Taking inventory of his magical prowess, Tartum felt suddenly meek and unworthy in front of this man. He knew very few spells that he thought would impress him, if any. His magic was simple in nature and more utilitarian than powerful. Feeling sorry for himself, Tartum lowered his eyes and replied. “I know a handful of simple spells. Magic my former master called “Farmers Magic.” I can mend clothes, repair small tools, manipulate small objects about twenty feet from me, kill weeds and plantlife, detect water, put a ward on items and doors, enchant metal with light, heal animals but not humans, set or extinguish a small fire, create a orb of light, cause short term paralyzation, and cast a small fire orb spell. I can also scribe scrolls pretty well.” Tartum answered. He fully expected Rashlarr to be unimpressed.
Rashlarr looked at him for a moment with an introverted look on his face and then shook his head disapprovingly. “That is a shame, Tartum, I had expected more. Your last master did you a great disservice. Come, let us remedy his failure.” He said. Tartum noticed Rashlarr’s tone changed, just like Isidor’s used to, when he took on his role as master. It was an old quirk Tartum was used to, and he began to like Rashlarr more because of it.
“Bring your spellbook and your staff. You’ll need them both. It’s time to make you dangerous to more than inconvenient plant life.” he said, with no mirth in his voice. Rashlarr was in full training mode now, and the familiarity of his tone and demeanor made Tartum feel at home. He had a feeling he was going to enjoy this training even more than the lockpicking sessions with Elizabeth.
...
They made their way to Rashlarr’s side of the basement. Tartum had never been down this side of the hallway and had been warned not to. Rashlarr apparently had warding spells that would kill anyone that attempted to enter uninvited. As they walked down the narrow hallway, to what Tartum assumed was Rashlarr’s lair, he suddenly stopped and turned to him. Reaching out his hand, Rashlarr gave him a small ring.
“Take this, apprentice. You must wear this ring in order to enter my chambers. Without it, my wards will kill you and incinerate your corpse before your mind as a chance to register the fact you’re dead.” Rashlarr told him. His emotionless voice had not changed since they left his room. Tartum put the ring on without hesitation. Looking down at his hand, Tartum saw the ring was nothing special. A simple gold band with a small, triangular black stone pressed into the metal. It didn’t seem magical at all, and Tartum wondered if Rashlarr was just playing a trick on him. Instinctually, Tartum looked around for Vaund.
If any of this registered with Rashlarr, he gave no sign and motioned for Tartum to follow. About ten paces ahead, Tartum felt a cold, tingling sensation pass over his body. It caused him to gasp. This, Rashlarr took notice of and spoke. “What you felt was that ring saving your life from my ward. You passed your first lesson, Tartum. Do what I tell you to do without question.” With that, Rashlarr continued into the room; with a gulp, Tartum followed.
The room he entered was dark, and Tartum found he was barely able to see. For a moment, he debated on opening himself to the magic and invoking the light enchantment on his staff but decided against it. If Rashlarr wanted him to see, he had to power to provide light. Tartum decided this was probably another test and quickened his pace so he could still see his new master. As if Tartum’s thoughts had triggered a reaction, Rashlarr spoke. “Ne-ith!”
At his command, the entire room lit up. Torches all along the walls and on the ceiling burst to life, flooding the room with light. Tartum closed his eyes instinctually but found it was unnecessary. The light that the torches provided wasn’t piercing or blinding. It was the perfect amount of light, at the perfect intensity to light up the room without causing discomfort. Now that Tartum could see the room they were in, he was shocked at its size!
The room itself was shaped like the top half of a sphere. The ceiling was easily a fifty foot high dome. The room was circular, with a flat, solid stone floor that looked like it had seen quite a few battles in its time. There were scorch marks marring its surface with scratches and gouges everywhere. The room was easily two hundred yards in any direction from the center and other than the torches and battlescars, it was completly empty. Tartum noticed that the doorway they had come through had vanished, and there seemed to be no way in or out of this room. The realization made Tartum a little nervous. He didn’t like to feel trapped in a room ever since his experience with the Null Box, and if it hadn’t been for this room’s size and shape, he didn’t know if he would have been able to keep his composure.
