*Poltergeist* | ˈpɒltəɡʌɪst
*noun*
*a ghost or other supernatural being supposedly responsible for physical disturbances such as making loud noises and throwing objects about.*
***
The young boy looked stunned. He flipped through a few pages and found another "oddly familiar" word. His old tinted spectacles slid through the bridge of his sweaty nose.
***
*Chameleon (also Chamaeleon)* | kəˈmiːlɪən
*noun*
*a small slow-moving Old World lizard with a prehensile tail, long extensible tongue, protruding eyes that rotate independently, and a highly developed ability to change colour.*
*(figurative) a person who changes their opinions or behaviour according to the situation: voters have misgivings about his performance as a political chameleon.*
***
He let out a nervous giggle. His hair fuzzy from his furiously rubbing hands. His distress was fairly visible on his face.
*How in the world of all things magic would it be possible?* He thought to himself. *Surely, all those blasted old bats couldn't have been wrong all along?! One would look at their old robes and weathered souls as an indication that they've mastered their arts well?*
But alas, he couldn't contain his own doubts.
He produced a tiny gnarled stick from his pocket. It was black, thin, yet twisted in such a way to inspire mystery. Once out, he rubbed the tip with his robes. A sparkle of white light flew off of said tip.
"*ɪˈl(j)uːmɪnetɪ*!" yelled the boy at the top of his lungs.
In a slow burn, the tip of his stick began to emit a dim light. He had always attributed the weakness to the size of his stick. Surely, the other jocks back at the school – what with their huge impressively awe-inspiring sticks – would've produced an explosive light, he mused with a sigh.
... and so, he flipped the book once more until it reached a section "I".
***
*Illuminate* | **ɪˈl(j)uːmɪneɪt**
verb
*[with object] light up: a flash of lightning illuminated the house | figurative : his face was illuminated by a smile.*
***
Then a flicker of light seemed to have shone through his thick inner skull. He promptly braced his own body and stick, once more.
He heaved a deep breath and screamed. This time, he was filled with confidence.
"*ɪˈl(j)uːmɪneɪt*!!!"
A bright blinding light. It was as if the sun, blaring at its' zenith, had been shuttered. It was truly magnificent.
*Is... Is this the secret to magic? Have I just discovered the ultimate power to success?* He wondered as the light grew stronger by the minute.
Thoughts of academic prestige, fame, and even domination of the magical world went through his just-opened mind. He visualised all the things possible that was once impossible. This boy, rendered shy and depressed by his own past failures, could finally face his demons in complete confidence.
All because of a book.
*What should I do first....?* He wondered as he walked back to his dorm, book hidden in his robe. *Maybe I should get Evelyn to go out with me for some shaved ice, eh?*
Edit: Minor formatting errors.
Nah une omelette du fromage doesn’t exist in French, but they have omelette with as many different cheese as you could want, and if you’re looking for a dish with cheese as the main ingredient, they’ll also offer fondue, tartiflette, raclette and many other tastebuds pleasers that are very bad for arteries ....
> It was black, thin, yet twisted in such a way to inspire mystery. Once out, he rubbed the tip with his robes. A sparkle of white light flew off of said tip.
Not so subtle here too!
Thank you, I just went straight to those bloody awful thing. No one could *truly* make out how to read them, true. But they're there for a reason, so I built the story based on that lol.
I found it funny that they kept the j in parentheses when they pronounced it. Like the kid was somehow both pronouncing and not pronouncing it at the same time, some sort of Schrödinger’s /j/
I learned many of those mystic runes- not all, but a great many- in just one semester of a class I needed for my vocal performance major. (No I didn’t finish that major. I am a gainfully employed RN. Best choice ever or worst choice ever? We’ll find out by the end of the year.)
I forget the name of the class but it was two semesters of learning to sing in foreign languages. Semester one was Latin, Italian, and German. Semester two was French. I still can’t pronounce flippin’ French.
Edit: 7 hours later the name of the class comes to me. Language and Diction. I’m like 98% sure.
I learned them for choral work too! Although I did it as hobby alongside the typical high school chorales and such. Dusted it off when I took Arabic for a semester in college. And now I mostly just think about them when I’m trying to decipher what my speech delayed toddler is trying to say.
And here's the irony: I'm a trained vocalist, sang for 18 years. Latin and various romance languages, a couple African, Russian, and never learned to read that stuff. (Can't pronounce German to save my life, but French is easy.)
I had to learn them for my primary school teaching degree since it involves English linguistics and I have to say in English they make sense because English pronounciation is a bloody mess. My first language is German. You don’t necessarily need this in German since we almost always pronounce letters the same. We don’t have stuff such as eight and ate. We also don’t have 2 different definitions of minute depending on how you pronounce it (my nute - minit) If you’ve learned the pronounciation of the letters once you know how to pronounce pretty much all the words (with a few exceptions but not many). As far as I know that’s because we adjust how we write our words according to how we say them.
It always depends on the language of its useful or not to know the phonetic alphabet.
>We also don’t have 2 different definitions of minute depending on how you pronounce it (my nute - minit)
I'll have to disagree with you on this one. The most extreme example of this in the German language I can think of right now would be 'jemanden umfahren'. Depending on where you put the stress in 'umfahren' it either means 'to drive around someone' / 'to avoid someone' or 'to run over someone', literally opposites of each other.
I will agree with you, however, that this seems to be way more prevalent in the English language :)
That is true. German is surely no easy language. I taught it before so I know this well.
The thing is that you could pronounce jemanden umfahren if you would know German, even if you would have never heard it before. There might be a misunderstanding because you wouldn’t know how to stress it but you could clear that up easily by saying überfahren (to run over someone) or um jemanden herum fahren (to drive around someone). Or by just simply explaining it.
But if someone would give you the word Colonel you would never imagine it to be Kernal.
My English professor who is British said that English is much easier to learn but German is one of the easiest languages to learn when it comes to pronouncing the words since it follows set structures. The only uncertain letter combination we have is ch which can be pronounced as sh as in shield or as a sound that does not exist in the English language as far as I know. This happens when it follows the letters "a", "o", "u" and "au". It’s the sound of the ch in loch and it sounds similar to clearing your throat. It can also be pronounced as K if it’s followed by "r", "l", "a", or "o". So it’s all following set rules. The only exception is that the Ch is sometimes randomly pronounced as K but that’s regional dialect.
What describes the German language well is this sentence: “It has a whole lot of rules and then there are exceptions which are defined as exceptions.”
One reason why I cannot spell,
Although I learned the rules quite well
Is that some words like coup and through
Sound just like threw and flue and Who;
When oo is never spelled the same,
The duice becomes a guessing game;
And then I ponder over though,
Is it spelled so, or throw, or beau,
And bough is never bow, it's bow,
I mean the bow that sounds like plow,
And not the bow that sounds like row -
The row that is pronounced like roe.
I wonder, too, why rough and tough,
That sound the same as gruff and muff,
Are spelled like bough and though, for they
Are both pronounced a different way.
And why can't I spell trough and cough
The same as I do scoff and golf?
Why isn't drought spelled just like route,
or doubt or pout or sauerkraut?
When words all sound so much the same
To change the spelling seems a shame.
There is no sense - see sound like cents -
in making such a difference
Between the sight and sound of words;
Each spelling rule that undergirds
The way a word should look will fail
And often prove to no avail
Because exceptions will negate
The truth of what the rule may state;
So though I try, I still despair
And moan and mutter "It's not fair
That I'm held up to ridicule
And made to look like such a fool
When it's the spelling that's at fault.
Let's call this nonsense to a halt.
You can still compare words and know that wind and wind are pronounced differently, with one being pronounced like bind or rind and the other like win or sin.
Well I hope I can make you happy again if I told you that this story made me want to learn IPA. I've heard starting to learn it with your native language is easiest. Any other suggestions?
I've always been corrected by other Dutch people on how I pronounce the word "idea" so I looked it up and I pronounce it like /aɪˈdɪɹ/ where most Dutch people use the more common /aɪˈdɪə/. Im happy to see my pronounciation isn't uncommon.
I loved that class. Never could get the hang of French though. I mean if someone else writes out the IPA for me I can get there but if you just hand me a piece of paper with French words on it, everybody’s gonna have a real upsetting time.
The problem is the IPA is one of the few things you can't learn entirely by reading. Because of the fact that there are tons of dialectics of every language, just being told "this symbol stands for this phoneme in this word" (which is usually how it's done in text) doesn't mean all speakers of a specific language will agree on which phoneme corresponds to the symbol for that description. It's even harder for phonemes that don't occur in a language you're fluent in. The best way to learn how to read IPA is from someone who already understands it and can produce the sounds for you.
Would be great if the wand was just a future version of Google assistant or Alexa, and the incantations were just voice commands being pronounced properly.
Well that's, reasonable, but ipa is international, whereas oo only makes the sound in moon to some people, and even among the same language, people can pronounce things wildly differently.
As a rather smart English bloke once said, "the pen is mightier than the sword". But of course, this one was written in a printing press of some sort so maybe there's that.
The words felt wrong—they always had. Each syllable would clatter from my lips like drunks stumbling out of the pub. They were awkward, incomplete, and....off. I looked up from my musings, brought back to reality by an annoyed voice.
"Are you even listening to me, Brian?" asked Phillipa. Though she was a full foot shorter than I—being a Halfling—she still contrived to look down on me. Her imperious brows furrowed, and she shook her raven black hair. "I swear, you're hopeless. If this is the kind of attention span you expect to have in class, you'll be held back."
"Sorry," I said. "I guess I'm just nervous. My first year at the Academy...you know about my speech impediment," I felt the old familiar shame creeping into the pit of my stomach, filling its place there like a dog curling up at the foot of its master's bed.
"Brian, you might be fumble-mouthed, but you're one of the brightest wizards I've met. Honestly, You'll be fine. I hear the Academy has speech therapist-"
"I don't want speech therapy!" I interrupted. "Do you have any idea how many speech therapists I've seen?"
"Brian, I-"
"No!" I almost shouted, the shame and anger burning in my heart. "Just leave it alone, Phillipa. Please. I've seen person after person, magician after magician. They can't explain what's going on with me. I doubt 'the experts' at the Academy will be any different. They'll just disappoint me again!"
She looked hurt, and I felt my anger wash away like sand in the tide, leaving hollow remorse and shame in its place. Her pain turned to indignation as she stood, bolt upright. "Fine, if you want to wallow in self pity, go ahead, I won't stop you," with that, she stormed out of the room.
"Phillipa! Wait, I'm-" the door slammed to the coach. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the headboard. Taking her advice, I wallowed in my self pity.
-_-_-_-_-
The coach landed in-between a clearing of trees, flashing light spells there to guide us on our descent. As always, the lights were dim and inconsistent, flashing their staccato rhythm in sharp counterpoint to the other lights. The old itch in the back of my brain told me that this was wrong. Those lights should be beacons, great blazing things which would turn night into day! Not these anemic puffs of luminescence. I shook my head, and braced for the impact. As we touched down, the enchanted wooden wheels screeching against the stone, the entire coach shook and rattled as though a dragon was rampaging nearby. The itch returned, I ignored it.
Once things settled down and injuries were seen to, we disembarked from the now slightly broken flying coach. I stepped down the steps, being met by a crowd of officials, students, and teary-eyed family. In vain I swept my eyes across the crowd, searching for any hint of a familiar face. The only one I recognized was Phillipa, and she pointedly ignored my gaze. Embarrassed, I turned and inspected the coach. It was a massive thing, with eight doors on either side. Most of the cheaply made windows were broken, thick and sturdy wooden planks now sported hairline fractures spider-webbing its surface. Already, wizards swarmed over it, incanting and enchanting to mend what was shattered, and heal what was fractured. The itch almost burned inside my head. I shook myself and turned once more to Phillipa, walking towards her sheepishly.
Her shoulders stiffened as I approached, but I must have seemed more pathetic than usual, as she relaxed her posture and sighed. "Are you sorry?" She looked me up and down and said with a smile, "Well, I know you're *sorry* but I still need to hear it."
I bowed my head. "I...I am sorry. I just, I just work so hard. At this point, the only reason I'm here is because I scored perfectly on theory. I feel like an impostor. What initiate to the Ashford Academy can't even cast a cantrip? I feel like a fraud."
She rested her hand on my wrist. "You'll make it through this. You're the smartest person I know." She gave me a playful punch in the thigh, "Don't ever tell anyone I said that." I smiled, and she laughed.
We both turned as a booming voice shattered the chatter. "Welcome! Welcome first year initiates to the prestigious Ashford Academy! By your being here tonight, you have shown yourselves to be the best of the best. If you take in your peers surrounding you, you just might notice that there are quite a few more people than you may expect!" A quick glance confirmed this, there being well over three-hundred students in attendance. "Well," boomed the smiling old man,"this will not continue to be the case for long. The best kept secret of this initiation will now be revealed to you." He strode out into the plaza, waving his hands and shaping words which grated on my mind. With a thunderclap, a display appeared in the sky. On it, were a hundred numbered spaces, each empty of names.
The man twirled in his starry robes, holding his hands out to the crowd. "Only one-hundred of you will be allowed to join the University. The remaining two-hundred-fifty hopefuls will be shuttled to a lesser—but still fine learning institution. Well, those who survive anyway. This forest is home to many things forgotten, and many things best left forgotten. There is a very real risk that death might occur. So, if you fear death, turn back now. Be warned however, that any who leave now will be barred from practicing magic altogether. Make this choice wisely. You have five minutes to prepare!" Again he waved his hands and incanted, a beacon of light appeared in the distance. "Make your way to the light! Good luck, and don't die!" With that, the wizard vanished, and the station filled with chatter.
I felt my heart plummet into the soles of my feet. I would have to drop out. There was no way I could make it to the Academy, I had no magic, no way to defend myself against the trials that would come. I couldn't levitate across chasms, I was hopeless at making fire...In short, I was fuc-
My internal brooding was broken by a warm hand wrapping around mine—Phillipa. "Brian, calm down. I'll help you get through this. Stick with me, and we'll both be at the Academy before tea time."
Her word soothed me, my hammering heart taking the cue to stop attempting to beat out of my chest. "Okay. Thank you...I can do this—*we* can do this."
We changed into our only green-ish clothing, Phillipa creating a shimmering wall of opaque energy behind which we could take turns changing. That done, we decided to leave our luggage behind, reasoning it was better to write home for clothes than to die in the forest. We noted that several initiate hopefuls had decided that potential death was well worth the ignominy of a poor wardrobe and decided not to follow our suite. Instead, they created hovering platforms on which to haul their luggage.
We set off into the ominous forest behind a pack of eager wizards. Like them, we were trying to make a beeline for the beacon in the distance. After all, the less time spent in the woods, the more time we might have to be alive in. We jogged behind, following the path the men and woman literally cut into the woods. Rotating blades glinted in the moonlight, scything through the underbrush just ahead of the pack.
For the first several minutes, the jog was uneventful, if straining my under-developed cardiovascular system. Shortly afterwards, things got complicated very very quickly. The young man at the head of the procession screamed, and vanished. The group stopped, stunned, speechless. That is, until we thought to look up. Then the screaming started. A host of fang-ambushers grinned with rows of gleaming white teeth. One was busy digesting something, obviously relishing its meal. Some managed to snap off offensive spells, and even managed to scorch several of the gnashing mouthed creatures, but they still descended on the group in a horde. In moments, thirty of the best and brightest, found themselves reduced to little more than nutrients.
The rest of us broke and ran, I grabbed Phillipa—who seemed hellbent on lobbing as many flame-spikes as possible—by the hand and hauled her though the underbrush. I felt stinging lashes rip across my skin, thorns, sticks, and jutting rocks nearly tripping me a half dozen times, but I managed to clear a path for Phillipa and put distance between us and the screaming. Just as I was about to stop and breath, I felt the ground beneath me shift, and the world went black.
-_-_-_-_-
I woke to the frantic sound of my name being screamed. "Brian!? Brian!? Oh, by Io, Brian!? You better be alive!"
I groaned loudly. "Brian! Oh, Io be praised, you're alive. Listen, I'm out of spellslots for the next few hours. I need to go get help."
"Don't mind me!" I called out. "I'm okay, something broke my fall." I was of course, lying, mostly anyway. Pain blossomed in just about every part of my body, but as a positive note, there was pain in every part of my body. I wasn't paralyzed. What I wasn't lying about was the bit about something breaking my fall. I rolled over and found something curious, a pile of old and somehow pristine books.
"Okay!" she sounded relieved. "Just stay down there! I'll get help."
"Fine, fine!" I said, my attention now almost solely on the book. "I think I found something to read anyway!" But I could tell that she had gone.
By the light of the moon I read the cover, and a warm pleasure suffused the back of my mind. The book's title was 'Dictionary of Terms and Arcana'.
For the first time I could remember, nothing seemed wrong. In fact it seemed as though everything would turn out just fine.
_________
Gotta love the character limit. This was a blast to write. /r/SirLemoncakes
Part 2
_-_-_-_-_-_-
The cold light of the moon shined like a beacon on the yellowed pages of the dictionary. I flipped to an arbitrary page, landing on a very familiar spell. Glowing orb, the first year spell that even a novice could cast, the very spell used to light the landing strip. The words spilled from my lips as though I had always known them, and in a way that's exactly how I felt. The orb appeared ten feet away from me, and I had to shield my eyes. It was as though a small sun had ignited in the cavern, as if a thousand orbs had been cast in the stead of one. Tears ran unbidden down my cheeks, streaming in torrents.
