front of him.
Author's Note: I had to sacrifice a lot to keep the short story short. I couldn't give shape to the characters and the fantasy world, and the story goes too fast at some points, and there are a hundred other things I am unsatisfied about. Ah well, next time I won't try to keep it short!
The Green Blade Company is a mercenary company characterized by the enchanted sword each member carries, purchased at great expense from the Kharygian Dwarf Smiths. The magical residues lend each sword an olive green sheen. Because the wielder must have some limited talent at spellcasting to use the sword effectively, and most magicians do not have the time or the interest to learn swordplay, the company is composed mostly of Wizard Tower rejects or runaways. Sal Sorde, leader of the company, expertly persuaded such people to join his company and even more expertly trained them to be a fighting unit... - Mercenaries of Hesnia, A Guide
Nevin struggled with the flint striker as he watched the other apprentices pitch tents and pile on firewood with practiced smoothness. Finally, he gave up and started chanting a "Scorcher" spell to light the fire, but the words of magic died in his throat as a black robed figure loomed in.
"No spellcasting from this point. They might be able to detect it," spoke an oily voice from behind a mask.
"Y-Yes, Wizard Xartan," he stuttered, as the figure nodded and headed towards the wizards' wagon.
He sighed his relief, just as someone behind him burst into laughter. Nevin turned, "You think that's funny, new kid?"
"He's just another Tower Wizard, even if he's a Necromancer. Nothing to be afraid of. And I have a name."
"Well, Kenneth Starfall," he stressed the last name as if to emphasize how stupid he thought it was, "You're new. You haven't seen the convicts being led into his dungeon, or heard their screams as he plays with their life-force. You haven't..."
"Starfall!" interrupted a shout from afar, "The scouts need you!"
"I have to go," said Kenny unnecessarily and scrambled towards the mercenaries' camp. Nevin grunted and threw his hands up in the air on seeing the grin on the twins' faces. "What kind of a name is Starfall, anyway?"
"It's his noble name," said Trent, "apparently he's descended from a noble family on his Mother's side."
"If I ain't a farmer and I ain't a noble, I might as well use my noble name, right?" imitated his brother, Flint.
"There's more to it than that, though, and Kenny himself doesn't know it," interjected a third voice.
"What do you mean, Deek?" said Nevin.
"I saw the expression on Wizard Harvin's face when he said that name, and Kenny was looking at the sky so he missed it. There's a story here, I just know it. We'll dig in the library when we get back," gushed Deek, and abruptly patted his ample belly, "Fellow apprentices of the Sixth Circle. Let's eat."
------
The Ethereal Plane is a spellcaster's boon as well as bane. For instance, the popular practice of "Going Ethereal", in which the caster gains a ghostly appearance and immunity from physical and magical attacks from the Prime Plane, is achieved by entering the Ethereal Plane while maintaining a partial grounding in the Prime Plane. This leaves the caster extremely vulnerable from attacks from the Ethereal Plane, which is not a friendly place... - Handbook of Planar Travel, Chapter Two
"This is the cavern where Wizard Verner became most agitated," said Kenny, and after a pause, "this time I can feel the disturbance myself." But the four wizards and the equal number of apprentices were already staring at the tunnel entrance to the west.
"Not good," said Wizard Giller.
"Not good at all," agreed Wizard Justyn.
Wizard Harvin turned and announced, "The rift is not far, and the demons are bound to block us. Sal, the Green Swords must keep them occupied at all costs. Xartan and the twins will support you. The three of us will slip by to close the rift - there isn't much time, we can all feel it. The other apprentices will cover us."
Everyone nodded as Harvin led them through the western tunnel, and into a large cavern.
Right into a trap.
The cavern had a ledge at a higher level with multiple openings, from which taloned demons emerged at the same time, surrounding them on all sides. A handful of them now blocked their retreat as well. From the only other exit to the cavern emerged a masked figure accompanied by a few demons. Black robes streaked with red identified him as a Necromancer practicing blood magic.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here? More gifts of Desune's Blood?" said the figure, and then visibly jumped as he took in the presence of the Green Swords , "All of you? A princely gift indeed!"
Hand signals flashed among the Green Swords as they slipped into formation. Trent abruptly found himself pushed into a circle of men sheathing their swords and drawing wicked-looking crossbows. He counted three concentric circles around himself, the outermost circle wielding swords and tower shields, alternating with circles of crossbow wielders. Flint found himself in a similar position.