His discomfort must have been apparent, for Rashlarr acknowledged his concerns. “Get control of yourself, apprentice. A simple word of command will make the door reappear. I make the doorways vanish for safety reasons. In this room, I will be teaching you powerful magic spells and summoning creatures for you to do battle against that are so powerful, if they got out, could kill everyone in the guild. The magics we will be practicing with will test your mettle with every syllable and if someone were to unexpectedly walk in or disturb you, they could kill us or themselves. You wouldn’t like it if Elizabeth came down to watch you, unexpectedly, and caught a lightning bolt to the face now, would you? Not even Vaund could heal that kind of injury.” he finished.
As much senseTartum knew Rashlarr had just made, it did nothing to change how he was feeling about being in this room. He wasn’t positive, but he could have sworn the walls were closing in on him. “I understand, Master. After the Null Box...I’ve had...difficulty...with being locked inside a room.” Tartum tried to explain.
Rashlarr was unmoved. “Control your fear, Apprentice. You’re a full grown man in possession of great power. You don’t have the luxury of allowing childish, illogical panic to hold sway over you. If you lose your concentration, if you fail to do exactly what I show you to do, or make one wrong move, you will be hurt, killed, or worse...succumb to burn out. You must control your mind, don’t allow it to control you. Otherwise, these lesson will be short, and you will be dead.” He warned. His tone let Tartum know there was no room for argument.
Focusing his courage through will alone, Tartum beat down his fear and forced himself to make eye contact with Rashlarr. “Yes, Master.” He replied.
Rashlarr smiled like Isidor used to smile at him when he had done something to make him proud. For a moment, Tartum almost thought Rashlarr could be Isidor’s brother, they were so much alike in demeanor. Tartum forced the thought from his mind. This was not the time for nostalgia. This was the time for magic!
Rashlarr reached inside his robes and pulled out a bag about the size of a grapefruit. It was bulging with what looked like small rocks. The stink that came from it was overpowering. It reminded him of week old, rotting eggs. Without realizing it, Tartum covered his nose with the sleeve of his robes. Rashlarr gave him a disapproving look and tossed the bag to Tartum. Catching it, Tartum braved a question.
“Ugh, what is this?” The disgust was plain in his voice.
Rashlarr’s response was cold and scathing. “The contents of that bag are used for the spell I’m about to teach you. It’s called sulfur, and the properties it contains allow you to cast a spell that’s so ferocious that even if you miss, your enemies will flee. If you can’t stomach a little foul odor, then maybe you shouldn’t practice magic and get into the fine profession of singing and dancing. I hear those fools wear perfume and scented oils quite often.” The sour look on Rashlarr’s face could have turned milk into cheese.
Ashamed of himself, Tartum inhaled deeply. His eyes watered, and for a moment, he thought he might lose his lunch. Getting control of himself, he looked up at his master again. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it, Master.” he said.
Nodding in approval, Rashlarr replied. “Glad you’ve had a change of heart. Let’s begin.”
“The spell is simple but will require you to focus in a way you haven’t done before.” Rashlarr began, “Take the sulfur, and put it in your hand, then place your other hand above it and say
the words, Doctay-von-we. This will cause the magic to pour into the sulfur and change it from a bad smelling rock into a ball of fire. The more sulfur you use, the bigger the ball will be. Take care to choose the proper amount. Make sure to only use enough to get the job done. You don’t want to destroy an entire building, when all you want is to blow open a door for example. Once you have infused the sulfur with magic, you must concentrate and use your will to keep the fire in ball form. Once you’re sure the fireball is stable, you must carefully split your focus. Half of your concentration must be on keeping the fireball stable, and the other half must be on your target. Once you’ve gotten that, you speak the command, beath! This will launch the fireball at your target. Make sure there’s some distance between you and your target. The fireball will explode when it contacts anything. You don’t want to be in the blast.” Rashlarr explained.