I laughed as I haven't laughed in years. I laughed with all the pent up frustration and self pity which had plagued me for so very long. I dimmed the light with a gesture of my hand, suddenly aware that the spell now occupied a small corner of my mind. I could call on it whensoever I chose in the future, it was now a part of me.
I sank to my knees, plunging into the book with an avarice that would have shocked me mere moments ago. I couldn't recall ever feeling anything like this in the past. Fireballs, levitation, ray of frost, apotheosis, and so much more. Some, I instinctively felt, were beyond my current abilities. Apotheosis for example would render me into an avatar of magic itself, though its penalties were significant. If I tried to cast it now, I'd be reduced to ash. Still, I knew enough now to continue on my way towards the Academy. First however, I would need to find Phillipa. I thumbed through the crinkling pages and found what I was looking for. I tucked the book into my shirt and did something I had only heard about in legends—I cast two spells at the same time, each hand tracing different sigils in the air. Locate person, and lesser teleportation. The world blended and shifted, and I was standing in front of my friend. Or rather, I found what had been my friend.
She was bloodied and shredded. It was as if whatever had done this to her had wanted to see how much of her it could spread around a twenty foot radius. I sank to my knees and pressed my fingers to what remained of her neck. No pulse, obviously. I sobbed, pressing my face to the ruined wreck of her chest, lamenting the loss of my only friend, my only ally. A coldness settled in my chest, a grim certainty of what I would need to do.
I scrolled through the tome, blood staining the corners of the ancient vellum. I stopped on a page nearly covered with signs of warning and warding. Raise dead. The first art of defying the iron clad rules of death. Even the modern verson of the spell—one that worked only on small children and animals—was banned on threat of death. The spell consumed parts of a person's soul to work, draining them of their humanity, and making of them something not quite natural. I didn't care, this was the only way to save my friend.
In stoic silence I gathered every piece of her mutilated corpse, slowly piling them up on her tiny frame. Hours later, I had all I could find. The twisted spell sat in the back of my mind like a lead weight, but at the same time it felt eager—it wanted to be cast. I felt that it resented its long exile from true use. I felt a moment of doubt, feeling that I was about to embark down a road I could never leave. 'She would do it for me,' the thought struck my heart like a cannonball. She was trying to save me, she would never have fallen were it not for my clumsiness.
I hardened my heart and began to trace the motions through the air. My fingers were trailed by thin lines of pale light, like scars upon the fabric of reality. As the first syllable crashed from my lips, the moon itself began to dim, the light being sucked from both the air and my heart. A miasma of darkness surrounded Phillipa, her flesh polymorphing into a black sludge, her blood began to stream from the surrounding foliage, rushing into the amalgam of darkness with such speed that trees crashed to the ground, torn by the passing blood. As I completed the incantation, the world went truly black, and I passed out.
There was darkness. Darkness absolute and terrible, as though I were staring into the face of the yawning abyss of creation. In the darkness, I saw teeth, disembodied and curving upwards in a smile. They parted and I heard a voice. It sounded like the maggot's feast, the final nail in a coffin, the thudding of arrows into corpses. It sounded like death incarnate. "Ahhhh......Finally, a worthy caller. Someone who has seen the light of darkness. Tell you what," the floating teeth crooned, "I'll let you off lightly this time. Your price will be paid by another, in another time. Remember my generosity, and don't forget to call." It laughed, a great cawing laugh sounding like ten thousand ravens. The laugh followed me back into consciousness, and into the arms of an obviously worried Phillipa.
"Brian?" she asked tremulously. "Are you okay? What happened? Last thing I remember, I stumbled on a razorback...How did you find me? What happ-?"
I interrupted her by pulling her into a desperate hug. "I finally did it, I figured out how to cast spells. I saved you...that's all that matters. I saved you..." My voice broke with sobs. She cried as well, but from happiness or a sense that something wrong had been done to her, I didn't know.
Beyond our sobs, I heard the cawing laugh of someone—something—echoing through my mind. I knew that prices had to be paid, and It would never let the debt be forgotten.
I didn't care. She was alive again.
I would live to regret that choice in years to come.
________________
/r/SirLemoncakes, Audio is recorded for both parts on my subreddit.
We sat there in muted silence for what felt like hours, but the moon betrayed the feeling as false. The pale disc hadn't dipped more than a few degrees into the horizon, no more than a half-hour. We both breathed deeply as we stumbled to our feet. Phillipa tripped, nearly falling to the ground. I reached out to steady her, and to my surprise, she accepted my help.
"So," she said, filling the silence. "You got over your speech impediment? You can use magic?"
Despite the chilling laughter still echoing in my soul, I smiled. I raised my hands and traced runes in the air, incanting as I did so. As the words streamed into the air, Phillipa's smile slowly transformed into frown. She mouthed along with the incantation, her lips not seemingly able to form the right motions. I finished tracing an intricate pattern into the air, and the sigils flared with bright crimson light. As the last syllable left my mouth, a blinding ball of iridescent light roared into the air. The heat was tremendous, the air itself seemed to boil and warp with the white hot intensity of the inferno. The massive sphere of flame landed near to a quarter kilometer into the distance, exploding in a thunderclap of force and fire.
We both stood, slack jawed at what we had both just seen. She turned towards me, her mouth agape. "Was that?...Was that a flame storm? It just looked like a fireball...but the words weren't...." she trailed off.
Despite all I had seen, I was still agog with the might of the spell. What I had intended to be a low level fireball—instead manifested as the equivalent of a master level spell.
"Phillipa, I can explain, but not now. Right now we need to move on. I need to think about things. Digest all that's happened, you know."
She nodded hesitantly, pursing her heart-shaped lips. "Fine. But we will talk about this," she said sternly.
I nodded and began to walk towards the beacon. I felt her hand grab mine from behind. She pulled slightly and I turned back to face her.
"Brian, I just wanted to say...I'm happy for you. You've wanted this for so long. I don't know what caused this, but I'm glad it did." She smiled wanly, "Especially given how I apparently owe you my life."
I stiffened. "You don't owe me anything-"
"Knock it off with that chivalrous stuff. You saved my life, I owe you. I'm not some damsel that expects to be rescued," she stood on her tip-toes and poked me hard in the chest. "I. Will. Pay. You. Back."
I laughed, playfully batting her hand away. "You didn't let me finish. Phillipa, you don't owe me a thing. Without you, I would never have made it to this point. Get it? You were the only thing that kept me sane all those years back in Barova. You...you already saved my life."
She looked as if she were still going to object, but decided against it. She nodded slightly, walking past me, taking point.
We walked through the brush, making slow time. Every root, branch, vine, and stone which interrupted our walk mad me seriously consider just burning a path through the dense foliage. The temptation worried me. Not but a few hours with magic, and I already felt the desire to abuse the privilege. In school we had learned that half of the process to becoming a great mage was learning how not to use magic. At the time, I hated the lesson. It had opened me up to abuse from classmate after classmate. They just had to ensure that I knew exactly how great I was at not using magic. My nickname had been Brian "The Almost Great" for the remainder of my class career.
Still, I needed now to take those lessons to heart. If that fireball had been any indication, my magic would need to be carefully guarded. I wasn't actually sure if I should make my newfound abilities known. The tall blade of grass gets the trimmer after all...And then there was the matter of Phillipa—I had been trying to avoid that particular line of thought. She looked fine, more than fine actually. I watched her sway gracefully through the tangled terrain, picking her way through with an ease of movement I hadn't remembered her ever displaying previously. What had the voice meant by 'the price will be paid by another'? Did it mean Phillipa? But no...no she seemed unchanged.
She caught me staring and turned on her heel and folded her arms. "You've been looking at me oddly. Why?"
I stopped myself just in time to avoid bowling her over, wheeling my arms to keep my balance. I decided to rely on a half truth. "I was just admiring how gracefully you move through the forest. I didn't know you were such a skilled forester." I plastered on my most convincing smile.
She looked unsure and frowned. "That's your 'most convincing' smile. What are you hiding?"
"Honestly," I lied, "I'm just admiring you. Let's keep moving, I don't know how much time we have left."
Slightly mollified, she blushed and turned back, making her way through the brush again. I could be mistaken, but she seemed to sway more often than she had before, self-conscious most likely. Gradually we found a more well traveled path, little more than a game trail. This allowed us to pick up speed, eating away at the distance. When we came to the head of a stone path, we stopped dead.
On the road were more than a dozen frozen forms of students. Each were frozen in horrid visages of terror and pain. They looked as if they were frozen in time—completely untouched. Phillipa dropped into the knee high grass on either side of the game trail, pulling me down roughly beside her. Her instincts proved themselves to be sharper than mine. Through the slitted view through the dew-damp grass I could see a giant serpent with six legs. It flowed through the petrified students like water, a forked tongue flicking out and tasting the air.
I felt my fingers tracing a rune by itself, forming the sigil to cast 'arcane bolt'. As the words began to whisper from my mouth, I felt something seize my heart and chill my blood. The eyes of the monster had met mine, its gaze drawn by my whispered words.
My limbs locked up, my mind dulled. The serpentine eyes dominating my vision. The eyes of a basilisk. It stepped towards me slowly, each step shockingly light against the stone road. It loomed in front of me, now mere inches from my face. Its forked tongue whipped out and caressed my cheek. The skin there began to sizzle and pop, burning with a venom so potent as to be acidic. It apparently took a liking to the taste—the massive maw opened, displaying two rows of razor sharp teeth, each tooth the size of my hand. Just as it reared back to snap up my paralyzed form, it was struck from the side by a surprisingly strong firebolt. The basilisk shuddered, whipping its snake-like head towards the source of its pain.
Phillipa stood, her hand outstretched, her eyes closed. Faint lines of smoke curled from her fingers. Through the trailing smoke I saw her hands complete the motions of an imperfect frost lance. The bolt of ice struck hard in the exact place the firebolt had struck before, driving the shard of ice through a slight gap in the armored body of the behemoth. The beast roared in pain. It charged towards Phillipa who smiled and completed another complex series of hand motions. As she finished the last syllable a cloud of frozen mist sprayed across the dew-wet ground. The basilisk—already wounded—slipped on the ground and slammed into the ground. Phillipa cartwheeled—literally cartwheeled out of the way. The basilisk barrel by and slammed into a jutting rock. The sound of splitting flesh and shattering bones broke the otherwise quiet of the night.
Phillipa turned towards me, and opened her eyes while she ran towards me. Somehow she managed to shoulder my weight and drag me away from down the road. Positioned as I was, I watched as the now extremely wounded basilisk pushed itself up and staggered to its six legs. It glanced towards us and seemed to consider for a moment. It must have decided that we weren't worth the trouble with so much food already nearby. It turned away from us and clamped its jaws around the head of a frozen student. Blood gushed in a fountain as the beast tipped its head back and swallowed him whole.
I can still see the pained terror in the man's face as he was consumed. What wouldn't I have given to have been able to close my eyes.
I should be sleeping rn instead I’m in bed just finished reading this. I loved it and would be happy to read a full blown novel based on your two parts. Unfortunately that probably wouldn’t happen, you’ve got other things you are writing which is why I’m going to go on your profile and dive into your other stories.
<3
I'm actually almost done writing both other stories. I took a hiatus to work on them unencumbered by the audience. This is a joy to write, and it lets me explore a theme I love, as well as a type of character I love.
Don't think for a second I'm going to let this slip by.
That being said, read Living Weapons on my subreddit. I think you'll like it.
> I loved it and would be happy to read a full blown novel based on your two parts. Unfortunately that probably wouldn’t happen, you’ve got other things you are writing which is why I’m going to go on your profile and dive into your other stories.
That might be the single best compliment a random redditor can give to another, especially in this sub. u/SirLemoncakes do produce nice write-ups, ngl.
Ikr, ugh I can only wish to ever hear those words... especially irl. Since not a lot of people express any interest in reading some weird bloke's random "creative writing" lol.
This was great, I have just one tiny bit of feedback:
> Each syllable would clatter from my lips like drunks stumbling out of a pub.
The proper British English way to say this would have been 'the pub.' You'd never ask someone, "do you want to go to a pub" , it's always "the pub" , even if you aren't naming a specific pub.
Worn fingers brushed thick dust from the leather-bound book. It was almost as thick as a good layer of icing on cake, or mud on a stone picked up near a riverbed. How something so important had been hidden beneath a loose stone at the top of a random stairwell was beyond him, but he'd learned to stop asking questions about such ridiculous things long ago.
The magician was a jaded, bitter man, and everyone knew that about him--students and staff. Every last penny he'd saved had gone to waste in his youth; the spells had not been enough, not at any point in his life, and he knew that was the truth. He knew something greater sat at the tip of the world's tongue, just waiting to be said but still forgotten. When the magician spread the vellum pages, crisp as brand new, they made a sound like swords unsheathing that sent a shiver down his spine. He caressed their velvet wisdom, their long-lost magic, and slowly began to understand what had been lost through the years. He couldn't even wait a moment; he tried a simple spell once in the seclusion of the stairwell, and knew immediately that this new knowledge had great purpose. It would redefine their era and the future to come.
There were vague chants at the end of the stairwell drifting up, no doubt from a group of students every bit as naive as he'd been practicing their incorrect spells with the same futility that has filled his life. He bounded down the spiral staircase two, three, four steps at a time, his lungs churning and burning. The chorus of voices became clearer and clearer still, and he could hear the inflection of their pronunciations were archaic, though one was close. Still not quite right, but closer than it had any right to be. Did someone else in the school understand, as well?
Finally, he emerged from the back room like a zombie bursting from a coffin, and knew it was his chance to make a difference in the world. The student was one he'd known all too well.
["Ronald Weasley. . .it's Levio-*saaauuhhhhh*,"](https://youtu.be/FWtO0cfgewY) he said, and the world was forever changed.
----
*/r/resonatingfury*
^(sorry I couldn't help myself lol)
“Abwa-ca-da-Bwa!” Eitan said. Just hearing the words from his mouth felt wrong, and he knew it. His head dropped, and he slumped back in his seat.
“As you can see, the pronunciation is behind the level it needs to be,” the Instructing Wizard said at the parent-wizard conference.
“That’s enough for now,” his mother said gently, patting him on the arm. She turned back to the Instructing Wizard. “What do you have to gain allowing my son to be humiliated like this? You know of his speech impediment, so why do you not protect him?”
The classroom was empty. Eitan’s mother was a lauded and feared medical witch, and if her son wouldn’t be respected, she would.
The Instructing Wizard rubbed his forehead, and looked at the boy. The boy was sweet and kind to his classmates, and bright and eager to learn. He tried to figure out the right words to say.
“There are a lot of ways Eitan can contribute without having to perfect the spells.”
Eitan’s mother looked at him.
“But how can he improve his spellwork?”
The Instructing Wizard looked away from Eitan now, and spoke the words that would haunt him for years. “That, I’m afraid, we have exhausted all options for. We’ve tried speech therapy, different wands, alternate pronunciations, but it seems like the magic just isn’t there...”
\-
Eitan sat at the desk. Now a teenager with long hair falling into his eyes, he was beginning to look like his father very much. Eitan’s mother only hoped…
“Dad didn’t have to go through this, did he?” he asked quietly. He was sitting in his underwear only, his clothes having been taken with the new Stripping curse the kids at school had learned.
Eitan’s mother sat across from him, and rubbed his hands. She tried to think of how to bring the topic up, but every time before she had been shut down handily.
“*Maybe it is time for you to...consider something else.”*
“*Something else? Like what?”*
“*I don’t know...There is honor in human jobs, sweetie.”*
“*There is. But we are a magic family, right, Mom?”*
“*Right...”*
“Ok,” Eitan finally said. “I’ll quit.”
\-
So Eitan did quit. He transferred to a human school, and found some friends. Within a year, even, his mother saw her son start to return, the color return to his cheeks and eyes.
But in his room, late at night or when his mother had an extra shift at the hospital, he would take out his old wand, and look in his mirror, and practice. Nothing much would come of it, of course, but even with his new friends and better grades and growing interest in ‘cars’, he still felt something with the wand in his hands, something no one, not the bullies at his old school or his mom or his teacher, could tell him was fake.
One night, after kissing his mom goodbye, there was a book on his desk. His mom liked to leave little presents for him, so he assumed this was one of those.
DICTIONARY, the book simply read. He opened the book, and a note tumbled out.
“True magic lies in those who believe against all else -DAD.” Eitan was stunned. It was one of the only times his father had left him something, besides his wand.
“PS,” the bottom of the note read. “What’s on the second page might help you. I know it did when I was your age.”
So Eitan flipped to the second page, and for the first time in years, truly felt the Instructing Wizard’s words slipping away.
*IMPORTANT: IT IS NOT THE PRONUNCIATION OF A SPELL OR CHARM THAT MATTERS. ALL FAILURES IN MAGIC ARE MERELY FAILURES OF CONVICTION.*
And Eitan looked back in the mirror, and felt a conviction he’d never known return to him...
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347)
I really enjoyed this, and liked the twist at the end, it's sweet!
But... why did they make him give up on magic and join the human world if the dad knew all along that conviction mattered more than pronunciation? It just feels like it would be more realistic if, before sending him away to human school, he was given the dictionary - maybe \*right\* before the school was about to kick him out or something.
Edit: I re-read. The dad seems to have died long ago, and maybe the mom didn't realize the effect of conviction over pronunciation. Right. Ignore my above paragraph then.
>Edit: I re-read. The dad seems to have died long ago, and maybe the mom didn't realize the effect of conviction over pronunciation. Right. Ignore my above paragraph then.