A thundering explosion sounded from the tunnel behind the masked man, followed by a perceptible lessening of magical pressure. The Necromancer seemed surprised but still confident, "Very clever indeed. Your friend may have slowed things down, but he'll find the Rift Guardian more than a handful, I'm afraid. Now, if you'll be kind enough to die..."
Demons sprang forward to grab the three Wizards at the front, but they were prepared and had already gone ethereal. The demons found themselves going through the Wizards like mist. The Necromancer opened a dimension door to the ethereal plane, but the spell collapsed as a pair of black bolts crashed into the doorway.
"A fellow practitioner of the Art! Why, Brother, do you side with these pathetic losers? They have nothing to offer us!"
A demon that sprang at Wizard Xartan fell to the ground, convulsing uncontrollably. "Because, Brother, they give me a quiet and civilized environment to conduct my research. And because you degrade our Art by meddling with Blood Magic!"
The man laughed. "Degrade? Why, Brother, have you not learned yet? Blood is power!" and threw a pair of red-streaked bolts at Xartan.
The bolts smashed through magical shields like a hot knife through butter, but Xartan had already disappeared, and reappeared several feet away. "And Art needs finesse, not strength!" as he summoned a grey mist, that in turn melted away the other Necromancer's shields.
The Green Swords were too occupied to watch the tussle, as demons sprang from the ledge to attack them from all directions. The twins settled into trances to chant spells that had taken them all week to prepare. The mercenaries acted with clinical precision. Shields parted as reinforced crossbows fired into the demons at close range, punching through their tough armour, and then the shields snapped shut again. Frustrated talons tried to find openings through the shield wall. Abruptly, at a barked order from Sal, the shields dropped to allow enchanted swords to slash at demon necks, where their armour was weakest...
Heads rolled. Crossbows sang. And shields shut again. The chanting of the twins had reached a crescendo, and two smoky figures took form on the ledge. As their chanting ended, the terrifying apparitions could be clearly seen - with blades instead of arms and long, razor sharp teeth, standing twice as high as a man, they snarled and tore into the demons' midst.
The other apprentices refused to get involved in the mayhem around them; they had their orders. Deek wove an illusion around them to hide them from the demons, and three invisible figures darted through the cavern exit a short distance behind the Wizards. They came upon them in a room with an intricate pattern chalked on the ground, with urns of what looked like blood pouring the red liquid through channels cut in more patterns criss-crossing the chalked lines. One corner of the pattern was charred, the channels disrupted. High above the ground was a complex-looking weave of magical energy, enclosing a jagged tear in the fabric of the Prime Plane.
The Wizards were still ethereal, unable to re-enter the Prime Plane with three demons snarling at them. On seeing the apprentices, the demons turned their attention to them.
And charged.
--------
Materials have completely different properties in the Ethereal Plane. The strongest of steel swords will shatter like glass in the Ethereal Plane. On the other hand, obsidian, which is easy to break in the Prime Plane, is the hardest substance known in the Ethereal Plane. Since it is impossible to craft anything larger than a dagger using obsidian, some magicians are known to have crafted arrowheads and sling bullets out of obsidian to protect themselves on the Ethereal Plane... - Handbook of Planar Travel, Chapter Four
Deek was already prepared with his spell. The demon attacking him was suddenly struck by the apparition of a disembodied hand clutching at its throat, squeezing and squeezing...
It believed the illusion, and choked to death.
Nevin, on the other hand, found his own throat being choked by a taloned hand. However, the owner of the hand seemed very surprised when the throat proved harder than a rock to squeeze. Nevin grinned and pulled a rune-covered knife from a fold of his robe, striking it into the eye of the demon. Smoke sizzled from it as the demon sank to the ground, the insides of its head having been unceremoniously melted.
Kenny had been an apprentice-in-training for just a little over a week, and knew exactly two spells. He didn't bother throwing a magic missile at the demon, as he knew it would bounce off. He didn't cast a protective sphere barrier around himself. Instead, he cast it around the demon, whose talons couldn't break the sphere without room to swing. Then, he gradually resized the sphere, making it smaller and smaller....
Bones crunched and the neck snapped.
"Very creative," observed Deek in appreciation. The Wizards in turn had wasted no time in returning to the Prime Plane. They were casting jointly to break the weave that protected the rift.
Nevin frowned at the weave. The loose strands at the edges led away into planes far beyond his normal vision... but why weren't they thinning out the farther they went? He cast a scrying spell to trace their ends.
And nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Stop!" he yelled, "It's a decoy! You're opening the rift, not closing it!"