Tartum listened intently and processed every word, committing Rashlarr’s instructions to memory. Tartum couldn’t believe he was going to learn how to cast a fireball!! This would be the most powerful spell he’d ever learned, and it was the first one Rashlarr was teaching him! Any doubts Tartum had about joining the thieves guild, or concerns that what he had gone through so far to get here not being worth it, were immediately vanquished. Tartum would gladly go through it all over again knowing this was the reward.
Nodding at Tartum, Rashlarr continued to speak, “Ok, I’ll demonstrate once, then it will be your turn. Pay attention, apprentice!” His tone was serious. Tartum did as he was told and gave Rashlarr his undivided attention. Rashlarr dug into a bag hidden somewhere inside the sleeve of his cloak and produced a small amount of sulfur. Tartum still hadn’t gotten completely over the smell. Rashlarr closed his eyes for a moment and then said the words, “Doctay-von-we!” The sulfur jumped six inches above his hand and burst into a roaring fire. The heat eminating from it made Tartum flinch. He was shocked that the heat didn’t cause Rashlarr’s clothes to burst into flames or sear the flesh on his hands. Then he remembered it was all caused by magic, and magic knew its enemies from its allies. Once again, Tartum admired just how perfect magic was.
Tartum shook his head to focus his thoughts. This was no time to be impressed! He needed to concentrate and watch exactly how Rashlarr did this. The idea of splitting his focus while casting made Tartum uneasy. Keeping focused on one thing was hard enough when casting a spell. Keeping focused on multiple targets seemed impossible. As he watched Rashlarr, the fireball went from a chaotic orb of flame to a focused sphere with the fire now flowing in one direction. Rashlarr looked up from the orb he had created and spoke the command, “BEATH!” The fireball shot out of his hand and raced two hundred yards across the room. When it hit the wall, it exploded, spraying fire everywhere within a few feet of the initial impact. “Uush!” he said, and the fires went out, leaving nothing more than some fresh scorch marks and smoke. Tartum recognized the command “uush” as the same word of power he used to extingush small fires. He was surprised it could be used at such long range. He had never tried that before and was glad to have learned at least that much.
The entire casting had been breathtaking from the moment the sulfur turned into fire, until the moment Rashlarr sent it flying across the room, and it exploded on the wall. Tartum’s entire body tingled at the knowledge that this spell would soon be his. Looking back at Rashlarr, Tartum waited for him to give the command.
Smiling, Rashlarr spoke, “Ok, Apprentice, your turn.”
...
Tartum was thrilled. He couldn’t wait to try his hand at the spell. It had been so long since he’d used magic for anything other than enhancing his senses that he had almost forgotten its primary use. Taking a small amount of sulfur from the bag Rashlarr had given him, Tartum opened himself to the magic. Rashlarr stood next to Tartum with a discerning eye, evaluating everything he was doing. The scrutiny made Tartum self conscious, but he was determined to master this new spell and forced his insecurities deep down inside. Placing his hands exactly how he had just seen Rashlarr do, Tartum said the words “Doctay-von-we!” The pull on his magic was sudden but felt alot like the pull his staff put on his magic when he used the light enchantment. Tartum was accustomed to the sensation and recovered immediately. He was a little suprised Rashlarr hadn’t warned him about that, but he decided it was just another test in a series of hurdles they put in his way. The rate at which they set him up for failure never ceased to amaze him. The magic flowed quickly from his hands and into the sulfur which, as Tartum expected, jumped a few inches above his lower hand and burst into flame. The flame in his hand was not what Tartum had expected. Rashlarr’s flame was the typical red, orange, and yellow fire he expected to see. Tartum’s flame was a rich, green color, very similar the the green color of his staff. Taking the chance of losing his concentration, Tartum looked at Rashlarr for an explaination. If Rashlarr was concerned he gave no sign and instead scolded him.
“Pay attention and finish the spell, Apprentice!” His voice was acid on Tartum’s already wavering confidence.
Rashlarr’s rebuke angered Tartum. He felt it was perfectly logical that, since the fire was green, he could look to his new master for an explanation. Wasn’t it? The fact that Rashlarr was so tight lipped and unaccomodating to his concerns, made his anger burn through him. Fine then! Tartum thought to himself, If you want me to figure it out on my own, then I will, you uptight bastard!