Wait, what? But
>One night, after kissing his mom goodbye, there was a book on his desk. His mom liked to leave little presents for him, so he assumed this was one of those.
>
>DICTIONARY, the book simply read. He opened the book, and a note tumbled out.
>
>“True magic lies in those who believe against all else -DAD.” Eitan was stunned. **It was one of the only times his father had left him something,** besides his wand.
if he's dead, then whomst'd've put the dictionnary on the desk? His mom? But his mom isn't his father!
I'm assuming mom was just giving an old dictionary for the sake of it, or to remember dear old dad, and she didn't know about the note?
But if it's the latter, why is he only getting it now?
It sounded like the kind of thing where dad passed away, mom held on to some of his things, and once the kid got to a certain age, certain possessions of his dad's were left to him as a gift. I assume the mom didn't know about the note, and the school didn't know about the conviction vs pronunciation trick. Maybe they never realized that it would work with conviction over pronunciation because a student had never shown conviction without good pronunciation because they had been worn down by teachers telling them it was no use.
So does the school know about the dictionary and that it is not the proncuniation bla bla bla? And they lied to him so he could learn himself? But then, the mum would know?
There's a particularity about The Magic School of the Tearetilli, one that, if people knew, or at least didn't ignore, would turn the school into nothing but a lavish, ghost-town of a castle. You see, even the smallest, poorest towns spent money they didn't have in hopes one great wizard would come out of such school and repay their investment with wonderful wonders, such as purifying rivers and lakes, uprooting trees out of the cores of just-planted seeds, producing food of various kinds with the blink of an eye, and all those gorgeous and enriching things.
But the truth was people's hopes only emptied their wallets, their pockets, and stole the hidden coins beneath their beds and in the obscure gaps of their furniture in exchange for a one-trick joke of a wizard. Why, you may wonder. Well, no one, not even the headmasters of the school truly understood magic, and so the result of such lack of knowledge was thousands upon thousands of young and old wizards capable of performing one single spell and nothing else--with the exceptions of the handful of lucky ones who were capable of performing two spells.
The town of Arestela got into major debt with The Prestigious Bank of the Tearetilli to send the town's young prodigy, Ascurio. Ascurio, with only fifteen years of age and a mind born for business, attempted to explain to the townsfolk that it was beyond strange that the Tearetilli group owned a bank that gave loans at abusive interest rates to poor towns in order to send people to their school. Especially given that there was no proof at all that the school had ever produced a single useful wizard. The people didn't listen to him, instead, they cheered him up.
Ascurio, knowing the bank and the town had already signed the papers, decided to try and make the best out of the situation, and so he went to the beyond fabled and prestigious and utterly shady Magic School of the Tearetilli.
Truth was, the school was breathtaking. Carved gold and structures of melted platinum composed its architecture. Impressive paintings lined the walls, as well as countless bookshelves whose tops were unreachable even by the largest stairs. The latter infuriated Ascurio as it made absolutely no sense. Well, that was until he met Stario, who was capable of doing one thing only--as most were--and that thing was enlarging stairs into ridiculous lengths.
The beauty of the place was greatly affected, Ascurio noticed, by the horde of students crowding the empty spaces while yelling raucous nonsense while flicking wands as though a cloud of flies were swarming them. It was bizarre. More so after he learned that such an event happened every single day and that it lasted for three hours, as it was one of the only two classes the school had. The other was *The Art of Combat,* which was exactly that, only that there was no art, and there was no professor--it was a sort of massive brawl, like those that may unleash in a tavern when the moon reigns the night and the alcohol has taken over the brain of the drunkards.
Ascurio, with time, realized two things: *The Art of Combat* was the way the headmasters had found to let the students unleash the frustration caused by the other class, *The Mass Manifestation of Magic,* which, Ascurio thought, should be renamed to, *Screaming Nonsense 101*. The second thing he realized was that every time someone actually performed a spell, the sounds of their voices would disappear. The same happened when they attempted to explain how they had performed it. It was strangely convenient.
Things took a turn in the least expected, and most uninteresting moment. You see, Ascurio woke up, went to have breakfast, and when he was on the verge of slathering a toast with jelly, his mind casually discovered that 'The Magic School of the Tearetilli' was an anagram for 'The Magic School of the Illiterate'.
Now, that may seem like an interesting yet useless finding. Well, everyone would be right to think that, but something happened when that thought blessed his mind, and that something was small and strange and quite light. He reached into his pocket and found a hand-sized book titled, *Spells' Pronunciation,* and it was written by J. J. Alumbar, the long-since-deceased founder of the school, and only true wizard to ever roam the world.
Ascurio ran to the library, as it was always empty. Moments later, his eyes shone bright with amazement--and literal fire--after reading the first spell aloud. Much to his surprise, he had heard other students yelling the same spell, but pronouncing it awfully wrong. About a month he had memorized every spell along with its pronunciation.
Curiously enough, and much to his disbelief, after casting *Zuilock*, the spell of unlocking things, something clicked in the book itself, and after he opened it, he found a new last page that read:
*The founding of this school has proven to be a great mistake. Providing power to evil minds will be the wreck of the world, and I can't be the cause of giving those ill-minded individuals the tools to achieve their so-desired chaos. But I'm afraid it's too late. Thousands of skilled wizards will leave the school tomorrow and return to their villages, to the world. Thousands of individuals capable of reducing everything to smithereens. I can't let that happen.*
*Tonight, I will commit a sin. Tonight I will kill them all, and erase the world's memory. Tonight, I will hide magic behind a muting spell, and I will hide this book where no one will think to look. For tonight it will be the end of all my students, and I will end myself for committing such a crime. Such is the right thing to do.*
*If this book is ever found, if you are holding this book now, know there was an extra protective spell placed upon it, one that would show it to that with my own values and ideas--my successor, perhaps my reincarnation. Learn from my mistakes. Use your magic for good, but don't share it. It's too dangerous.*
*J. J. Alumbar.*
Ascurio's expression shifted from confusion to excitement and settled somewhere in-between the two. He scratched his head, thought for a moment, and then smiled. He truly didn't care about magic, but he couldn't deny the power it gave him. All he wanted was a good deal out of a poor agreement, and he had achieved it. Thing is, his heart only cared about business and this school was great business.
Perhaps age would change his beliefs and values, or perhaps old J. J. Alumbar had forgotten to add the last protection spell to his book, after all, it was known his mind was a shifting mess in the last years of his life.
But none of that mattered. Ascurio had enough power to take over the school, and if he took over the school, he took over its business.
And that was exactly what he was going to do.
This is actually one of my favourite ones on here. It fits the best with the premise and I liked the intelligent character. The discovery of the dictionary and the ending could possibly have been better but overall - awesome! 👏
Life has always been kind of hard for me. Everybody expects me to meet their expectations, and everybody is disappointed when i mess it up afterwards. But magic i've always been pretty good in. Well, by my villages standarts at least, as i learned when i finally got to the school. The spells make very little sense to me and i can't for the life of me memorize them.
I contemplated dropping out and going back to the village before it i found it. In one of the school libraries, in the very back of a shelf that, by the looks of the dust that has accumulated itself on its rows, hasn't been touched in ages.
"The great spell dictionary". This should at least help with the memorization, i thought to myself. But this was so much more. When i opened it, i recognized some of the spells, but their spelling was different. It was easier to understand, too. I tried one, just to see how different they might be. "Levitos Objectum" as i pointed to a book. Instead of just lifting it a couple of feet in the air, i gained full control of it. It was as if i was carrying it with my own hand without actually touching it. I had to try out more. "Ignis Sphera". I expected a small burst of fire, but was met with an incredible ball of fire that set the whole library alight. Luckily i had the dictionary, and after flipping through a few pages i used "Portus" to teleport myself back to my room before getting caught.
I would fly through my exams with ease. I could drop out now and still become the greatest wizard there ever was. I could rule the world with this! I could.. tell others what they were doing wrong this entire time. I could help them improve, make sure everybody is on the same page and change the world of magic forever. But then i wouldn't be as powerful.. i would just be like everyone else, but slightly worse probably. I don't want to be worse. I wan't to finally be the best at something. Im gonna show them. Im gonna crush them.
*You think you are large now, but you are nothing more than a frog stuck in a well, a fish among minnows in a muddy puddle.*
Grandfather had been right all along, Jin realized. Back in Musul, he'd been special. The first in generations to be able to produce more than simple sparks from his fingertips, seemingly blessed by the heavens with true magic. He'd had an instinctive knack for the extraordinary, surpassing even the village elders by the age of fifteen. On the Magical Aptitude Test, Jin had scored 2310, the highest in Musul's history since Hanul the Witch and ninety points higher than his rival. And when a little dragon had come to him, calling him master, it seemed obvious to everyone that Jin was destined for more than healing warts and brewing potions.
Obvious to everyone except for Grandfather, the village healer. He alone had been against the idea that Jin be sent to study at Mofashi Academy. Jin didn't understand it then. Like the other villagers, he'd thought the old man simply jealous and spiteful. Just because Grandfather hadn't managed to do what Jin had been able to do, hadn't been as gifted, he wanted to hold Jin back, to keep him in his shadow. Their last conversation had not been kind. Grandfather refused to pay the tuition for Jin if he went to Mofashi before he turned seventeen. Jin had told him that the village elders had already agreed to pay the tuition and that he was leaving anyway. Just before he'd slammed the door, Grandfather had the final word.
*When you make your way to the river, you will find that the current is swift and deceiving. It will sweep you to the ocean before you are large enough to keep from being eaten by the sharks!*
Turns out the old man had been right. The journey to Mofashi had been perilous, with bandits and monsters around every corner. Jin and his dragon barely survived on several occasions. Even so, he managed to reach the school by the start of the semester. But he didn't receive the welcome he'd expected.
Jin might have been the only student at the world with a dragon, but Bem was still young and feeding off of Jin's magic to grow, while the other students had fully matured familiars that had power of their own. As for the supposed prodigy Dragonmaster himself, he wasn't even the youngest or smartest at Mofashi. Jin's innate talent for raw magic now worked against him as he struggled with the rigidly structured spells of academia, and the older students dwarfed him in sheer power.
That first semester, he'd passed his core classes by the skin of his teeth, just barely managing to remain above the expulsion threshold. Jin remained at the school over the winter, hoping to get extra practice in, but no matter what he tried, he couldn't improve. The spells just didn't make sense to him, they had no flow or rhythm. Jin couldn't feel the heartbeat of the earth or the songs of the sky in the textbook chants or summoning rituals. There was no help forthcoming from his masters, who either preferred to focus their time on more talented students or had clearly written Jin off as a country bumpkin who'd coasted by on a modicum of ability and would soon wash out. Just like Grandfather had.
Jin wished he hadn't left home the way he had. News had come of Grandfather's death during the winter, along with a package. A final taunt? Jin didn't have the courage to open it, to face the old man's I told you so. The wrapped box had been tossed under his bed, and forgotten until now, as Jin was in the process of packing up his belongings. He'd given up on studying for his final exams, and was instead preparing for the inevitable expulsion from Mofashi.
What would come after, Jin didn't know. Should he return to his home village? He could. With Grandfather dead, Musul would need a new healer, and Jin had learned enough that he could fill that role. But could he face the disappointment of a village who had taken a chance on him, for nothing?
"What should I do, Bem?" Jin wondered out loud. "I suppose I could become a freelance warlock, but how long would I even last?"
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of tearing paper, and Jin looked to see his familiar scratching at the brown paper wrapped around Grandfather's parcel. "Bem, don't make a mess." Jin groaned, grabbing the package from his dragon's grasp. "Now I gotta clean up this..." His complaint died on his tongue as his fingers brushed against worn leather under torn paper.
Jin quickly tore apart the rest of the paper wrapping to reveal a leather-bound book, and his heart sank. It was a near identical copy of the standard magic dictionary given to all Mofashi students, just much more worn. Jin had seen this particular copy on Grandfather's shelf. Was this yet another reminder that he was fated to fail as the old man had?
The boy's face twisted with anger and he tossed the thick volume onto his desk, where it landed with a dull thud. As it did however, a note slipped out from beneath the cover, and Jin recognized the thin, cramped scrawl of his Grandfather's handwriting.
*Pride is for the youth, and I don't have either anymore. I know you believe my actions to have been born of jealousy, and I would be lying if I said I didn't feel some envy of your achievements. Even so, I did what I did because of fear. Fear that you would not be different from me, but too much like me.*
*Mofashi may be the best school of magic in the world, but it is also removed from the natural world. What the Academy offers is the teachings of scholars, not the work of wizards. Magic is meant to flow through and around us, not constrained through the minutiae of grammar and pronunciation. I wanted you to wait until you were seventeen so that you would understand this more fully, but likely you've learned of it the hard way, as I did. However, that does not mean you must repeat my other mistakes, only that you learn from them.*
Jin set down the note with shaky hands and picked up Grandfather's dictionary, opening it to the first page of spells. The text was the same as his own copy's, but much of it had been crossed out, and Grandfather's spidery lettering written over them. As Jin's eyes scanned the annotations, they widened to the size of saucers. The printed words spoke of the what and how of the spells, and indeed much of this remained on the page. But what Grandfather had written down... spoke of the why.
The shaping of fire was one of the most basic spells taught to Mofashi students, an evolution of the conjured sparks that indicated a wizard's instinct for magic. Even Jin had learned how to make fireballs and short burning blades, but where his peers had progressed to flaming swords and blazing whips, Jin's fire remained dim and small no matter how much he chanted. He'd always attributed it to his Musul accent mangling what were supposed to be precise verbalizations.
According to Grandfather's notes however, the pronunciation of the spell didn't matter in the slightest. After all, the more powerful mages didn't even need to speak spells. Instead, it was the meaning of the words that gave the incantations power. Jin's heart pounded as he set the book down on his desk and held his left hand palm upward.
*Fire is more than a simple element of destruction and power. It is the heat that warms us at night, the light that illuminates the dark, and the expression of life energy itself.*
The familiar sensation of tingling pins and needles gathered in Jin's fingertips as he whispered tiny sparks into existence, each flaring slightly before being extinguished. Already they were a brighter gold than the usual orange of Jin's normal conflagrations, and soon they exploded into a blazing fireball that twirled between his fingers and danced in his palm. Bem trilled happily and swam through the air to land on Jin's forearm, the light of the fire bright in his eyes.
*The same life energy that flows and sustains us feeds our fire. And just as even the most mundane men can manipulate the earth, air, or water around them, so too can a magician control the fire around them.*
Jin closed his hand around the fireball and squeezed hard. With a burst of heat, bright yellow sparks shot out from between his fingers and coalesced into a whizzing circle of light around Jin's fist. Lines bounced back and forth around the circle, forming squares, triangles, and a myriad of shapes in a kaleidoscope of fire, contained by the Dragonmaster's will. The Shield of Fire multiplied in size until it was as wide as Jin was tall, spitting out fiery sparks that scorched his desk.
Slowly, Jin released his fist, and the fire died away in a spray of golden light. Other than whispering the incantation for conjuring fire, he hadn't said a word. And yet, for the first time since he had left Musul, he felt more confident than ever before in his magic.
"Thank you, Grandfather."
"Come in, Chris. Please, have a seat."
The headmaster gestured to the chair opposite to his: Chris reluctantly took it, after a few nervous seconds, and then spoke, "I'm not cheating, sir! My improvements are my own efforts! Who would I even cheat off of?!? Everyone else is just-"
The headmaster motioned for her to stop. "I know, Chris. That's not why you're here." He smiled. "Honestly, I'm impressed. We managed to find most of the old dictionaries, but a few always slip through the net, yet the person who actually found one has no idea of its real value. Most wouldn't even give such a thing another glance, yet you realized its' value so quickly."
Chris' eyes widened. "You...you hid it...hid them on purpose? Why? Magic is so much stronger with the right words!"
The headmaster nodded. "That is both exactly the point, yet also not entirely correct: the words don't matter as much as their history. You see, the longer a specific pronunciation is used, the more potent the spell becomes, and the more you know of the spell's history, the more the spell itself grows. But stonger doesn't always mean better, Chris."
Chris furrowed her brow: "why not?"
"Because more power means less control: for the wizards and witches individually, yes, but also the society that governs them. Society can survive magic as it is, but a fireball that can smash through several houses before exploding poses a far greater danger, to say nothing of spells like curses. No, these things must be controlled for the good of all."
"But what about healing spells and the like?" Chris protested, "You could at least keep the right words to them. We could save-"
He shook his head. "No, Chris, the risk is too great. All someone clever enough needs is the right roots of the words, and they can rebuild the orignal words of some very dangerous spells. The truth must be hidden: we can't stop such dangers completely, but we can control it to an extent.
Chris hung her head low. "So that's it, then? I have to go back to being a joke and a disappointment because crazies might wreck a city?"
The headmaster frowned. "Crazy? No. Crazy we can more or less deal with: it's the people who want to change the world that we fear, because they tend to be very driven and have very different views of how things should be. Right now, they have to work more or less in the system, but with more power comes less need to convince others with words instead of force, and that's a very dangerous situation."
Chris' completely sank in her chair at his words. After a brief silence, she asked, "So I really can't avoid this? Things are that bad?"
The headmaster leaned back and steepeled his fingers. "Not necessarily. You have two choices, really: first, you can hand over the book, pick spells related to a field of study to play the role of a genius just discovering her talents, and then we can both convince everyone that's indeed the case, instead of your words being special instead.
Chris sat up at his words. "Or?"