"What? Explain yourself, Apprentice Hatcher, we are running out of time!" said Wizard Giller.
"And now we have even less time! The energy you're putting into breaking the weave is being channeled by the edge strands! Follow them to the end and you'll see for yourself!"
Wizard Harvin closed his eyes for a second and opened them with a start. "He's right! The real rift is somewhere in the Ethereal Plane!"
Abruptly, Kenny cried out, "I got it! It's a puzzle knot! My grandma used to make me puzzles like these.... see, if you pull anywhere in the weave, it will tip the egg - well, in this case, open the rift - but there will always be at least one spot, where if you tug sharply..." he demonstrated by breaking a strand, "it will tear!"
The Wizards and apprentices studied the knot, but Kenny was already working too fast to follow. He would tenderly test a spot, and then suddenly tug at another spot to break a strand. Slowly, the weave began to unravel... and when it fell apart, the rift inside disappeared!
The Wizards now glanced at each other uneasily. "Giller, you're the man for the job. We'll protect you," said Wizard Harvin, and the three of them opened dimension doors to step fully into the Ethereal Plane.
"What was that about?" asked Kenny.
"I don't know. Let me find out," said Nevin, as he cast another scrying spell. He opened his eyes wide and said in a hushed tone, "Wizard Verner is there in the Ethereal Plane. He's fighting a demon with a staff and horns... they're really having a go at each other, with Ninth Circle spells and such. The rift is near, guarded by a bunch of summoned nasties. I sensed a summoning pool nearby, I think there will be more creatures the longer we wait. But the rift is almost open... there's too little time for Wizard Giller alone to destroy it. We have to go and distract the creatures so that the other Wizards can help him."
Deek went white at that statement, but nodded his head. "You'll have to step through the dimension door first, Kenny. I can't hold it open from the other end."
And so they stepped through dimension doors, into a scene of total chaos as Wizards Harvin and Justyn threw magical energies to rip through nightmarish creatures charging at them from all directions. Wizard Giller was seated in a deep trance, concentrating on the rift floating above them. Kenny whispered a silent prayer and let loose the one attacking spell he knew. Somehow, the raw magical energy worked against these creatures, and as the other apprentices joined the melee, the Wizards nodded and joined Wizard Giller in trance.
As more and more creatures fell away, there seemed to be less of them coming at them. We might actually survive this, thought Kenny. That was when Deek clutched his side with a cry as one of the creatures clawed him. Even as he fell, he had the presence of mind to dimension door back to the Prime Plane.
Nevin and Kenny worked feverishly to protect the Wizards, when the battle between Wizard Verner and the Rift Guardian shifted closer to their location. Realizing what was happening, the Guardian dropped his guard to summon two creatures to attack the apprentices. Wizard Verner did not miss his opportunity, a glowing blade of pure energy in his hand decapitating the Guardian.
Nevin froze as he recognized the creature. Y'garian hunter - fast, ferocious, and impervious to all combat spells below the Seventh Circle. Even the textbook said, Run! But he couldn't afford to do that. Even if he died, he had to give the entranced wizards the time they needed. He chose a spell and chanted.
Kenny was about to throw another magical missile when he saw Nevin go white as sheet and decided to change tact. He pulled out a sling and a stone from his pocket and let fly, just as the creature flew for his throat...
Nevin opened a dimension door in front of him, just when the creature jumped for him - and it continued its leap straight into the Prime Plane. And watched in disbelief as Kenny splattered a Y'garian hunter's brain with nothing more than a rabbit sling!
Wizard Verner unsteadily walked up to them. Nevin asked him, "How long can that thing survive in the Prime Plane?"
"About a couple of seconds, then it will crumble into dust," he replied as he dug in the remaining hunter's head for the stone. "Obsidian?" he raised his eyebrows.
"My lucky rock," said Kenny, and added helpfully, "my grandma gave it to me."
Behind them, the rift snapped shut in a spectacular explosion.
Back in the Prime Plane, the Green Company were still standing. Not a single demon was. The twins lay unconscious from prolonged spellcasting. Wizard Xartan sat on a rock, nursing unseen injuries. The other necromancer had gotten away.
Deek lay clutching his side, when a portal suddenly opened in front of him and a Y'garian hunter leapt out, heading straight for him! He screamed as it struck for his throat...
And opened his eyes to see a pile of dust lying in front of him.
Monday, April 23, 2007
It happens...
Have fun, says the Doc
After being laid low for what seems like ages by an illness, the doctors finally diagnosed it and have begun treatment. Essentially the conversation went something like, "You have a somewhat rare condition but we've identified it and there are effective ways to treat this. By the way, have you been under a lot of emotional stress lately?"