Tartum’s thoughts caused him to lose his focus and channel more magic into the sulfur than he meant to. The fire flared up, as it got bigger in his hand, and the green hue of its flames got darker. The change suited Tartum’s mood fine, and he refocused his will. Concentrating, he willed the fire into a sphere by thinking about how Rashlarr’s orb had looked when he had finished. Faster than Tartum expected, the green fire in his hand began spinning clockwise rapidly. The orb was perfect, and Tartum allowed himself to feel proud of his accomplishment.
“STAY FOCUSED, DAMNIT!” Rashlarr yelled at him.
Rashlarr’s outburst startled him, and he saw the fireball beginning to unravel. Not wanting to fail, Tartum focused his considerable will on the orb and forced it back into shape. His anger fled him and was replaced by shame and embarrassment, due to his almost catastrophic mistake. Losing his focus to pat himself on the back, halfway through the casting was a rookie mistake and Tartum resolved not to do it again. Focused completely on the task at hand, Tartum made sure his now large green orb was stable and then looked up at the scorch marked wall, where Rashlarr’s fireball had stuck minutes before. An odd sense of the magic inside him flowing into the fireball and then splitting off from the fireball to the marks on the wall almost proved too much for Tartum. It felt like having one eye look to the left and the other straight up. Digging down deep inside himself, Tartum found the will to fight the panic of this unexpected sensation. He did not wish to fail and desperately wanted to get the spell off on his first try. Just as Tartum thought he might lose his hold on the magic and fail, his anger returned. There was no logical reasoning for it, but suddenly Tartum was mad. Not just mad, furious! The idea that the magic would try to fail him again after all he’d been through infuriated him, and he forced it, just like when he almost destroyed his staff on his light enchantment spell, to do his bidding. Tartum’s focus solidified, and his wavering hold on the magic became an iron fist of control. Looking at the scorched marked wall two hundred yards from him, Tartum bellowed the command. “BEATH!”
The magic Tartum had been channeling into the fireball immediately cut away, and the fireball sped towards the spot Tartum was focused on. It crossed the distance in a matter of seconds and slammed into the wall, exactly on target. The explosion was incredible, bits of rock and stone were thrown everywhere and a few torches near the area of impact disintegrated. Green flames burned brightly all over the stone walls and floors and seemed to be growing stronger, even without anything fueling them. Rashlarr was shouting something and looked concerned. It took a moment for Tartum to regain e
nough composure to hear him properly. His temper always left him feeling weak and disoriented after forcefully casting a spell like that.
“Uush! Uush! UUSH! Damn it!” Rashlarr was saying. The flames were not responding and seemed to be getting larger and more out of control. As Tartum recovered more of his strength, he found himself wondering what it was that fed the flames. There was no wood or burnable material in the room, other than the torches. Last he checked, rock and stone weren’t flamable.
Looking over at Rashlarr, Tartum was about to voice his concern, when he saw a terrifying transformation overtake him. Rashlarr’s face was red and flustered, as he kept yelling the command that should have extingushed the flames. Suddenly, he looked like he heard something that was far way. He nodded, stood perfectly still, and closed his eyes. The change was almost instantaneous. His body writhed, and his face bent into an impossible angle. The features were almost feminine, but so alien Tartum couldn’t be sure. He was terrified, yet he couldn’t look away. Rashlarr’s body became lithe and bent in ways that were impossible. It was then Tartum heard Rashlarr speak. The sound was horrible and beautiful at the same time. The words that came out of his mouth, Tartum couldn’t fathom. The sounds were so foreign, he had trouble figuring out how he was making some of them. The best way to describe the sound was a combination of children laughing, rocks scraping together as they fell into a ravine, and wet meat ploping down on a table. The sound tore at his sanity, and Tartum fell to the ground clawing at his head. As much as he wanted the sound to stop, he found himself craving it at the same time. The dual desires did nothing to help his sanity. Just as he thought he could take no more, the sound stopped and he found himself both relieved and yet deeply dissapointed. He was becoming nauseous with all the conflicting sensations.
The Jade Mage: The Becoming: Volume 1 Page 30