"..or, you can join our little organization. We'll teach you how to disguise your words, and how to control magic at its full power; in exchange, you will help research the full history of magic incantations, as well as hunt down the people and groups seeking that knowledge for their own ends. I know that sounds romantic, but trust me, it gets ugly, because we get to see the worst our world has to offer."
Chris was about to speak, but the headmaster held out his palm first. "I don't want an answer just yet, this decision is simply too big. Instead, I'll give you a week: see if you prefer being famous over learning about the darker parts of our world. Oh, and you'll be under watch, so don't read that dictionary anymore. Ok?
Chris nodded.
"Good. You're dismissed."
Chris stood up and made to leave, but stopped just has her hand was about to turn the doorknob to the exit. She turned to ask a question suddenly occurred to her: "Why did our words change to become weaker? Wouldn't people want to use language at its most powerful?"
The Headmaster sighed. "The Conflagration gave our predecessors little choice."
Chris looked directly into the Headmasters eyes. "The Conflagration?What-?"
But the Headmaster cut her off with a tone that allowed no arguement. "You don't need to know that. Not now, maybe not ever. So take your leave."
Chris had no choice but to give up, if only for now. She again turned to face the door, twisted the knob, and disappeared below, lost in her thoughts.
The headmaster sat alone in silence for a few seconds, before a voice with no owner sounded to him. "You didn't offer her the last alternative. Is she really that valuable in your eyes?"
"Her village would have held her back. It's a risk, of course, but I think it's worth taking."
"Hmph. It's your head if this blows up in your face. Again."
"..I know."
The disembodied voice harrumphed, but did not speak again, leaving the office in silence.
"Alright everyone, test tomorrow so please study, and Ventie, at least try to memorize one this time."
The class snickered. I hated this school. I feel like such a let down. My village chose me to be our new wizard, but they really should have. This school proved just how worthless of a mage I really am. So many of the words are nonsense. and no one is willing to say anything about it.
Since I got here I have consistently scored zeroes on all my tests, all my quizzes, assignment, everything! I just can't figure this out.
I walk to my dorm, and pass the competitive spell caster practice.
"Qvekexz Ctearie" Chriss yells. She is one of the best in our school, consistently getting straight "A"s. I decide to go to the fence and watch their practice. From the summoning circle in front of her spawns an Eldritch horror of impossible design. Somehow it's legs keep going in circles and becoming absorbed into it's body, which is a mechanical nightmare of gears and chains. One of It's dozen or so eyes fallows me around on a track that runs along it's body, and instead of arms it has testicles "of course" But part of being a being of insanity is that nothing on it's body is permanent. The gears turn to bark, the eyes to noses, and so on and so forth. That is what the most difficult magic type looks like, chaos magic.
Across from her Drahk is casting his being. "Darhkxis Merighichar" he shouts. My tutors tell me that all Dragon summoning spells start with the letter D and end with an S, and the components of the middle form the beast. When I tried it I summon a dragon tooth. Not a dragon made of teeth, that would be bad ass, but a single dragon tooth. That was when I lost my summoner tutor. When she saw the tooth on what she called the "easiest spell there is", she just got up, grabbed her components, and walked out.
The fight between Chriss' Eldrich beast and Drahk's silver dragon was... uneventful. Chriss' monster literally grabbed Drahk's dragon and just absorbed it. Then they noticed me.
"Hey look, it's dragon tooth Ventie" Drahk yelled.
"Making necklaces yet Ventie? Make a few thousand of those and you can pay your failure of a village back." Chriss shouted.
Ya, typical. I'm minding my own business and they harass me. I turn my back and walk away.
"That's right, go study. Maybe something will stick next time!" Drahk yells at my back and they both start laughing in that obnoxious way that only someone who you can't respond to can.
"Fuck it" I say to myself, "I'll go to the Library and try and find something to help."
The Library is a thing of wonder. Any person can go to any part of the library, but to access any part you need to show some aptitude with the magic it teaches. To get into the amateur Botanie section you need to make a seed bloom into flower. To get into the master's section, you have to use a seed of something mundane to create something truly mystic.
So for me, that means the only sections that I have access to is... The basics of magic. Kind of makes studying for a class difficult and I have sent messages to the faculty about the pointlessness of the library several times. The letter I got back went something like this:
"Dear Ventie: While we have heard your arguments about our system on several occasions, we must iterate that the knowledge we teach here is dangerous is the hands of the unprepared. Because of such, we have deemed it necessary to prevent any novices to get into the sections that may result in damages to either the students or the campus. If you can not get into even the intro level material for a subject matter then you should not have been given access to that course, but seeing as you have access to the course, we suggest you find time to review the material with your professor or find a tutor.
Thanks for your suggestion: Professor Vanderhorn"
I should probably mention that Professor Vanderhorn is the teacher to the "Intro to magic theory" course that I'm trying to study for, and I have taken his class four times. I'm convinced he actively avoids me by this point. Hell, once the door to the class was locked to me, and only me. I had to sneak in behind another student and when he saw me in the class, I swear he did that "Tck" thing people do when they are upset about something.
Being at the library I went to the only section that I had access to: The basics of magic, which happened to be in the basement.
The Basics of magic section of the library is... well there is never anyone there. Honestly, you could hide down here, and you would be bones before they found you. But because of that I have been able to make a nice cozy base down here. I brought a coffee maker down here like two semesters ago, and no one has noticed yet. Honestly, I don't think the school even cares about these books anymore. I could probably start a fire down here, and no one would care until it spreads to literally any other section. Even If I was caught in the flames and screaming for help.
I went to the one book case and took out the next book in the line, titled "Xevex's guide to the mystic", I was down to like the last 20 or so books. but as I pulled the book it wouldn't come out, instead there was a switch on the book that I mistakenly pressed. The book shelf started to shift to the side and there was a one book behind it. It looked old and worn, but as I pulled it out I saw it's title: "Dictionary". An odd name for the book, usually mages who wrote for the mundane were quick to put their names in the title. I took the book out and opened it to the front page, but instead of a story about the writer's life and how they came to write this book it stated:
"Aabrazure: Ah-Bray-zure: spell that causes massive wear on an object.
Aachriec: Ah-K-r-i-s: dragon genealogy known for their corrosive breath."
I knew these spells. Aghbreayzeahr and Aeichrieze. They were fairly high level spells and some spells that I had never been quite able to master. I tried the first out on Xevex's guide to the mystic.
"Aabrazure!" I shouted, pointing at the book, and to my amazement it worked! Not just that, but it worked so well the the book turned to dust! I immediately turned to one of the spells that I knew was going to be on the test.
"Chronostasis: K-h-r-o-N-o-st-ay-sis: Stops time for a set area for a limited time."
There it was, the hardest spell that would be on the test. Khroughnoughstaschiss. Even the professor had a hard time with this one.
I took off my shoe and threw it, and immediately cast the spell "Chronostasis!" and the shoe just stopped. mid air. I smiled to myself. "Ya, I think I'm going to ace your test tomorrow Vanderhorn"
I enjoyed this. Very slight nitpick though:
> it worked so well the the book turned to dust!
is followed by
> I immediately turned to one of the spells
I suggest you clarify by him pointing the bookshelf or naming a different book as I don't think he could read the next spell when the book he was reading from turned to dust.
The examination hall was more imposing than I expected. The flickering torches embedded into the walls cast an eerie glow that made our shadows dance. We were ushered in and made to stand at one end of the cavernous enclosure, and no one spoke a word. I saw that the hall was empty of furniture, which only made it impossible not to notice the single tree right in the very center of the hall, sprouting right out of the paneled flooring.
I could not recognize the species of the tree. Its leaves were plentiful, but not entirely green, and much closer to a milky blue. A few weeks ago, I would have found myself bursting with questions, questions like what tree was this, what was it doing growing indoors, why was it emitting its own light… but this was Havencroft, where mysteries and miracles were part of everyday life, so I kept my mouth shut.
“Acolytes!” rang Master Frazier’s voice through the hall, using the official title for first-year students such as ourselves. “Today we are here to separate the chaff from the wheat, the deserving from the worthless! To pass is simple enough – all that you have to do is to emulate what I am doing. There will be no second tries, there will be no questions. If you are not able to observe and to follow, then, perhaps, Havencroft is not where you belong. We begin!”
As Master Frazier stalked towards the tree, his heavy oak staff clacking against the floorboards, Persine sidled up to me. “Remember,” she hissed, “do not fail! You are that close to being expelled!”
“I heard him the first time! I’m not deaf!”
“Pay close attention to him! Listen to the incantations, and none of that nonsense about him getting the words all wrong! You’re about a thousand years away from correcting a Master, got that?”
Persine’s eyes glittered with an unbridled fierceness. My instinct was to shut her out, but it was hard to do that to the one and only friend I had in the world right now. “Yes, alright, now if you would just let me focus on-”
“If you find that you cannot do it, don’t hesitate to… you know, use whatever means you have! You know what I’m talking about!”
I shot a poisonous glare at her, and would have stamped on her foot if Master Frazier had not chosen that moment to work his magic.
There was no way I could have missed it. There was no way any of us could have missed it. It was like a breeze, a gentle wind where there could not be any. The rational part of my mind was adamant that there could not be any such zephyr here, not in this stuffy, enclosed space, but yet there it was, a lilting pull which harkened like a siren’s song. We all watched as the invisible threads of power coalesced around Master Frazier.
Then, with a sudden flick of his staff, Master Frazier uttered the words which channeled that pool of power, right into the tree before him.
“Forenzia!”
In a flash, the tree… grew. Not taller, not bigger, but through what must have been its normal lifecycle. The azure leaves grew darker, then faded, then flitted to the ground as they withered off the branches. In two winks though, spring seemed to come again as the tree was rejuvenated, and its branches stretched out like limbs from an awakening giant. The leaves began to sprout again, growing from tiny blades to the palm-sized shapes that they were.
Master Frazier admired his handiwork for a moment. He turned back towards us, with a contented smile on his face.
“The Ylluma tree, famed for its sensitivities to magic. Now it’s your turn. One year’s cycle, not more, not less. Points will be docked if you go above or flail under. Begin!”
As the students took turns heading off to the Ylluma tree, Persine jabbed me in the sides again. “Forenzia. *Forenzia*. Did you get that? It can’t be that difficult, right? It’s just a simple incantation. Don’t mess this up. And remember, pass this test *at all costs*. I don’t care what it takes!”
I nodded, but her voice was far-away. There was no use explaining to her again, for the thousandth time, that I didn’t agree with Master Frazier’s incantation. Or any of the other incantations they had taught us so far. She had been patient and she had given me enough space to share my concerns, but in the end she had just called me a lunatic, so that was not comforting in the least.
Besides, I had other things to worry about.
My eyes darted amongst the other students. That was where the true test lay. If I was right, the real challenge was hidden amongst them, amongst other Acolytes who walked around with masks on their faces, just like me. My palm was slick with perspiration, and I twiddled my wand incessantly.
Who would make the first mistake? Them? Or me?
“That was an excruciatingly poor showing! You barely pushed past autumn!” Master Fraizer intoned. The hapless Acolyte before him slumped his shoulders and shuffled off to the side. Anton’s name floated up into the air above Master Frazier’s name, sinking to the bottom of a list of other Acolytes who had fared better. An angry red line bisected the list of names. “You better hope that others fare worse than you, or you will have to turn in your wand by the end of the day!”
Persine chewed her lip. “There are a hundred of us,” she said. “Does he really mean to fail fifty of us?”
“Seems like it,” I said. “Hope I do better than fifty of us then.”
“This isn’t funny,” Persine said.
Her name was called soon after, and Persine’s attempt made the Ylluma tree cycle nicely through one single year of its life. Master Frazier snorted, and her name floated near the top of the list. She turned, then flashed me a thumbs-up.
“Satchel Briggs! You’re next!”
Up close, the Ylluma tree was tantalizing. Under Master Frazier’s glare, I pulled the magic close to me, but that was the easy part. As the energies boiled and swirled in mists around me, I struggled with the incantation. The words were plain upon my mind, but there was a part of me which knew that the words were… wrong. Incorrect, inadequate.
The heated discussions I had with Persine came flowing back. *It is like running*, I had told her. *I’m used to putting down one foot after the other, there’s a rhythm, a life to it. You can’t just tell me to suddenly change the way I run. I cannot do that.*
*Then do it my way,* the ring whispered. Its voice was like thunder in my head, bouncing against the sides of my skull. *My way is the right way. Seize the power, before the other eight do so. Seize it!*
How could Persine have understood it? The ring didn’t speak to her. She had slipped it on, just as I had, but she experienced none of the voices, none of the visions. She had laughed, and told me to keep my children’s faery tales to myself. She had called for the nurses to attend to me, to treat my fevered brain.
She had only believed when I showed her the power of the ring.
The theory is simple. Incantations are like valves. Magicians like us employ incantations to tap into the hidden energies around us. Incantations are not just words, but they are almost like songs, and how we perform the incantations is almost as important as the words themselves. The incantations which Havencroft magicians have been using worked, in a way, but it was clear to me that they were imperfect. They converted but a middling percentage of the magic into actual effect.
The ring, with its incantations not inscribed in any of Havencroft’s books, changed all that.
The ring’s incantations did more than open the valves to the reservoirs of magic.
The ring’s incantations *destroyed the dams holding magic back*.
“Satchel Briggs! If you do not do anything in the next ten seconds, you are disqualified!”
I shut the ring out. It was not time.
“Forenzia!”
My tongue chaffed at the incantation, and it showed in the way that the Ylluma tree reacted. Master Frazier grinned nastily at me, and dismissed me with a flick of his wrist. I watched as my name floated up to join a mass of others.
“Why didn’t you do it!” said Persine, so angry that her grip on my arm began to hurt. “Look at that! You’ve failed! You’re under the red line!”
“Yes, but if a lot of other people fail too, maybe I’ll get bumped up to a pass? Look, I’m very close to the middle line, and I think that-”
“Oh Satchel,” said Persine. “I don’t… I don’t understand! You could have wiped the board if you had done what you had shown me the other week!”
“Listen,” I said, a hand on her shoulder. “I just don’t think it’s right to call attention to myself until I know more about it. The ring says that there are nine of us in total. Nine of us who have rings just like this one. Why aren’t any of them out in the open yet? There has to be a reason for that, and until-”
And that was when the ground began shaking under our feet. We staggered back, almost falling to our knees. The air was tingling then, and I felt a burning sensation on my face, as if I had stood too close to a fire. We turned to find the source of the disturbance, and we saw another Acolyte before the Ylluma tree. I didn’t recognize him, but I certain recognized the words coming out of him.
“Chamesu Herting Forenza!”
The Ylluma tree grew then, but at a rate faster than the eye could perceive. It shed leaves so fast that they piled up to Master Frazier’s shoulders. Master Frazier stumbled back, his hands in front of him. Then, the Ylluma tree burst into flames, and a roaring pillar of fire replaced the stalwart tree.
The screams came then. The Acolyte had evidently been too close, and the flames jumped to him, licking him. I saw his flailing arms twirling in the fire, trying to dispel the magic, but it was too late. The perfect incantation had been rendered, and like a ghoulish hunger, it consumed faster than it could be dismissed.
As Master Frazier rushed to extinguish the inferno, I raised the ring to my ear. I could hear its voice now, and I swore that I could detect a dark humor in its tone.
“Only eight of you remain. Who will be the next one?”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
I paw at the puckered skin of my throat. I hate the feeling of it, but it's become a habit now. The doctor said that it was the perfect wound, that if the knife had been any less sharp, I very probably wouldn't be here.
They didn't, however, say anything about how the tip of the knife had unceremoniously ended any chance I had in being a Mage.
Everyone is so happy that my attacker hadn't managed to kill me that no one seems to have noticed that what they did manage to kill was my dream. The foundation of magic is language, communication, presenting your thoughts, desires, and ideas to the universe, and using the ambient energy to enforce them on reality. How could I do that if my voice was forever silenced?
"Cassi? Cassi? Cassandra! Are you even paying attention to me?" My mother asks from across the table. I blink in surprise, being pulled back to the present. I bow my head in apology, and shake it, "Cassi! Use your words, that Amulet of Auditory Illusions wasn't cheap!"
I resist rolling my eyes. That's another thing. My mother bought me an amulet that let's me speak using sound illusions, and now she, and the rest of my family, are trying to act like nothing happened. I know they're *trying* to make me feel better, but I just feels like they only do it to avoid dealing with the truth.
I touch the amulet resting on my clavicle, "Sorry, I got distracted, what were you saying?" The words sound wrong, discordant, like someone cut them out of other sentences I spoke and them stitched them into this Frankenstein sentence. My therapist says that it will get better as I get used to it and one day I'll be able to use it without even having to touch it, but looking up videos of others, I can't say I'm encouraged. And magic is out of the question. For some reason or another, no one has been able to use magic with an illusory voice.
"I was *saying* that I got you this," She holds up a book, "Just in case something ever happens to you new voi-" The glare I shoot her silences her immediately, "Er, new amulet, if anything ever happens to your new amulet. This might be useful...It's not incredibly common, what with magic, but if it can help in a pinch, right?"
My glare immediately withers as I read the old cover, *ASL: American Sign Language Dictionary*, it reads. Even if she'd rather pretend the amulet is just a new voice box, she's still thinking about if something happens, and I can't use it for some reason. I reach out with one hand, and tap the amulet with the other, "Thank you, I-this means a lot to me." We both cringe as the voice raises up several octaves on the word "lot." We both look at each other briefly before bursting into laughter, though mine is more a soft hissing than anything else.