Damn! Why do these doctors ask questions to which they already know the answers? Apparently my condition is heavily linked to stress, and I've been advised to take things easy in life, have more fun and avoid stress. It's a rather bizarre prescription to give a patient who is yet to hit his 24th birthday, made even worse by 2 facts:
a) I've actually noticed that my health takes a dip when my personal life pendulum swings away from "Balmy" and towards "Crisis"
b) Asking me not to worry about things is like asking a fire to be cold or ice to be warm. I mean, some people are natural worriers, capiche?
So although you may think I've been told the best possible thing by my doc - the license to have fun - the truth is, I have to face the fact that I may have a relapse if I'm not careful about as little a thing as what's on my mind!
How personal is personal?
I make no bones about the fact that this is a personal blog. I'll never win a popularity contest, with the kinds of things you will read on this blog. I'll bet many of you squirmed in your chairs when I admitted to being reduced to tears, a couple of posts ago. I know, most people don't want to know such things about me. But I take the word "personal" very literally, and treat this blog almost like a diary. I do draw the line somewhere - for instance, I've never talked about the recent personal crisis that might have been responsible for aggravating my health problems. And yet, if you read this blog, you are sharing my life. Many who read this are already good friends of mine; but a quick look at my site and feed statistics tells me that there are a few regular readers who I've never had the occasion to say hello to. I'm glad such readers exist. In sharing my life, I'm sharing my life's lessons; and if anybody benefits from that, I'm a happy man.
From Skeletor to He-Man!
Having taken a long vacation to recuperate, I'm now left with a challenging target. See, I lost a good deal of weight - an unbelievable number, actually - over the past couple of months because of my disorder, and a few weeks ago I was naught but skin drawn over a skeleton. I think fondly upon the summers when I went to the fitness club regularly and even succeeded in not looking like a studious geek. To get back to that kind of shape is going to be incredibly hard, given the current condition of my muscles and joints. I ought not even think about a treadmill for at least a month. It's an interesting challenge: let us see then, how far I will succeed in this by the time I have to return to the US.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
After being laid low for what seems like ages by an illness, the doctors finally diagnosed it and have begun treatment. Essentially the conversation went something like, "You have a somewhat rare condition but we've identified it and there are effective ways to treat this. By the way, have you been under a lot of emotional stress lately?"
Damn! Why do these doctors ask questions to which they already know the answers? Apparently my condition is heavily linked to stress, and I've been advised to take things easy in life, have more fun and avoid stress. It's a rather bizarre prescription to give a patient who is yet to hit his 24th birthday, made even worse by 2 facts:
a) I've actually noticed that my health takes a dip when my personal life pendulum swings away from "Balmy" and towards "Crisis"
b) Asking me not to worry about things is like asking a fire to be cold or ice to be warm. I mean, some people are natural worriers, capiche?
So although you may think I've been told the best possible thing by my doc - the license to have fun - the truth is, I have to face the fact that I may have a relapse if I'm not careful about as little a thing as what's on my mind!
How personal is personal?
I make no bones about the fact that this is a personal blog. I'll never win a popularity contest, with the kinds of things you will read on this blog. I'll bet many of you squirmed in your chairs when I admitted to being reduced to tears, a couple of posts ago. I know, most people don't want to know such things about me. But I take the word "personal" very literally, and treat this blog almost like a diary. I do draw the line somewhere - for instance, I've never talked about the recent personal crisis that might have been responsible for aggravating my health problems. And yet, if you read this blog, you are sharing my life. Many who read this are already good friends of mine; but a quick look at my site and feed statistics tells me that there are a few regular readers who I've never had the occasion to say hello to. I'm glad such readers exist. In sharing my life, I'm sharing my life's lessons; and if anybody benefits from that, I'm a happy man.
From Skeletor to He-Man!
Having taken a long vacation to recuperate, I'm now left with a challenging target. See, I lost a good deal of weight - an unbelievable number, actually - over the past couple of months because of my disorder, and a few weeks ago I was naught but skin drawn over a skeleton. I think fondly upon the summers when I went to the fitness club regularly and even succeeded in not looking like a studious geek. To get back to that kind of shape is going to be incredibly hard, given the current condition of my muscles and joints. I ought not even think about a treadmill for at least a month. It's an interesting challenge: let us see then, how far I will succeed in this by the time I have to return to the US.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
It's settled, then
I'm dropping the semester and going home to recover from the battering my health has taken.
Will continue to be in touch with ye all, and will continue to blog. Cheerio!
Prashanth.
Will continue to be in touch with ye all, and will continue to blog. Cheerio!
Prashanth.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
The Weeping Willow and the Willing Weep-o
Today was a surprising day.
I did two things I hadn't been able to do in a long time: attend a class and meet my advisor. This, a natural result of being sick in some form or the other for nearly a month.
I expected some semi-stern orders from my advisor to catch up on the research for the project I've been funded on, but I couldn't have been farther from the truth. My advisor took one look at me and asked me how much weight I've lost over the past few months. I winced and told him the truth. I'd already emailed him about the problems I'd been having, so I poured out my grudges against the university hospital and the pennsylvanian weather. He told me that health should come first, and said he would speak to the graduate advisor about getting me permission to drop everything and go home to recover. (He'd already given me permission to take the entire summer off.)
I was shocked! When I'd been at the depth of my misery two weeks ago, I had such thoughts but dismissed them later as absurd, my advisor wouldn't allow me to do something like that unless the situation was really hopeless. I told him now that I will give that thought serious consideration, but since I am feeling stronger than I did last week, I think I ought to wait another week and see if my condition continues to improve. My advisor said it was my call, and he would relieve me of research work for the rest of the semester if I choose to stay.
What concern! What compassion! Nobody's ever been this kind to me. As I walked away from his office, I found myself choking with emotion. And then I called up my Mom to tell her what I'd just been told, and that I am seriously considering returning home. I'd been "protecting" her by not telling all my troubles, so now that I am only left with a few minor symptons, I poured out the entire truth of the past few weeks. My voice broke down by the time I reached the end of my monologue, so I hastily said goodnight and hung up.
And then I wept, there by the windowsill at the end of the corridor, as a bemused american undergrad walked past me to the stairwell. I composed myself, walked back to my lab and informed my friends that I am thinking of dropping the semester and going back to India next week. But one month of pent-up pain and frustration wasn't done with me; my voice broke again and my eyes glistened. They waited till I had a full hold on myself and dragged me to a restaurant for lunch to cheer me up.
A couple of hours later, as my advisor returned from his lunch, he brought me a parcel, courtesy his wife. It contained idlis, which any South Indian worth his salt will tell you is the best food for convalescing patients. Lovingly packed with it was some andhra-style spicy chutney.
I should have wept again. But heck, where does logic ever apply when it comes to my emotions?
I smiled.
I did two things I hadn't been able to do in a long time: attend a class and meet my advisor. This, a natural result of being sick in some form or the other for nearly a month.
I expected some semi-stern orders from my advisor to catch up on the research for the project I've been funded on, but I couldn't have been farther from the truth. My advisor took one look at me and asked me how much weight I've lost over the past few months. I winced and told him the truth. I'd already emailed him about the problems I'd been having, so I poured out my grudges against the university hospital and the pennsylvanian weather. He told me that health should come first, and said he would speak to the graduate advisor about getting me permission to drop everything and go home to recover. (He'd already given me permission to take the entire summer off.)
I was shocked! When I'd been at the depth of my misery two weeks ago, I had such thoughts but dismissed them later as absurd, my advisor wouldn't allow me to do something like that unless the situation was really hopeless. I told him now that I will give that thought serious consideration, but since I am feeling stronger than I did last week, I think I ought to wait another week and see if my condition continues to improve. My advisor said it was my call, and he would relieve me of research work for the rest of the semester if I choose to stay.
What concern! What compassion! Nobody's ever been this kind to me. As I walked away from his office, I found myself choking with emotion. And then I called up my Mom to tell her what I'd just been told, and that I am seriously considering returning home. I'd been "protecting" her by not telling all my troubles, so now that I am only left with a few minor symptons, I poured out the entire truth of the past few weeks. My voice broke down by the time I reached the end of my monologue, so I hastily said goodnight and hung up.
And then I wept, there by the windowsill at the end of the corridor, as a bemused american undergrad walked past me to the stairwell. I composed myself, walked back to my lab and informed my friends that I am thinking of dropping the semester and going back to India next week. But one month of pent-up pain and frustration wasn't done with me; my voice broke again and my eyes glistened. They waited till I had a full hold on myself and dragged me to a restaurant for lunch to cheer me up.
A couple of hours later, as my advisor returned from his lunch, he brought me a parcel, courtesy his wife. It contained idlis, which any South Indian worth his salt will tell you is the best food for convalescing patients. Lovingly packed with it was some andhra-style spicy chutney.