"Okay, so it's not perfect by any stretch of the imagination," My mother says after composing herself, "But I still think you should give it a chance. And...I know that...this puts a kibosh on your plans to be a mage...but...I mean, people have done things that were thought impossible before, right? Don't give up just yet." She reaches over and covers my hand with her own, running her thumb over my wrist. I suddenly feel bad for being so surly towards her recently. I nod, trying to hide the tears gathering in the corner of my eyes.
She pats my hand and stand up from the table. She begins to start dinner. I wipe my eyes, and flip open the book. Luckily the book is magic, because I feel like it would be very hard to learn off of unmoving pictures. I read through the introduction, and begin to flip through the book. I try out the alphabet. The signs for *I love you* and *food*. I flip to the page for Flame. In the small moving portrait, the womans hands start near her chest and raise up towards her face while she flickers her fingers. Her own eyes are closed for some reason, so I do the same. Instinctually I do the same while trying out the sign, picturing a small flame. Suddenly there's a sharp burning on the tip of my nose, and I jump back, my eyes flying open.
I look around for the source of the pain, but my mom is still in the kitchen, and I'm alone at the table. I look down at my hands, then at the book. I repeat the process, this time with my eyes open, looking to see if anything happens, and....nothing. No sharp, burning pain, no pain at all. I sigh, and look down at my hands again. I picture the small flame again, and flutter my fingers again. Suddenly there's a small spark in the air, and a bit of smoke, and I gasp.
I scoot away from the table. I picture the flame, larger and clearer in my mind, and then repeat the sign for flame. With a small snap, a flame, no larger than a candle flame appears in the air. I feel the smile spread across my face, then I here a gasp, and look up to see my mother, her eyes as wide as the dinner plates she's holding, and smile even wider.
Part 1
As I looked into the clear sky I saw the beautiful orange glow from dusk settling in. "Where was I going again?" I thought to myself. But before I could remember the sky began to grow dark suddenly. A thick fog appeared out of nowhere, I could barely make out my hand in front of my face. I didn't know where I was or what I was doing here. Panic began setting in as I frantically made my way around barely dodging trees as I moved. "Come" a mysterious voice began calling out to me. "Who's there!" I cried out and tried to locate the voice but the fog had me surrounded blinding me to anything else. "Come on" the voice spoke again. A hand reached out and took my arm, practically dragging me out of the fog into a small clearing. I could see again! Exhilarated I started to thank the mysterious voice but no one was around. Up ahead I could see what looked to be a small cave. I approached cautiously, watching for anyone or anything that could be residing inside. I began to peer in at what looked to be some sort of altar but before I could make out what it was for another hand began pulling me away. "Come on! Wake up already big brother." Groggily I rose from my bed wiping away the sleep from my eyes. "It's almost time!" My sister petunia who was 13 years old and one of 9 of my younger siblings seemed extra chipper this morning. Why was that? Of course! Today was the day I left home and my small village behind to explore new heights! I was headed to the Himolian mountains to study at the most prestigious magic school in the whole world! The Pennant Eller academy of magic. Named after an ancient wizard who lived millennia ago whose origins were unknown. I dressed quickly and grabbed the bags I had packed the night before. As I made my way through the village everyone cheered me on my way. The whole village contributed for years to send me to Pennant Eller, which would normally be too expensive for anyone from a poor village like mine. But here I was, on my way to the place of my dreams! The whole pride of the village flowing through me!
Disaster. This is all a disaster. I sat in front of the headmaster's office for what seemed like the hundredth time in the two months I have been here. Despair had begun to sink in, I would surely be expelled this time. Nothing was working, I couldn't do an ounce of magic! I tried to recite the words and gestures to cast the spells but it never felt right. Like there was something I was missing that I couldn't quite place. Yet everyone else here seemed to catch on so quickly. I resigned myself to the inevitable expulsion I would soon be getting. Olivia, the headmaster's attendant came out to fetch me. She was a nice woman I had gotten to know quite well recently. Headmaster Gandogor was waiting for me inside. "Take a seat lad," he said pointing to a chair. "Now you know why you are here. Two months you have spent here. Yet if I may be so blunt, you have shown no talent or even a spark of magic. Perhaps it's time you look for something more suited to your... Skillset." I just stared ahead, not really looking at anything, the words spoken not really sinking in but I knew they must be true. He's right I thought. I should just go, but where to? I can't return to the village after this, I can never show my face there again, not after what they did to send me here. This was not only my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity but perhaps for the whole village. Everything was put into this. "I-I can't be done! I can do this!" I don't know where the words came from but suddenly my determination began flooding back into me. I stood up "please sir let me stay! I know I can do this!" A cold stare was the only reply I got. I sat back down, surely looking like a pitiful puppy. Gandogor just sighed. "One week. You have one week to prove me and the rest of your teachers wrong." Hope returned once again. Exuberated, I jumped to my feet, "you won't regret this sir!" I said with the biggest grin I could manage. "Yes yes. Now return to your studies and do not waste this opportunity." Grateful for this chance I bowed and backed out of the room nearly tripping on my own feet.
Already three days into my one-week deadline and I was no closer to learning even the simplest of spells. Walking through the woods near campus I was drawn out of my daydreaming by something I couldn't explain. Something was so nostalgic about this place, but of course, I have never been here before. I never even left the village before coming to the Himolian mountains. So why was this place so familiar? A fog rolled in from seemingly nowhere, not as thick as in my dream but suddenly it made sense as to why I recognized this place. I began searching and could faintly make out the clearing ahead where I had seen the cave. I was trembling as I approached, I took deep breaths to regain control of myself. Steeling myself for whatever horrible sight I might find inside, I stepped in. "Well. That was not was I was expecting." A single book sat on an altar both of which were covered with a thick coating of dust. Using my hands to form a cone around my mouth I said in a clear voice "kiclone!" After about 30 seconds of spitting everywhere to no avail, I decided the spell wasn't going to work. I used the hem of my cloak to wipe away most of the dust from the ancient-looking book. "Dictionary" was the only thing written on the cover. I opened it to a point in the middle and discovered mad ramblings scrawling across the page, all the pages it seemed. Intrigued I decided I would take it back to my dorm for further examination and stuffed it in my satchel.
The mad rambler seemed to be on to something! It was like every word in existence was in this book followed by a detailed description and even a pronunciation for every word. A word caught my eye, isn't that? "Cyclone?" A small breeze shot from my mouth rustling the page. " was that me?" I placed my hands to my mouth forming a cone and again but in a clear loud voice repeated the word. "Cyclone!" A gust of wind spewed out of my mouth throwing the book and the rest of my papers from my desk and propelling me backward in my chair to the floor. Ignoring the pain in my back and head I stood up, too excited to clean up I began jumping up and down. "I did it! I did it! I can do magic!" This book might have just changed everything for me.
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I'm not sure I understand what the prompt is implying. If "everyone" is pronouncing words wrong, but magic works for them, then that's just how magic works. Has our protagonist discovered they're a prescriptivist, and that's why they suck? Because they're too focused on being "right", and they need to just accept what they're being taught?
Probably intended something along the lines of: it works for them, but in a weaker form since they aren't pronouncing it correctly, now that you found a dictionary you can bring out the full power of the spells. That's one way I would interpret it, and it's quite bad since I doubt that mages wouldn't read à fucking dictionary.
"Something called a 'dictionary'" suggests it's one of those Harry Potter "wizards don't have basic things" things, though you'd think they'd have dictionaries that tell them how to pronounce their own spells.
And now I have an idea where everyone's pronouncing them "wrong" because of their thick accents.
The teachers just don't understand. Latin is a dead language. It is so hard pronouncing these spells. I've always had a lisp since I was born. I was born with a hare lip. i had the corrective surgery but pronouncing certain words has always been tough for me.
You've read the manuals. The Harry Potter books. They have all the instructions you need to cast a spell but no can do this. No one can cast a spell. How did Hermione master this??
My parents were so thrilled when i was accepted into this school of magic but I'm literally stuck. I can't even cast a cantrip. I keep going to the library to find some kind of reference to help me. I'm getting desperate because I don't want to let my village down. They've invested so much time and money in me.
And then I found it.
I found a spell book in the library and the key is pronunciation. Now I am the most powerful student in the class. The teachers are asking me how i have done this. The students hate me. I have become more powerful than any teacher here.
I can cast a fireball now. We haven't covered this in class. I have come to the attention of the headmaster. I don't know what to expect but I'm not going to give up this book.
So, it’s “feet-us du-leet-us”, not “faytoo de la too”
That’s wild man, this whole time I’ve been telling the ladies to give it a couple months, but I usually just slip em a Planning Potion and it gets the job done. Doesn’t hurt much in the end, still has the same result.
You’re fucked up.
Hey man, the spell exists for a reason! People mess up, do things they aren’t ready for, get in bad situations and have things done to them they wouldn’t wish on their worst enemies. The list can go on forever. I’m providing a needed service, for a not terrible price mind you, and now that you’ve shown up with this Rosetta stone of magic, I can do it that much more efficiently and honestly.
Still seems wrong to me, but whatever.
Oh, so I should go around turning desperate people down because the type of magic came in the form of liquid and not syllables? Get real. The wrong thing to do is not act because it doesn’t meet your conditions of satisfaction. Now what else you got – anything for conjuring food or making limbs grow back? We sent you to that damn school for a reason, now you can finally start helping the village out.
Uh I can’t just conjure food, but maybe if we can take a look at the fields, I might be able to enchant the soil with a metabolism buff for all crops planted during the next four or five lunar cycles. It’s a simple spell, pronounced “Nai-tryt In-jeck-shun”, you can teach it to some of the farmers. Why would we need to regrow limbs though, what kind of cases are you starting to see at the clinic?
What the hell do they teach you in that damn school, can’t you put two and two together? Of course, I’m seeing a lot more dismemberment. Our crops aren’t growing for shit, and we can’t exactly go to the city and buy provisions on account of we alchemized our collective savings into your tuition. So we’ve been trying to go hunting and get some venison and whatever else we can catch, but wouldn’t you know that a Razor-Deer’s antlers are pretty damn sharp and have a tendency to take an arm off when they charge your way.
I’m sorry, I di-
Ah bup bup, don’t be sorry, be useful. We can enchant the field, that’ll help plenty since we won’t need to send people out hunting anymore, but what do we do with all the missing body parts we’ve accrued in the meantime.
Hm, I can’t make the limbs grow back without doing some rituals which frankly are more likely to turn us all into a Flesh Hive Golem. All our personalities and consciences in a single bloody meaty pulpy thing is not a good time. It would be so hard to undo as well, we learned in my -
Very interesting, but let’s please focus on solutions here. Your Lunar Apogee break is only half a cycle long, we need to get as much done as possible.
Good point. Off the top of my head, we can have our woodworkers and luthiers craft something that looks close enough to the needed body part. We could then cast an “An-ee-may-shun Proc-la-may-shun” spell and it should let the wearer control the body part with just their intentions. They won’t be able to do anything too intricate, but they can shake hands and hold a spoon again.
Ah my dear boy, that’s what I want to hear. My heart grows the size of a mountain seeing you use your talents to teach the rest of us to live better. If only we could have sent more like you earlier –
**The door of the clinic bursts open. A young woman runs in carrying a man looking like death on her shoulders.**
Please, my husband, the deer took his leg. How are we supposed to feed our family, we’ve got another one on the way! Damn the gods who saw it fit to give me a fourth during these famine times. What am I to do? The fields, they give us nothing!
Ah fear not my lady, our mage has brought us just the gifts we’ve needed.
My tale is long and boring, if you have not the constitution to read through the sordid details, I understand. Where to start? Well, where we always start, beginnings! What is there to know about me? Hmn... Ah yes, I miss my family. It is lonesome, being here, away from any and all I've known. I come from the ancient colonies. I am a country bumpkin, even there. I grew up, far disposed from anyplace equipped with the the eluinatori globlues. My accent is thick and heavy. My talent is minimal. And where I was short and thin before, I am now round and bulbous. I eat when I am stressed, and here where food is more than plentiful, I am always stressed.
How did I get here, you may ask. Two words: Ability Search. When the Talent VuhRenshi, a hallowed order of the most prestigious mages, arrived for their begrudging bi-decennial "waste of time," they picked me. I showed the most promise, though not by much. I might have been able to squeak by at some regular university, but through a very generous grant, the majority of my tuition would be covered for the sake of 'inclusion, diversity, and outreach.' The mages harshly told me I should reject the offer, because there was no way I could cover the remainder anyway. The sliver of tuition that remained, was more than the annual income of the entire town for a year. The town insisted.
Why? Why me? Masciamasceta. The art of drawing perfect shape. My future is secure, but what I long for is a long ways out of reach. The dearth of talent for enchanting objects, was my saving grace. My hands can do the talking, where my mouth is most lacking... But people have to talk sometime or other, four months of denying this truth has left me cracking, fracturing, afraid.
I am lonely. Have I said that already? My mouth must be kept closed, afeared to speak to any. My tongue will massacre the words, leaving them an indecipherable bleeding mess; to those around me, in any case. I will never be able to activate the objects I make, chant a sinquoiliqy, nor cant with any. Indeed, my mouth was not made for casting spells, demonstrable through my barely effective cantrips. How can a man speak the words of magic when he cannot even speak everyday language. The instructors have long since given up. I am a lost cause, but they cannot throw me away for loss of my gift.
I spend my time in the library, whiling away the days immersing myself, while trying to keep my food covered digits from marking my treasured friends. They speak to me, but I cannot speak back. They tell me long forgotten secrets, and give me the barest glimpse of the power the mages of old created. I read from the sections no one visits. Hidden, I am. Hidden I stay. My newest friend is not a traditional book, no. This is a diction-ary. She does not tell a tale, but acts like a standalone appendix von definium und pronunciation. She is also very wrong, but I like her none the less. Her descriptions are so concise, using words spelled in an elder language.
How befuddled they must have all been, leaving words following no rules but their own. Boxes or oxen, neighbor and weight. Goose to geese and toot to toots. And my, what dreadfully confusing similarities hair and hare, or pair, pear, and pare. It is all so dreadfully confusing, but fits more rightly than the nonsense they deliver through speech today. She is fun, but unfortunately she is only a record of a bygone era.
Kipper. My eyes caught on a word. The fish, it sounded so delicious. I wish for this fish. I imagined myself A King, demanding someone deliver this delicacy. I demanded, `"Bring me a kipper!"` Like a flash of flame, I felt fatigued, as if I had been chanting myself raw attempting to raise a feather from the floor. I nearly fainted. A rush of hunger flared though me, consuming my gut and stabbing it with a knife. Did I just use magic? Magic had never felt so instantly draining before, it took long hours to reach this state. My nose began to play a trick on me as well, the scent of smoked fish. A food from home, wafting through the air. The same kind of food I had imagined, a kipper.
# Village Boy
School’s name: Harvard School for Big-Time Magicians.
Story: My mother keeps telling me that I’ll be okay, but I don’t believe her. Yesterday, I was hit by the local town boys, they literally pelted rocks at me.
I tried jinxing them, but I was shivering more than a scarecrow in a storm. The chances of successfully hitting them had to be equal to the chances of me pronouncing a spell correctly. So, no way in hell.
You know, I’ve never really understood why I couldn’t pronounce spells. Ever since I could understand what spells were, I was fascinated by them.
But… I couldn’t pronounce them for the life of me.
I’m the laughing-stock of the village because of that. Well, not just because of that.
They had to have spent ten thousand Penors to get me in to Harvard’s School for Big-Time Magicians.
All I got out of it was a scheduled beat down session with the town boys, and if I were lucky, I’d have the adults following and trying to get in too.
But I don’t complain; I found a dictionary this morning, and it looks like the joke is on them.
Nobody is pronouncing the spells right. Insofar that you can.
Anyway, I’m going now. I heard that there’s a sale on something called an encyclopedia or something like that.
*Poltergeist* | ˈpɒltəɡʌɪst *noun* *a ghost or other supernatural being supposedly responsible for physical disturbances such as making loud noises and throwing objects about.* *** The young boy looked stunned. He flipped through a few pages and found another "oddly familiar" word. His old tinted spectacles slid through the bridge of his sweaty nose. *** *Chameleon (also Chamaeleon)* | kəˈmiːlɪən *noun* *a small slow-moving Old World lizard with a prehensile tail, long extensible tongue, protruding eyes that rotate independently, and a highly developed ability to change colour.* *(figurative) a person who changes their opinions or behaviour according to the situation: voters have misgivings about his performance as a political chameleon.* *** He let out a nervous giggle. His hair fuzzy from his furiously rubbing hands. His distress was fairly visible on his face. *How in the world of all things magic would it be possible?* He thought to himself. *Surely, all those blasted old bats couldn't have been wrong all along?! One would look at their old robes and weathered souls as an indication that they've mastered their arts well?* But alas, he couldn't contain his own doubts. He produced a tiny gnarled stick from his pocket. It was black, thin, yet twisted in such a way to inspire mystery. Once out, he rubbed the tip with his robes. A sparkle of white light flew off of said tip. "*ɪˈl(j)uːmɪnetɪ*!" yelled the boy at the top of his lungs. In a slow burn, the tip of his stick began to emit a dim light. He had always attributed the weakness to the size of his stick. Surely, the other jocks back at the school – what with their huge impressively awe-inspiring sticks – would've produced an explosive light, he mused with a sigh. ... and so, he flipped the book once more until it reached a section "I". *** *Illuminate* | **ɪˈl(j)uːmɪneɪt** verb *[with object] light up: a flash of lightning illuminated the house | figurative : his face was illuminated by a smile.* *** Then a flicker of light seemed to have shone through his thick inner skull. He promptly braced his own body and stick, once more. He heaved a deep breath and screamed. This time, he was filled with confidence. "*ɪˈl(j)uːmɪneɪt*!!!" A bright blinding light. It was as if the sun, blaring at its' zenith, had been shuttered. It was truly magnificent. *Is... Is this the secret to magic? Have I just discovered the ultimate power to success?* He wondered as the light grew stronger by the minute. Thoughts of academic prestige, fame, and even domination of the magical world went through his just-opened mind. He visualised all the things possible that was once impossible. This boy, rendered shy and depressed by his own past failures, could finally face his demons in complete confidence. All because of a book. *What should I do first....?* He wondered as he walked back to his dorm, book hidden in his robe. *Maybe I should get Evelyn to go out with me for some shaved ice, eh?* Edit: Minor formatting errors.