I should have wept again. But heck, where does logic ever apply when it comes to my emotions?
I smiled.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
A Short Story: Mending a Rift - Part 1
(Yet another fantasy short story with magic and wizardry! Fantasy lovers rejoice! The rest of you, have patience!)
The ancient cart rattled on along the dusty road. On seeing someone walking down the road, the man riding the cart reined in to asked for directions.
"Is this the way to the Wizard Tower?"
Sharp eyes took in a tired-looking farmer and four huddled children. "Don't need directions no more, go over that hillock and you can see 'er for yourself."
"Thank you."
"You look mighty desperate, and I don't blame you. But sometimes the price is too high."
The farmer blanched but continued on his way. He glanced back at his precious children. Could he really give one up? Was it worth it? Then he thought about his wife, held up a foot from the ground as the hellish creature crushed her neck...
Retribution was worth anything right now.
---
Wizard Harvin was tired. He was tired of listening to stupid requests from nobles with petty schemes. There was no way the Tower could involve itself with any of them. What he wouldn't give for a...
Standing in his office was a commoner with four children, every one of them shining like full moons with the Power.
Harvin rubbed his eyes and bade them sit down. The farmer wasted few words. He came from a village far west, almost at the Selyssian border. Strange creatures had emerged suddenly one day and attacked their village, killing nearly half of the villagers including his wife. Weapons were no good against their hard shells and sharp talons. His family had only managed to survive because a passing magician had fought off the creatures, and counselled the entire village to leave before they came back.
Harvin took notes and called for additional counsel. The peasant's story bore checking out. Besides, if he was willing to apprentice one of his children to the Tower....
He had drifted in his thoughts when one of the boys piped up, "Begging your pardon, sir, but the attack was far from random. Wizard Verner said they were harvesting Desune's blood for opening a dee... demon... dimensional rift."
And the three wizards who happened to walk in at that point froze in the middle of their steps.
Harvin eyed the boy warily. "Tell the story again, boy. Fully and from the beginning."
---
"Wizard Verner popped into our village one day out of nowhere. Kepp - that's our Ranger - swears he was watching the roads and ne'er saw him coming, and that's impossible 'cos Kepp's got the best eyes in all of Hesnia."
"Anyway, he told us that he had come to investigate a... wrongness... in the hills northwest of our village. At this point Kepp became excited because he'd felt it too, and there was some places where the birds and little animals refused to go anymore, only we'd told him to forget it 'cos it had nothing to do with us anyway."
"But Wizard Verner said it was important, and it might affect the earth for miles around. Now, we're farmers and herders back in Eringvale, so now we became concerned and told Wizard Verner to take Kepp and poke around to see what was wrong."
"They looked around for a couple of days and I tagged along. Wizard Verner taught me a little magic, too. See?" The lad closed his eyes and recited a phrase from memory, then clapped his hands in front of him; a dull glow of light emanated from his palms. It lasted a couple of seconds before flickering out. The farmer winced at the demonstrationg but the boy glared back at him.
The Wizards exchanged glances. "Go on with the story, lad," said Wizard Harvin.
"Anyway, Wizard Verner looked more and more unhappy everyday, the more he saw. And then suddenly he stood up erect and cried, To the village! It's under attack!"
"Naturally Kepp and I were confused but we ran as hard as we could back to the village... and sure enough, there was this bunch of creatures attacking the village. They had talons instead of hands and I saw Blacksmith Jarvis swing a sword at one of them, it just reflected off the body like it was made of armor..."
"Them creatures were behaving strangely, though. Some people they cut with their talons like they were meat. Others they crushed the necks and dragged the bodies back with them.
"Soon as we came within range, Wizard Verner spoke a harsh word and an arrow of fire shot out from his hand to the nearest creature, but it bounced off like Kepp's regular arrows, although it were made of pure elly...ellymintal energy. Wizard Verner was deathly surprised at this, and threw a lightning bolt, and when that bounced off he blasted the earth to knock the nearest ones off their feet."
"Then he leapt over to a hillock - near thirty feet in one leap, mind you, and started tossing fireballs into their midst. That didn't ruffle them either, but it got their attention."
"At this point, Wizard Verner started some really complicated spell - as though he were calling something from heaven itself - and sure enough, a bunch of fiery rocks came streaking in out of the skies and punched holes through 'em creatures."
One of the Wizards leapt off his seat and yelled, "A meteorite strike spell! Without an apprentice to support and ground him! He's barking mad!"