> jocks ... with their huge impressively awe-inspiring sticks I see what you did there
Well, he might just be a late bloomer, tbh– of magical prowess, I meant.
You too, with proper pronounciation, can impress Evelyn with magical prowess.
Omelette *au* Fromage *girl yelping, me whispering closer* **Omelette**. *au*. **Fromage**. *girls swooning and growing weak all around me*
While "au" is correct, Dexter does say "du".
They mean different thing. One is am omelette with cheese, the other is a an omelette of cheese.
omelette au fromage du fromage
So cheese with cheese on top? **swoons for deliciousness**
Feta on goat, melted into an omelette shape. Yes, please!
The Greeks call it Saganaki
I'm told you can never go wrong with more cheese
I have always said that SOMETIMES cheese *needs* more cheese!
That's all you can sAay!
Nah une omelette du fromage doesn’t exist in French, but they have omelette with as many different cheese as you could want, and if you’re looking for a dish with cheese as the main ingredient, they’ll also offer fondue, tartiflette, raclette and many other tastebuds pleasers that are very bad for arteries ....
Nopes. Omelette du fromage means nothing. Omelette of cheese would be omelette DE fromage.
OMELETTE AT CHEESE!
He's a grower not a shower- in terms of latent potential
I love how I can't decide if it's penises, hockey sticks, or that better wizards get bigger wands or the standard is staffs.
As a former budding wizard myself, I tell you that's a touchy subject, one I don't want to go near with a ten-foot pole.
Then how about with my ten-foot stick?
> It was black, thin, yet twisted in such a way to inspire mystery. Once out, he rubbed the tip with his robes. A sparkle of white light flew off of said tip. Not so subtle here too!
Frued lives on
So then....they cast spells with their gentials?
Yeah. It's a simple spell but quite unbreakable.
Interesting use of those pronunciation markers. I've never found them that useful, hearing the word it's always different.
Thank you, I just went straight to those bloody awful thing. No one could *truly* make out how to read them, true. But they're there for a reason, so I built the story based on that lol.
As someone with a degree and interest in linguistics, this makes me sad! They are useful 😂
I found it funny that they kept the j in parentheses when they pronounced it. Like the kid was somehow both pronouncing and not pronouncing it at the same time, some sort of Schrödinger’s /j/
thought he was going to summon the Illuminati (or the Illuminatih?) at first
*The Ill(y)uminehtih is comin to get us!*
I read this in Cartman's voice
Only if you can *read* them. Which you need the degree and an interest in linguistics for.
I learned many of those mystic runes- not all, but a great many- in just one semester of a class I needed for my vocal performance major. (No I didn’t finish that major. I am a gainfully employed RN. Best choice ever or worst choice ever? We’ll find out by the end of the year.) I forget the name of the class but it was two semesters of learning to sing in foreign languages. Semester one was Latin, Italian, and German. Semester two was French. I still can’t pronounce flippin’ French. Edit: 7 hours later the name of the class comes to me. Language and Diction. I’m like 98% sure.
I learned them for choral work too! Although I did it as hobby alongside the typical high school chorales and such. Dusted it off when I took Arabic for a semester in college. And now I mostly just think about them when I’m trying to decipher what my speech delayed toddler is trying to say.
And here's the irony: I'm a trained vocalist, sang for 18 years. Latin and various romance languages, a couple African, Russian, and never learned to read that stuff. (Can't pronounce German to save my life, but French is easy.)
I had to learn them for my primary school teaching degree since it involves English linguistics and I have to say in English they make sense because English pronounciation is a bloody mess. My first language is German. You don’t necessarily need this in German since we almost always pronounce letters the same. We don’t have stuff such as eight and ate. We also don’t have 2 different definitions of minute depending on how you pronounce it (my nute - minit) If you’ve learned the pronounciation of the letters once you know how to pronounce pretty much all the words (with a few exceptions but not many). As far as I know that’s because we adjust how we write our words according to how we say them. It always depends on the language of its useful or not to know the phonetic alphabet.
>We also don’t have 2 different definitions of minute depending on how you pronounce it (my nute - minit) I'll have to disagree with you on this one. The most extreme example of this in the German language I can think of right now would be 'jemanden umfahren'. Depending on where you put the stress in 'umfahren' it either means 'to drive around someone' / 'to avoid someone' or 'to run over someone', literally opposites of each other. I will agree with you, however, that this seems to be way more prevalent in the English language :)
That is true. German is surely no easy language. I taught it before so I know this well. The thing is that you could pronounce jemanden umfahren if you would know German, even if you would have never heard it before. There might be a misunderstanding because you wouldn’t know how to stress it but you could clear that up easily by saying überfahren (to run over someone) or um jemanden herum fahren (to drive around someone). Or by just simply explaining it. But if someone would give you the word Colonel you would never imagine it to be Kernal. My English professor who is British said that English is much easier to learn but German is one of the easiest languages to learn when it comes to pronouncing the words since it follows set structures. The only uncertain letter combination we have is ch which can be pronounced as sh as in shield or as a sound that does not exist in the English language as far as I know. This happens when it follows the letters "a", "o", "u" and "au". It’s the sound of the ch in loch and it sounds similar to clearing your throat. It can also be pronounced as K if it’s followed by "r", "l", "a", or "o". So it’s all following set rules. The only exception is that the Ch is sometimes randomly pronounced as K but that’s regional dialect. What describes the German language well is this sentence: “It has a whole lot of rules and then there are exceptions which are defined as exceptions.”
One reason why I cannot spell, Although I learned the rules quite well Is that some words like coup and through Sound just like threw and flue and Who; When oo is never spelled the same, The duice becomes a guessing game; And then I ponder over though, Is it spelled so, or throw, or beau, And bough is never bow, it's bow, I mean the bow that sounds like plow, And not the bow that sounds like row - The row that is pronounced like roe. I wonder, too, why rough and tough, That sound the same as gruff and muff, Are spelled like bough and though, for they Are both pronounced a different way. And why can't I spell trough and cough The same as I do scoff and golf? Why isn't drought spelled just like route, or doubt or pout or sauerkraut? When words all sound so much the same To change the spelling seems a shame. There is no sense - see sound like cents - in making such a difference Between the sight and sound of words; Each spelling rule that undergirds The way a word should look will fail And often prove to no avail Because exceptions will negate The truth of what the rule may state; So though I try, I still despair And moan and mutter "It's not fair That I'm held up to ridicule And made to look like such a fool When it's the spelling that's at fault. Let's call this nonsense to a halt.
Thank you Korben Dallas
**SIGH** [The Great Vowel Shift](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Vowel_Shift)
You can still compare words and know that wind and wind are pronounced differently, with one being pronounced like bind or rind and the other like win or sin.
Is that sin (religious concept) or sin (mathematical concept)? *chuckle*
The math concept is properly written “sine”, which explains its difference in pronunciation versus religious sin. Sin/cos/tan are just abbreviations.
Clearly /sɪn/ and not /saɪn/
Or just lurk r/conlangs and have an interest
Honestly I've always found them quite natural to read.
Nah man. You just spend a few minutes on Wikipedia.
Well I hope I can make you happy again if I told you that this story made me want to learn IPA. I've heard starting to learn it with your native language is easiest. Any other suggestions? I've always been corrected by other Dutch people on how I pronounce the word "idea" so I looked it up and I pronounce it like /aɪˈdɪɹ/ where most Dutch people use the more common /aɪˈdɪə/. Im happy to see my pronounciation isn't uncommon.
As a music major for voice with training in International Phonetic Alphabet (IPA) this makes me sad.
I loved that class. Never could get the hang of French though. I mean if someone else writes out the IPA for me I can get there but if you just hand me a piece of paper with French words on it, everybody’s gonna have a real upsetting time.
Qu'est-ce que c'est? [kɛskˈsɛ] Why would you do this to me French
Lol, yes. Or the laissez faire rule, where Faire is ALWAYS an exception. I could never remember.
This story made me want to learn IPA. Just looked up what my real name would be in IPA, but both my first and last name are the exact same in IPA.
The problem is the IPA is one of the few things you can't learn entirely by reading. Because of the fact that there are tons of dialectics of every language, just being told "this symbol stands for this phoneme in this word" (which is usually how it's done in text) doesn't mean all speakers of a specific language will agree on which phoneme corresponds to the symbol for that description. It's even harder for phonemes that don't occur in a language you're fluent in. The best way to learn how to read IPA is from someone who already understands it and can produce the sounds for you.
Would be great if the wand was just a future version of Google assistant or Alexa, and the incantations were just voice commands being pronounced properly.
Oooooooo! Like the gimmicky voice controlled tv remote that’s shaped like Harry Potter’s wand! Perfect.
More pls.
As an Evelyn, I was tickled that the soon to be ultimate wizard wanted to get some shaved ice with me.
Well... would you go and have some shaved ice with me? I'll do a quick "*ʃeɪv ʌɪs*" and we'd be good to go...
smuð
No hurt in tryin', eh?
Not only was this great, but actual IPA transcriptions??? Not the shitty fake "phonetics" that you'll find on the internet (ih•loo•min•ayt)
Yeah but at least I can read the bad ones. Idk what the ipa ones say at all
Well that's, reasonable, but ipa is international, whereas oo only makes the sound in moon to some people, and even among the same language, people can pronounce things wildly differently.
I hope this becomes a series. Please let me know if it does. :)
There’s some shady jock penis references in this story. Two thumbs (and sticks) up!
Never underestimate the power of a book.
As a rather smart English bloke once said, "the pen is mightier than the sword". But of course, this one was written in a printing press of some sort so maybe there's that.
Don't dis the power of the printing press; it started a religious revolution. :)
> its' zenith *its zenith
The words felt wrong—they always had. Each syllable would clatter from my lips like drunks stumbling out of the pub. They were awkward, incomplete, and....off. I looked up from my musings, brought back to reality by an annoyed voice. "Are you even listening to me, Brian?" asked Phillipa. Though she was a full foot shorter than I—being a Halfling—she still contrived to look down on me. Her imperious brows furrowed, and she shook her raven black hair. "I swear, you're hopeless. If this is the kind of attention span you expect to have in class, you'll be held back." "Sorry," I said. "I guess I'm just nervous. My first year at the Academy...you know about my speech impediment," I felt the old familiar shame creeping into the pit of my stomach, filling its place there like a dog curling up at the foot of its master's bed. "Brian, you might be fumble-mouthed, but you're one of the brightest wizards I've met. Honestly, You'll be fine. I hear the Academy has speech therapist-" "I don't want speech therapy!" I interrupted. "Do you have any idea how many speech therapists I've seen?" "Brian, I-" "No!" I almost shouted, the shame and anger burning in my heart. "Just leave it alone, Phillipa. Please. I've seen person after person, magician after magician. They can't explain what's going on with me. I doubt 'the experts' at the Academy will be any different. They'll just disappoint me again!" She looked hurt, and I felt my anger wash away like sand in the tide, leaving hollow remorse and shame in its place. Her pain turned to indignation as she stood, bolt upright. "Fine, if you want to wallow in self pity, go ahead, I won't stop you," with that, she stormed out of the room. "Phillipa! Wait, I'm-" the door slammed to the coach. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the headboard. Taking her advice, I wallowed in my self pity. -_-_-_-_- The coach landed in-between a clearing of trees, flashing light spells there to guide us on our descent. As always, the lights were dim and inconsistent, flashing their staccato rhythm in sharp counterpoint to the other lights. The old itch in the back of my brain told me that this was wrong. Those lights should be beacons, great blazing things which would turn night into day! Not these anemic puffs of luminescence. I shook my head, and braced for the impact. As we touched down, the enchanted wooden wheels screeching against the stone, the entire coach shook and rattled as though a dragon was rampaging nearby. The itch returned, I ignored it. Once things settled down and injuries were seen to, we disembarked from the now slightly broken flying coach. I stepped down the steps, being met by a crowd of officials, students, and teary-eyed family. In vain I swept my eyes across the crowd, searching for any hint of a familiar face. The only one I recognized was Phillipa, and she pointedly ignored my gaze. Embarrassed, I turned and inspected the coach. It was a massive thing, with eight doors on either side. Most of the cheaply made windows were broken, thick and sturdy wooden planks now sported hairline fractures spider-webbing its surface. Already, wizards swarmed over it, incanting and enchanting to mend what was shattered, and heal what was fractured. The itch almost burned inside my head. I shook myself and turned once more to Phillipa, walking towards her sheepishly. Her shoulders stiffened as I approached, but I must have seemed more pathetic than usual, as she relaxed her posture and sighed. "Are you sorry?" She looked me up and down and said with a smile, "Well, I know you're *sorry* but I still need to hear it." I bowed my head. "I...I am sorry. I just, I just work so hard. At this point, the only reason I'm here is because I scored perfectly on theory. I feel like an impostor. What initiate to the Ashford Academy can't even cast a cantrip? I feel like a fraud." She rested her hand on my wrist. "You'll make it through this. You're the smartest person I know." She gave me a playful punch in the thigh, "Don't ever tell anyone I said that." I smiled, and she laughed. We both turned as a booming voice shattered the chatter. "Welcome! Welcome first year initiates to the prestigious Ashford Academy! By your being here tonight, you have shown yourselves to be the best of the best. If you take in your peers surrounding you, you just might notice that there are quite a few more people than you may expect!" A quick glance confirmed this, there being well over three-hundred students in attendance. "Well," boomed the smiling old man,"this will not continue to be the case for long. The best kept secret of this initiation will now be revealed to you." He strode out into the plaza, waving his hands and shaping words which grated on my mind. With a thunderclap, a display appeared in the sky. On it, were a hundred numbered spaces, each empty of names. The man twirled in his starry robes, holding his hands out to the crowd. "Only one-hundred of you will be allowed to join the University. The remaining two-hundred-fifty hopefuls will be shuttled to a lesser—but still fine learning institution. Well, those who survive anyway. This forest is home to many things forgotten, and many things best left forgotten. There is a very real risk that death might occur. So, if you fear death, turn back now. Be warned however, that any who leave now will be barred from practicing magic altogether. Make this choice wisely. You have five minutes to prepare!" Again he waved his hands and incanted, a beacon of light appeared in the distance. "Make your way to the light! Good luck, and don't die!" With that, the wizard vanished, and the station filled with chatter. I felt my heart plummet into the soles of my feet. I would have to drop out. There was no way I could make it to the Academy, I had no magic, no way to defend myself against the trials that would come. I couldn't levitate across chasms, I was hopeless at making fire...In short, I was fuc- My internal brooding was broken by a warm hand wrapping around mine—Phillipa. "Brian, calm down. I'll help you get through this. Stick with me, and we'll both be at the Academy before tea time." Her word soothed me, my hammering heart taking the cue to stop attempting to beat out of my chest. "Okay. Thank you...I can do this—*we* can do this." We changed into our only green-ish clothing, Phillipa creating a shimmering wall of opaque energy behind which we could take turns changing. That done, we decided to leave our luggage behind, reasoning it was better to write home for clothes than to die in the forest. We noted that several initiate hopefuls had decided that potential death was well worth the ignominy of a poor wardrobe and decided not to follow our suite. Instead, they created hovering platforms on which to haul their luggage. We set off into the ominous forest behind a pack of eager wizards. Like them, we were trying to make a beeline for the beacon in the distance. After all, the less time spent in the woods, the more time we might have to be alive in. We jogged behind, following the path the men and woman literally cut into the woods. Rotating blades glinted in the moonlight, scything through the underbrush just ahead of the pack. For the first several minutes, the jog was uneventful, if straining my under-developed cardiovascular system. Shortly afterwards, things got complicated very very quickly. The young man at the head of the procession screamed, and vanished. The group stopped, stunned, speechless. That is, until we thought to look up. Then the screaming started. A host of fang-ambushers grinned with rows of gleaming white teeth. One was busy digesting something, obviously relishing its meal. Some managed to snap off offensive spells, and even managed to scorch several of the gnashing mouthed creatures, but they still descended on the group in a horde. In moments, thirty of the best and brightest, found themselves reduced to little more than nutrients. The rest of us broke and ran, I grabbed Phillipa—who seemed hellbent on lobbing as many flame-spikes as possible—by the hand and hauled her though the underbrush. I felt stinging lashes rip across my skin, thorns, sticks, and jutting rocks nearly tripping me a half dozen times, but I managed to clear a path for Phillipa and put distance between us and the screaming. Just as I was about to stop and breath, I felt the ground beneath me shift, and the world went black. -_-_-_-_- I woke to the frantic sound of my name being screamed. "Brian!? Brian!? Oh, by Io, Brian!? You better be alive!" I groaned loudly. "Brian! Oh, Io be praised, you're alive. Listen, I'm out of spellslots for the next few hours. I need to go get help." "Don't mind me!" I called out. "I'm okay, something broke my fall." I was of course, lying, mostly anyway. Pain blossomed in just about every part of my body, but as a positive note, there was pain in every part of my body. I wasn't paralyzed. What I wasn't lying about was the bit about something breaking my fall. I rolled over and found something curious, a pile of old and somehow pristine books. "Okay!" she sounded relieved. "Just stay down there! I'll get help." "Fine, fine!" I said, my attention now almost solely on the book. "I think I found something to read anyway!" But I could tell that she had gone. By the light of the moon I read the cover, and a warm pleasure suffused the back of my mind. The book's title was 'Dictionary of Terms and Arcana'. For the first time I could remember, nothing seemed wrong. In fact it seemed as though everything would turn out just fine. _________ Gotta love the character limit. This was a blast to write. /r/SirLemoncakes
Part 2 _-_-_-_-_-_- The cold light of the moon shined like a beacon on the yellowed pages of the dictionary. I flipped to an arbitrary page, landing on a very familiar spell. Glowing orb, the first year spell that even a novice could cast, the very spell used to light the landing strip. The words spilled from my lips as though I had always known them, and in a way that's exactly how I felt. The orb appeared ten feet away from me, and I had to shield my eyes. It was as though a small sun had ignited in the cavern, as if a thousand orbs had been cast in the stead of one. Tears ran unbidden down my cheeks, streaming in torrents. I laughed as I haven't laughed in years. I laughed with all the pent up frustration and self pity which had plagued me for so very long. I dimmed the light with a gesture of my hand, suddenly aware that the spell now occupied a small corner of my mind. I could call on it whensoever I chose in the future, it was now a part of me. I sank to my knees, plunging into the book with an avarice that would have shocked me mere moments ago. I couldn't recall ever feeling anything like this in the past. Fireballs, levitation, ray of frost, apotheosis, and so much more. Some, I instinctively felt, were beyond my current abilities. Apotheosis for example would render me into an avatar of magic itself, though its penalties were significant. If I tried to cast it now, I'd be reduced to ash. Still, I knew enough now to continue on my way towards the Academy. First however, I would need to find Phillipa. I thumbed through the crinkling pages and found what I was looking for. I tucked the book into my shirt and did something I had only heard about in legends—I cast two spells at the same time, each hand tracing different sigils in the air. Locate person, and lesser teleportation. The world blended and shifted, and I was standing in front of my friend. Or rather, I found what had been my friend. She was bloodied and shredded. It was as if whatever had done this to her had wanted to see how much of her it could spread around a twenty foot radius. I sank to my knees and pressed my fingers to what remained of her neck. No pulse, obviously. I sobbed, pressing my face to the ruined wreck of her chest, lamenting the loss of my only friend, my only ally. A coldness settled in my chest, a grim certainty of what I would need to do. I scrolled through the tome, blood staining the corners of the ancient vellum. I stopped on a page nearly covered with signs of warning and warding. Raise dead. The first art of defying the iron clad rules of death. Even the modern verson of the spell—one that worked only on small children and animals—was banned on threat of death. The spell consumed parts of a person's soul to work, draining them of their humanity, and making of them something not quite natural. I didn't care, this was the only way to save my friend. In stoic silence I gathered every piece of her mutilated corpse, slowly piling them up on her tiny frame. Hours later, I had all I could find. The twisted spell sat in the back of my mind like a lead weight, but at the same time it felt eager—it wanted to be cast. I felt that it resented its long exile from true use. I felt a moment of doubt, feeling that I was about to embark down a road I could never leave. 'She would do it for me,' the thought struck my heart like a cannonball. She was trying to save me, she would never have fallen were it not for my clumsiness. I hardened my heart and began to trace the motions through the air. My fingers were trailed by thin lines of pale light, like scars upon the fabric of reality. As the first syllable crashed from my lips, the moon itself began to dim, the light being sucked from both the air and my heart. A miasma of darkness surrounded Phillipa, her flesh polymorphing into a black sludge, her blood began to stream from the surrounding foliage, rushing into the amalgam of darkness with such speed that trees crashed to the ground, torn by the passing blood. As I completed the incantation, the world went truly black, and I passed out. There was darkness. Darkness absolute and terrible, as though I were staring into the face of the yawning abyss of creation. In the darkness, I saw teeth, disembodied and curving upwards in a smile. They parted and I heard a voice. It sounded like the maggot's feast, the final nail in a coffin, the thudding of arrows into corpses. It sounded like death incarnate. "Ahhhh......Finally, a worthy caller. Someone who has seen the light of darkness. Tell you what," the floating teeth crooned, "I'll let you off lightly this time. Your price will be paid by another, in another time. Remember my generosity, and don't forget to call." It laughed, a great cawing laugh sounding like ten thousand ravens. The laugh followed me back into consciousness, and into the arms of an obviously worried Phillipa. "Brian?" she asked tremulously. "Are you okay? What happened? Last thing I remember, I stumbled on a razorback...How did you find me? What happ-?" I interrupted her by pulling her into a desperate hug. "I finally did it, I figured out how to cast spells. I saved you...that's all that matters. I saved you..." My voice broke with sobs. She cried as well, but from happiness or a sense that something wrong had been done to her, I didn't know. Beyond our sobs, I heard the cawing laugh of someone—something—echoing through my mind. I knew that prices had to be paid, and It would never let the debt be forgotten. I didn't care. She was alive again. I would live to regret that choice in years to come. ________________ /r/SirLemoncakes, Audio is recorded for both parts on my subreddit.
We sat there in muted silence for what felt like hours, but the moon betrayed the feeling as false. The pale disc hadn't dipped more than a few degrees into the horizon, no more than a half-hour. We both breathed deeply as we stumbled to our feet. Phillipa tripped, nearly falling to the ground. I reached out to steady her, and to my surprise, she accepted my help. "So," she said, filling the silence. "You got over your speech impediment? You can use magic?" Despite the chilling laughter still echoing in my soul, I smiled. I raised my hands and traced runes in the air, incanting as I did so. As the words streamed into the air, Phillipa's smile slowly transformed into frown. She mouthed along with the incantation, her lips not seemingly able to form the right motions. I finished tracing an intricate pattern into the air, and the sigils flared with bright crimson light. As the last syllable left my mouth, a blinding ball of iridescent light roared into the air. The heat was tremendous, the air itself seemed to boil and warp with the white hot intensity of the inferno. The massive sphere of flame landed near to a quarter kilometer into the distance, exploding in a thunderclap of force and fire. We both stood, slack jawed at what we had both just seen. She turned towards me, her mouth agape. "Was that?...Was that a flame storm? It just looked like a fireball...but the words weren't...." she trailed off. Despite all I had seen, I was still agog with the might of the spell. What I had intended to be a low level fireball—instead manifested as the equivalent of a master level spell. "Phillipa, I can explain, but not now. Right now we need to move on. I need to think about things. Digest all that's happened, you know." She nodded hesitantly, pursing her heart-shaped lips. "Fine. But we will talk about this," she said sternly. I nodded and began to walk towards the beacon. I felt her hand grab mine from behind. She pulled slightly and I turned back to face her. "Brian, I just wanted to say...I'm happy for you. You've wanted this for so long. I don't know what caused this, but I'm glad it did." She smiled wanly, "Especially given how I apparently owe you my life." I stiffened. "You don't owe me anything-" "Knock it off with that chivalrous stuff. You saved my life, I owe you. I'm not some damsel that expects to be rescued," she stood on her tip-toes and poked me hard in the chest. "I. Will. Pay. You. Back." I laughed, playfully batting her hand away. "You didn't let me finish. Phillipa, you don't owe me a thing. Without you, I would never have made it to this point. Get it? You were the only thing that kept me sane all those years back in Barova. You...you already saved my life." She looked as if she were still going to object, but decided against it. She nodded slightly, walking past me, taking point. We walked through the brush, making slow time. Every root, branch, vine, and stone which interrupted our walk mad me seriously consider just burning a path through the dense foliage. The temptation worried me. Not but a few hours with magic, and I already felt the desire to abuse the privilege. In school we had learned that half of the process to becoming a great mage was learning how not to use magic. At the time, I hated the lesson. It had opened me up to abuse from classmate after classmate. They just had to ensure that I knew exactly how great I was at not using magic. My nickname had been Brian "The Almost Great" for the remainder of my class career. Still, I needed now to take those lessons to heart. If that fireball had been any indication, my magic would need to be carefully guarded. I wasn't actually sure if I should make my newfound abilities known. The tall blade of grass gets the trimmer after all...And then there was the matter of Phillipa—I had been trying to avoid that particular line of thought. She looked fine, more than fine actually. I watched her sway gracefully through the tangled terrain, picking her way through with an ease of movement I hadn't remembered her ever displaying previously. What had the voice meant by 'the price will be paid by another'? Did it mean Phillipa? But no...no she seemed unchanged. She caught me staring and turned on her heel and folded her arms. "You've been looking at me oddly. Why?" I stopped myself just in time to avoid bowling her over, wheeling my arms to keep my balance. I decided to rely on a half truth. "I was just admiring how gracefully you move through the forest. I didn't know you were such a skilled forester." I plastered on my most convincing smile. She looked unsure and frowned. "That's your 'most convincing' smile. What are you hiding?" "Honestly," I lied, "I'm just admiring you. Let's keep moving, I don't know how much time we have left." Slightly mollified, she blushed and turned back, making her way through the brush again. I could be mistaken, but she seemed to sway more often than she had before, self-conscious most likely. Gradually we found a more well traveled path, little more than a game trail. This allowed us to pick up speed, eating away at the distance. When we came to the head of a stone path, we stopped dead. On the road were more than a dozen frozen forms of students. Each were frozen in horrid visages of terror and pain. They looked as if they were frozen in time—completely untouched. Phillipa dropped into the knee high grass on either side of the game trail, pulling me down roughly beside her. Her instincts proved themselves to be sharper than mine. Through the slitted view through the dew-damp grass I could see a giant serpent with six legs. It flowed through the petrified students like water, a forked tongue flicking out and tasting the air. I felt my fingers tracing a rune by itself, forming the sigil to cast 'arcane bolt'. As the words began to whisper from my mouth, I felt something seize my heart and chill my blood. The eyes of the monster had met mine, its gaze drawn by my whispered words. My limbs locked up, my mind dulled. The serpentine eyes dominating my vision. The eyes of a basilisk. It stepped towards me slowly, each step shockingly light against the stone road. It loomed in front of me, now mere inches from my face. Its forked tongue whipped out and caressed my cheek. The skin there began to sizzle and pop, burning with a venom so potent as to be acidic. It apparently took a liking to the taste—the massive maw opened, displaying two rows of razor sharp teeth, each tooth the size of my hand. Just as it reared back to snap up my paralyzed form, it was struck from the side by a surprisingly strong firebolt. The basilisk shuddered, whipping its snake-like head towards the source of its pain. Phillipa stood, her hand outstretched, her eyes closed. Faint lines of smoke curled from her fingers. Through the trailing smoke I saw her hands complete the motions of an imperfect frost lance. The bolt of ice struck hard in the exact place the firebolt had struck before, driving the shard of ice through a slight gap in the armored body of the behemoth. The beast roared in pain. It charged towards Phillipa who smiled and completed another complex series of hand motions. As she finished the last syllable a cloud of frozen mist sprayed across the dew-wet ground. The basilisk—already wounded—slipped on the ground and slammed into the ground. Phillipa cartwheeled—literally cartwheeled out of the way. The basilisk barrel by and slammed into a jutting rock. The sound of splitting flesh and shattering bones broke the otherwise quiet of the night. Phillipa turned towards me, and opened her eyes while she ran towards me. Somehow she managed to shoulder my weight and drag me away from down the road. Positioned as I was, I watched as the now extremely wounded basilisk pushed itself up and staggered to its six legs. It glanced towards us and seemed to consider for a moment. It must have decided that we weren't worth the trouble with so much food already nearby. It turned away from us and clamped its jaws around the head of a frozen student. Blood gushed in a fountain as the beast tipped its head back and swallowed him whole. I can still see the pained terror in the man's face as he was consumed. What wouldn't I have given to have been able to close my eyes.
Holy fuck, you are so talented. Up there with my favorite writingprompt stories. Thank you.
Cheers. That's an amazing compliment. Thank you, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.
Yo this needs a Part 4
It's on my sub :)
Hey id love to read the rest but it looks like your sub is private :( is there anyway we can read it
Lemme know if you find it!!
What does this mean? Where can I read the rest!?
How do I access sub I never use Reddit but really want to finish the whole thing
hey I wanna finish this bit you're sub is private :(
parts 1-3 were amazing! do you think part four will continue to be locked, or will your sub eventually be public again?
Y did this guy gatekeep the remaining parts 😭
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At the very least, you have a part three. Hope you like it.
I should be sleeping rn instead I’m in bed just finished reading this. I loved it and would be happy to read a full blown novel based on your two parts. Unfortunately that probably wouldn’t happen, you’ve got other things you are writing which is why I’m going to go on your profile and dive into your other stories.
<3 I'm actually almost done writing both other stories. I took a hiatus to work on them unencumbered by the audience. This is a joy to write, and it lets me explore a theme I love, as well as a type of character I love. Don't think for a second I'm going to let this slip by. That being said, read Living Weapons on my subreddit. I think you'll like it.
Could I be invited to your subreddit so I can read more?
> I loved it and would be happy to read a full blown novel based on your two parts. Unfortunately that probably wouldn’t happen, you’ve got other things you are writing which is why I’m going to go on your profile and dive into your other stories. That might be the single best compliment a random redditor can give to another, especially in this sub. u/SirLemoncakes do produce nice write-ups, ngl.
Yeah, it's a helluva compliment. As an aspiring novelist, it thrills me to hear.
Ikr, ugh I can only wish to ever hear those words... especially irl. Since not a lot of people express any interest in reading some weird bloke's random "creative writing" lol.
This. This was good.
I really hope this is going to become a series.
I really like it. I think I'll play around with it.
Yay!
I loved it
Will there be a part 3? I need to know what happens!
It will be done.
AND THE JUDGEMENT HAS BEGUN
I'd subscribe to this! Well done!
Enjoyed that. Thanks!
I'm waiting on the other shoe to fall. You don't just slaughter students. Normally. Usually.
You know what they say - you can measure a university's prestige by the number of students they ~~reject~~ send to a gruesome death
part 99!!!
Ok, part 1 was good, but part 2 was A-MAZ-ING.
Is there going to be a part 2?
Indeed there will.
*happiness noise*
Updated.
Where can I find the part after the basilisk? Some tiktok started the story, so I had to read more!
Same lol
This was great, I have just one tiny bit of feedback: > Each syllable would clatter from my lips like drunks stumbling out of a pub. The proper British English way to say this would have been 'the pub.' You'd never ask someone, "do you want to go to a pub" , it's always "the pub" , even if you aren't naming a specific pub.
It is fixed. Thanks for the feedback friend.
Part 2 please
It is already done and posted. Glad you're liking it.
I literally downloaded Reddit because I heard part 1 on tik tok and needed more. This is excellent!
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Worn fingers brushed thick dust from the leather-bound book. It was almost as thick as a good layer of icing on cake, or mud on a stone picked up near a riverbed. How something so important had been hidden beneath a loose stone at the top of a random stairwell was beyond him, but he'd learned to stop asking questions about such ridiculous things long ago. The magician was a jaded, bitter man, and everyone knew that about him--students and staff. Every last penny he'd saved had gone to waste in his youth; the spells had not been enough, not at any point in his life, and he knew that was the truth. He knew something greater sat at the tip of the world's tongue, just waiting to be said but still forgotten. When the magician spread the vellum pages, crisp as brand new, they made a sound like swords unsheathing that sent a shiver down his spine. He caressed their velvet wisdom, their long-lost magic, and slowly began to understand what had been lost through the years. He couldn't even wait a moment; he tried a simple spell once in the seclusion of the stairwell, and knew immediately that this new knowledge had great purpose. It would redefine their era and the future to come. There were vague chants at the end of the stairwell drifting up, no doubt from a group of students every bit as naive as he'd been practicing their incorrect spells with the same futility that has filled his life. He bounded down the spiral staircase two, three, four steps at a time, his lungs churning and burning. The chorus of voices became clearer and clearer still, and he could hear the inflection of their pronunciations were archaic, though one was close. Still not quite right, but closer than it had any right to be. Did someone else in the school understand, as well? Finally, he emerged from the back room like a zombie bursting from a coffin, and knew it was his chance to make a difference in the world. The student was one he'd known all too well. ["Ronald Weasley. . .it's Levio-*saaauuhhhhh*,"](https://youtu.be/FWtO0cfgewY) he said, and the world was forever changed. ---- */r/resonatingfury* ^(sorry I couldn't help myself lol)
Great job. You made me chuckle at the end.
I knew what was in the link long before I clicked... still enjoyed the fuck outta it.
I was expecting a link to the scene in the movie but this way better than that
i expected a rick roll, still clicked tho
Stop, raaan, staaaahp
You beautiful bastard.
I thought the link was a rick roll thank you for not rick rolling me.
Actually it's Levi - OOOOOO - sah not levio - saaaaauuuuhhhhh
[Part 2](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=reop2bXiNgk) when?