Harvin quietened him down, "He was desperate, Regus. I might have done the same in his position. Continue, lad. So then Verner collapsed on the hillock as the creatures ran away?"
The boy looked puzzled. "No, sir. The creatures were still moving. And Wizard Verner was still standing. He the called up some green smoky stuff that got the wounded creatures all screaming..."
"Acid fog. After calling a meteorite strike! Amazing! So then he collapsed?"
"No, sir. A couple of 'em creatures were climbing up the hillock so I yelled at him to run, and he simply jumped down the thirty feet and landed like a feather. By now the creatures had enough and they ran, but they took some of our dead with 'em."
"That's when Wizard Verner told us to leave before they came back, and told my Da to come here if he wanted Ma avenged.." and the boy started crying. Everyone watched uncomfortably as he wiped his tears away and defiantly ended his report. "Then he gave me his ring to give you.." handing the ring over, "and said you would believe me if I said to you that stuff about harvesting blood and dimensional rifts and all that. And then he walked over to our bed and he collapsed like you said."
And with that, the boy leaned back like a deflated balloon.
Harvin held out the ring and said a word to trigger the illusion that identified the owner of the ring. "Winston Verner, Class of 682" the words floated up, circling a three-dimensional miniature reproduction of the Wizard Tower itself. That was to be expected. What was not expected was a monkey striking a salute from the arch-wizard's chamber.
Harvin smiled. "Verner's personal touch. There is no doubt about the veracity of the story now."
The Wizards in the chamber looked at each other uncomfortably, and one of them spoke, "I never thought I'd see the day when I say this, but I think we need help if we are to do this."
Harvin smiled his mysterious smile, "You're quite right about that. We need to bring in some professionals." He turned to the farmer. "Regarding your payment..."
"Take him," pointing to the boy who had given the story, "I think he actually wants to study in this God-forsaken place."
"...in cases like these," Harvin continued smoothly, "when the entire realm is affected, no payment is necessary and we thank you for bringing the issue to our notice. And if payment had been required, gold would suffice, but that would be waived if you are willing to apprentice one Talented child to the Tower. As it now stands, you can leave the boy here or take him with you if you wish. But he is strong in the Power - all your children are - and I strongly advise you to leave him with us. He will do great good to the realm one day."
"I'm staying," said the boy, crossing his arms.
And that settled one issue.
Now it only remained to stop a demon army and mend a dimensional rift....
To be continued.
The ancient cart rattled on along the dusty road. On seeing someone walking down the road, the man riding the cart reined in to asked for directions.
"Is this the way to the Wizard Tower?"
Sharp eyes took in a tired-looking farmer and four huddled children. "Don't need directions no more, go over that hillock and you can see 'er for yourself."
"Thank you."
"You look mighty desperate, and I don't blame you. But sometimes the price is too high."
The farmer blanched but continued on his way. He glanced back at his precious children. Could he really give one up? Was it worth it? Then he thought about his wife, held up a foot from the ground as the hellish creature crushed her neck...
Retribution was worth anything right now.
---
Wizard Harvin was tired. He was tired of listening to stupid requests from nobles with petty schemes. There was no way the Tower could involve itself with any of them. What he wouldn't give for a...
Standing in his office was a commoner with four children, every one of them shining like full moons with the Power.
Harvin rubbed his eyes and bade them sit down. The farmer wasted few words. He came from a village far west, almost at the Selyssian border. Strange creatures had emerged suddenly one day and attacked their village, killing nearly half of the villagers including his wife. Weapons were no good against their hard shells and sharp talons. His family had only managed to survive because a passing magician had fought off the creatures, and counselled the entire village to leave before they came back.
Harvin took notes and called for additional counsel. The peasant's story bore checking out. Besides, if he was willing to apprentice one of his children to the Tower....
He had drifted in his thoughts when one of the boys piped up, "Begging your pardon, sir, but the attack was far from random. Wizard Verner said they were harvesting Desune's blood for opening a dee... demon... dimensional rift."
And the three wizards who happened to walk in at that point froze in the middle of their steps.
Harvin eyed the boy warily. "Tell the story again, boy. Fully and from the beginning."
---
"Wizard Verner popped into our village one day out of nowhere. Kepp - that's our Ranger - swears he was watching the roads and ne'er saw him coming, and that's impossible 'cos Kepp's got the best eyes in all of Hesnia."
"Anyway, he told us that he had come to investigate a... wrongness... in the hills northwest of our village. At this point Kepp became excited because he'd felt it too, and there was some places where the birds and little animals refused to go anymore, only we'd told him to forget it 'cos it had nothing to do with us anyway."
"But Wizard Verner said it was important, and it might affect the earth for miles around. Now, we're farmers and herders back in Eringvale, so now we became concerned and told Wizard Verner to take Kepp and poke around to see what was wrong."
"They looked around for a couple of days and I tagged along. Wizard Verner taught me a little magic, too. See?" The lad closed his eyes and recited a phrase from memory, then clapped his hands in front of him; a dull glow of light emanated from his palms. It lasted a couple of seconds before flickering out. The farmer winced at the demonstrationg but the boy glared back at him.
The Wizards exchanged glances. "Go on with the story, lad," said Wizard Harvin.
"Anyway, Wizard Verner looked more and more unhappy everyday, the more he saw. And then suddenly he stood up erect and cried, To the village! It's under attack!"
"Naturally Kepp and I were confused but we ran as hard as we could back to the village... and sure enough, there was this bunch of creatures attacking the village. They had talons instead of hands and I saw Blacksmith Jarvis swing a sword at one of them, it just reflected off the body like it was made of armor..."
"Them creatures were behaving strangely, though. Some people they cut with their talons like they were meat. Others they crushed the necks and dragged the bodies back with them.
"Soon as we came within range, Wizard Verner spoke a harsh word and an arrow of fire shot out from his hand to the nearest creature, but it bounced off like Kepp's regular arrows, although it were made of pure elly...ellymintal energy. Wizard Verner was deathly surprised at this, and threw a lightning bolt, and when that bounced off he blasted the earth to knock the nearest ones off their feet."
"Then he leapt over to a hillock - near thirty feet in one leap, mind you, and started tossing fireballs into their midst. That didn't ruffle them either, but it got their attention."
"At this point, Wizard Verner started some really complicated spell - as though he were calling something from heaven itself - and sure enough, a bunch of fiery rocks came streaking in out of the skies and punched holes through 'em creatures."
One of the Wizards leapt off his seat and yelled, "A meteorite strike spell! Without an apprentice to support and ground him! He's barking mad!"
Harvin quietened him down, "He was desperate, Regus. I might have done the same in his position. Continue, lad. So then Verner collapsed on the hillock as the creatures ran away?"
The boy looked puzzled. "No, sir. The creatures were still moving. And Wizard Verner was still standing. He the called up some green smoky stuff that got the wounded creatures all screaming..."
"Acid fog. After calling a meteorite strike! Amazing! So then he collapsed?"
"No, sir. A couple of 'em creatures were climbing up the hillock so I yelled at him to run, and he simply jumped down the thirty feet and landed like a feather. By now the creatures had enough and they ran, but they took some of our dead with 'em."
"That's when Wizard Verner told us to leave before they came back, and told my Da to come here if he wanted Ma avenged.." and the boy started crying. Everyone watched uncomfortably as he wiped his tears away and defiantly ended his report. "Then he gave me his ring to give you.." handing the ring over, "and said you would believe me if I said to you that stuff about harvesting blood and dimensional rifts and all that. And then he walked over to our bed and he collapsed like you said."
And with that, the boy leaned back like a deflated balloon.
Harvin held out the ring and said a word to trigger the illusion that identified the owner of the ring. "Winston Verner, Class of 682" the words floated up, circling a three-dimensional miniature reproduction of the Wizard Tower itself. That was to be expected. What was not expected was a monkey striking a salute from the arch-wizard's chamber.
Harvin smiled. "Verner's personal touch. There is no doubt about the veracity of the story now."
The Wizards in the chamber looked at each other uncomfortably, and one of them spoke, "I never thought I'd see the day when I say this, but I think we need help if we are to do this."
Harvin smiled his mysterious smile, "You're quite right about that. We need to bring in some professionals." He turned to the farmer. "Regarding your payment..."
"Take him," pointing to the boy who had given the story, "I think he actually wants to study in this God-forsaken place."
"...in cases like these," Harvin continued smoothly, "when the entire realm is affected, no payment is necessary and we thank you for bringing the issue to our notice. And if payment had been required, gold would suffice, but that would be waived if you are willing to apprentice one Talented child to the Tower. As it now stands, you can leave the boy here or take him with you if you wish. But he is strong in the Power - all your children are - and I strongly advise you to leave him with us. He will do great good to the realm one day."
"I'm staying," said the boy, crossing his arms.
And that settled one issue.
Now it only remained to stop a demon army and mend a dimensional rift....
To be continued.
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