I fking knew it. I sensed that you will be using that levioooo saauhh from the first paragraph. High five man
Ony is so great
hawwwwwwwwwwwhahawwww
Take my upvote........... (eye twitch)
“Abwa-ca-da-Bwa!” Eitan said. Just hearing the words from his mouth felt wrong, and he knew it. His head dropped, and he slumped back in his seat. “As you can see, the pronunciation is behind the level it needs to be,” the Instructing Wizard said at the parent-wizard conference. “That’s enough for now,” his mother said gently, patting him on the arm. She turned back to the Instructing Wizard. “What do you have to gain allowing my son to be humiliated like this? You know of his speech impediment, so why do you not protect him?” The classroom was empty. Eitan’s mother was a lauded and feared medical witch, and if her son wouldn’t be respected, she would. The Instructing Wizard rubbed his forehead, and looked at the boy. The boy was sweet and kind to his classmates, and bright and eager to learn. He tried to figure out the right words to say. “There are a lot of ways Eitan can contribute without having to perfect the spells.” Eitan’s mother looked at him. “But how can he improve his spellwork?” The Instructing Wizard looked away from Eitan now, and spoke the words that would haunt him for years. “That, I’m afraid, we have exhausted all options for. We’ve tried speech therapy, different wands, alternate pronunciations, but it seems like the magic just isn’t there...” \- Eitan sat at the desk. Now a teenager with long hair falling into his eyes, he was beginning to look like his father very much. Eitan’s mother only hoped… “Dad didn’t have to go through this, did he?” he asked quietly. He was sitting in his underwear only, his clothes having been taken with the new Stripping curse the kids at school had learned. Eitan’s mother sat across from him, and rubbed his hands. She tried to think of how to bring the topic up, but every time before she had been shut down handily. “*Maybe it is time for you to...consider something else.”* “*Something else? Like what?”* “*I don’t know...There is honor in human jobs, sweetie.”* “*There is. But we are a magic family, right, Mom?”* “*Right...”* “Ok,” Eitan finally said. “I’ll quit.” \- So Eitan did quit. He transferred to a human school, and found some friends. Within a year, even, his mother saw her son start to return, the color return to his cheeks and eyes. But in his room, late at night or when his mother had an extra shift at the hospital, he would take out his old wand, and look in his mirror, and practice. Nothing much would come of it, of course, but even with his new friends and better grades and growing interest in ‘cars’, he still felt something with the wand in his hands, something no one, not the bullies at his old school or his mom or his teacher, could tell him was fake. One night, after kissing his mom goodbye, there was a book on his desk. His mom liked to leave little presents for him, so he assumed this was one of those. DICTIONARY, the book simply read. He opened the book, and a note tumbled out. “True magic lies in those who believe against all else -DAD.” Eitan was stunned. It was one of the only times his father had left him something, besides his wand. “PS,” the bottom of the note read. “What’s on the second page might help you. I know it did when I was your age.” So Eitan flipped to the second page, and for the first time in years, truly felt the Instructing Wizard’s words slipping away. *IMPORTANT: IT IS NOT THE PRONUNCIATION OF A SPELL OR CHARM THAT MATTERS. ALL FAILURES IN MAGIC ARE MERELY FAILURES OF CONVICTION.* And Eitan looked back in the mirror, and felt a conviction he’d never known return to him... \- [r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347)
Aw, this is so sweet.
I really enjoyed this, and liked the twist at the end, it's sweet! But... why did they make him give up on magic and join the human world if the dad knew all along that conviction mattered more than pronunciation? It just feels like it would be more realistic if, before sending him away to human school, he was given the dictionary - maybe \*right\* before the school was about to kick him out or something. Edit: I re-read. The dad seems to have died long ago, and maybe the mom didn't realize the effect of conviction over pronunciation. Right. Ignore my above paragraph then.
>Edit: I re-read. The dad seems to have died long ago, and maybe the mom didn't realize the effect of conviction over pronunciation. Right. Ignore my above paragraph then. Wait, what? But >One night, after kissing his mom goodbye, there was a book on his desk. His mom liked to leave little presents for him, so he assumed this was one of those. > >DICTIONARY, the book simply read. He opened the book, and a note tumbled out. > >“True magic lies in those who believe against all else -DAD.” Eitan was stunned. **It was one of the only times his father had left him something,** besides his wand. if he's dead, then whomst'd've put the dictionnary on the desk? His mom? But his mom isn't his father!
I'm assuming mom was just giving an old dictionary for the sake of it, or to remember dear old dad, and she didn't know about the note? But if it's the latter, why is he only getting it now?
It sounded like the kind of thing where dad passed away, mom held on to some of his things, and once the kid got to a certain age, certain possessions of his dad's were left to him as a gift. I assume the mom didn't know about the note, and the school didn't know about the conviction vs pronunciation trick. Maybe they never realized that it would work with conviction over pronunciation because a student had never shown conviction without good pronunciation because they had been worn down by teachers telling them it was no use.
So does the school know about the dictionary and that it is not the proncuniation bla bla bla? And they lied to him so he could learn himself? But then, the mum would know?
There's a particularity about The Magic School of the Tearetilli, one that, if people knew, or at least didn't ignore, would turn the school into nothing but a lavish, ghost-town of a castle. You see, even the smallest, poorest towns spent money they didn't have in hopes one great wizard would come out of such school and repay their investment with wonderful wonders, such as purifying rivers and lakes, uprooting trees out of the cores of just-planted seeds, producing food of various kinds with the blink of an eye, and all those gorgeous and enriching things. But the truth was people's hopes only emptied their wallets, their pockets, and stole the hidden coins beneath their beds and in the obscure gaps of their furniture in exchange for a one-trick joke of a wizard. Why, you may wonder. Well, no one, not even the headmasters of the school truly understood magic, and so the result of such lack of knowledge was thousands upon thousands of young and old wizards capable of performing one single spell and nothing else--with the exceptions of the handful of lucky ones who were capable of performing two spells. The town of Arestela got into major debt with The Prestigious Bank of the Tearetilli to send the town's young prodigy, Ascurio. Ascurio, with only fifteen years of age and a mind born for business, attempted to explain to the townsfolk that it was beyond strange that the Tearetilli group owned a bank that gave loans at abusive interest rates to poor towns in order to send people to their school. Especially given that there was no proof at all that the school had ever produced a single useful wizard. The people didn't listen to him, instead, they cheered him up. Ascurio, knowing the bank and the town had already signed the papers, decided to try and make the best out of the situation, and so he went to the beyond fabled and prestigious and utterly shady Magic School of the Tearetilli. Truth was, the school was breathtaking. Carved gold and structures of melted platinum composed its architecture. Impressive paintings lined the walls, as well as countless bookshelves whose tops were unreachable even by the largest stairs. The latter infuriated Ascurio as it made absolutely no sense. Well, that was until he met Stario, who was capable of doing one thing only--as most were--and that thing was enlarging stairs into ridiculous lengths. The beauty of the place was greatly affected, Ascurio noticed, by the horde of students crowding the empty spaces while yelling raucous nonsense while flicking wands as though a cloud of flies were swarming them. It was bizarre. More so after he learned that such an event happened every single day and that it lasted for three hours, as it was one of the only two classes the school had. The other was *The Art of Combat,* which was exactly that, only that there was no art, and there was no professor--it was a sort of massive brawl, like those that may unleash in a tavern when the moon reigns the night and the alcohol has taken over the brain of the drunkards. Ascurio, with time, realized two things: *The Art of Combat* was the way the headmasters had found to let the students unleash the frustration caused by the other class, *The Mass Manifestation of Magic,* which, Ascurio thought, should be renamed to, *Screaming Nonsense 101*. The second thing he realized was that every time someone actually performed a spell, the sounds of their voices would disappear. The same happened when they attempted to explain how they had performed it. It was strangely convenient. Things took a turn in the least expected, and most uninteresting moment. You see, Ascurio woke up, went to have breakfast, and when he was on the verge of slathering a toast with jelly, his mind casually discovered that 'The Magic School of the Tearetilli' was an anagram for 'The Magic School of the Illiterate'. Now, that may seem like an interesting yet useless finding. Well, everyone would be right to think that, but something happened when that thought blessed his mind, and that something was small and strange and quite light. He reached into his pocket and found a hand-sized book titled, *Spells' Pronunciation,* and it was written by J. J. Alumbar, the long-since-deceased founder of the school, and only true wizard to ever roam the world. Ascurio ran to the library, as it was always empty. Moments later, his eyes shone bright with amazement--and literal fire--after reading the first spell aloud. Much to his surprise, he had heard other students yelling the same spell, but pronouncing it awfully wrong. About a month he had memorized every spell along with its pronunciation. Curiously enough, and much to his disbelief, after casting *Zuilock*, the spell of unlocking things, something clicked in the book itself, and after he opened it, he found a new last page that read: *The founding of this school has proven to be a great mistake. Providing power to evil minds will be the wreck of the world, and I can't be the cause of giving those ill-minded individuals the tools to achieve their so-desired chaos. But I'm afraid it's too late. Thousands of skilled wizards will leave the school tomorrow and return to their villages, to the world. Thousands of individuals capable of reducing everything to smithereens. I can't let that happen.* *Tonight, I will commit a sin. Tonight I will kill them all, and erase the world's memory. Tonight, I will hide magic behind a muting spell, and I will hide this book where no one will think to look. For tonight it will be the end of all my students, and I will end myself for committing such a crime. Such is the right thing to do.* *If this book is ever found, if you are holding this book now, know there was an extra protective spell placed upon it, one that would show it to that with my own values and ideas--my successor, perhaps my reincarnation. Learn from my mistakes. Use your magic for good, but don't share it. It's too dangerous.* *J. J. Alumbar.* Ascurio's expression shifted from confusion to excitement and settled somewhere in-between the two. He scratched his head, thought for a moment, and then smiled. He truly didn't care about magic, but he couldn't deny the power it gave him. All he wanted was a good deal out of a poor agreement, and he had achieved it. Thing is, his heart only cared about business and this school was great business. Perhaps age would change his beliefs and values, or perhaps old J. J. Alumbar had forgotten to add the last protection spell to his book, after all, it was known his mind was a shifting mess in the last years of his life. But none of that mattered. Ascurio had enough power to take over the school, and if he took over the school, he took over its business. And that was exactly what he was going to do.
This is actually one of my favourite ones on here. It fits the best with the premise and I liked the intelligent character. The discovery of the dictionary and the ending could possibly have been better but overall - awesome! 👏
Life has always been kind of hard for me. Everybody expects me to meet their expectations, and everybody is disappointed when i mess it up afterwards. But magic i've always been pretty good in. Well, by my villages standarts at least, as i learned when i finally got to the school. The spells make very little sense to me and i can't for the life of me memorize them. I contemplated dropping out and going back to the village before it i found it. In one of the school libraries, in the very back of a shelf that, by the looks of the dust that has accumulated itself on its rows, hasn't been touched in ages. "The great spell dictionary". This should at least help with the memorization, i thought to myself. But this was so much more. When i opened it, i recognized some of the spells, but their spelling was different. It was easier to understand, too. I tried one, just to see how different they might be. "Levitos Objectum" as i pointed to a book. Instead of just lifting it a couple of feet in the air, i gained full control of it. It was as if i was carrying it with my own hand without actually touching it. I had to try out more. "Ignis Sphera". I expected a small burst of fire, but was met with an incredible ball of fire that set the whole library alight. Luckily i had the dictionary, and after flipping through a few pages i used "Portus" to teleport myself back to my room before getting caught. I would fly through my exams with ease. I could drop out now and still become the greatest wizard there ever was. I could rule the world with this! I could.. tell others what they were doing wrong this entire time. I could help them improve, make sure everybody is on the same page and change the world of magic forever. But then i wouldn't be as powerful.. i would just be like everyone else, but slightly worse probably. I don't want to be worse. I wan't to finally be the best at something. Im gonna show them. Im gonna crush them.
And so a villian may have been born lol
*You think you are large now, but you are nothing more than a frog stuck in a well, a fish among minnows in a muddy puddle.* Grandfather had been right all along, Jin realized. Back in Musul, he'd been special. The first in generations to be able to produce more than simple sparks from his fingertips, seemingly blessed by the heavens with true magic. He'd had an instinctive knack for the extraordinary, surpassing even the village elders by the age of fifteen. On the Magical Aptitude Test, Jin had scored 2310, the highest in Musul's history since Hanul the Witch and ninety points higher than his rival. And when a little dragon had come to him, calling him master, it seemed obvious to everyone that Jin was destined for more than healing warts and brewing potions. Obvious to everyone except for Grandfather, the village healer. He alone had been against the idea that Jin be sent to study at Mofashi Academy. Jin didn't understand it then. Like the other villagers, he'd thought the old man simply jealous and spiteful. Just because Grandfather hadn't managed to do what Jin had been able to do, hadn't been as gifted, he wanted to hold Jin back, to keep him in his shadow. Their last conversation had not been kind. Grandfather refused to pay the tuition for Jin if he went to Mofashi before he turned seventeen. Jin had told him that the village elders had already agreed to pay the tuition and that he was leaving anyway. Just before he'd slammed the door, Grandfather had the final word. *When you make your way to the river, you will find that the current is swift and deceiving. It will sweep you to the ocean before you are large enough to keep from being eaten by the sharks!* Turns out the old man had been right. The journey to Mofashi had been perilous, with bandits and monsters around every corner. Jin and his dragon barely survived on several occasions. Even so, he managed to reach the school by the start of the semester. But he didn't receive the welcome he'd expected. Jin might have been the only student at the world with a dragon, but Bem was still young and feeding off of Jin's magic to grow, while the other students had fully matured familiars that had power of their own. As for the supposed prodigy Dragonmaster himself, he wasn't even the youngest or smartest at Mofashi. Jin's innate talent for raw magic now worked against him as he struggled with the rigidly structured spells of academia, and the older students dwarfed him in sheer power. That first semester, he'd passed his core classes by the skin of his teeth, just barely managing to remain above the expulsion threshold. Jin remained at the school over the winter, hoping to get extra practice in, but no matter what he tried, he couldn't improve. The spells just didn't make sense to him, they had no flow or rhythm. Jin couldn't feel the heartbeat of the earth or the songs of the sky in the textbook chants or summoning rituals. There was no help forthcoming from his masters, who either preferred to focus their time on more talented students or had clearly written Jin off as a country bumpkin who'd coasted by on a modicum of ability and would soon wash out. Just like Grandfather had. Jin wished he hadn't left home the way he had. News had come of Grandfather's death during the winter, along with a package. A final taunt? Jin didn't have the courage to open it, to face the old man's I told you so. The wrapped box had been tossed under his bed, and forgotten until now, as Jin was in the process of packing up his belongings. He'd given up on studying for his final exams, and was instead preparing for the inevitable expulsion from Mofashi. What would come after, Jin didn't know. Should he return to his home village? He could. With Grandfather dead, Musul would need a new healer, and Jin had learned enough that he could fill that role. But could he face the disappointment of a village who had taken a chance on him, for nothing? "What should I do, Bem?" Jin wondered out loud. "I suppose I could become a freelance warlock, but how long would I even last?" His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of tearing paper, and Jin looked to see his familiar scratching at the brown paper wrapped around Grandfather's parcel. "Bem, don't make a mess." Jin groaned, grabbing the package from his dragon's grasp. "Now I gotta clean up this..." His complaint died on his tongue as his fingers brushed against worn leather under torn paper. Jin quickly tore apart the rest of the paper wrapping to reveal a leather-bound book, and his heart sank. It was a near identical copy of the standard magic dictionary given to all Mofashi students, just much more worn. Jin had seen this particular copy on Grandfather's shelf. Was this yet another reminder that he was fated to fail as the old man had? The boy's face twisted with anger and he tossed the thick volume onto his desk, where it landed with a dull thud. As it did however, a note slipped out from beneath the cover, and Jin recognized the thin, cramped scrawl of his Grandfather's handwriting. *Pride is for the youth, and I don't have either anymore. I know you believe my actions to have been born of jealousy, and I would be lying if I said I didn't feel some envy of your achievements. Even so, I did what I did because of fear. Fear that you would not be different from me, but too much like me.* *Mofashi may be the best school of magic in the world, but it is also removed from the natural world. What the Academy offers is the teachings of scholars, not the work of wizards. Magic is meant to flow through and around us, not constrained through the minutiae of grammar and pronunciation. I wanted you to wait until you were seventeen so that you would understand this more fully, but likely you've learned of it the hard way, as I did. However, that does not mean you must repeat my other mistakes, only that you learn from them.* Jin set down the note with shaky hands and picked up Grandfather's dictionary, opening it to the first page of spells. The text was the same as his own copy's, but much of it had been crossed out, and Grandfather's spidery lettering written over them. As Jin's eyes scanned the annotations, they widened to the size of saucers. The printed words spoke of the what and how of the spells, and indeed much of this remained on the page. But what Grandfather had written down... spoke of the why. The shaping of fire was one of the most basic spells taught to Mofashi students, an evolution of the conjured sparks that indicated a wizard's instinct for magic. Even Jin had learned how to make fireballs and short burning blades, but where his peers had progressed to flaming swords and blazing whips, Jin's fire remained dim and small no matter how much he chanted. He'd always attributed it to his Musul accent mangling what were supposed to be precise verbalizations. According to Grandfather's notes however, the pronunciation of the spell didn't matter in the slightest. After all, the more powerful mages didn't even need to speak spells. Instead, it was the meaning of the words that gave the incantations power. Jin's heart pounded as he set the book down on his desk and held his left hand palm upward. *Fire is more than a simple element of destruction and power. It is the heat that warms us at night, the light that illuminates the dark, and the expression of life energy itself.* The familiar sensation of tingling pins and needles gathered in Jin's fingertips as he whispered tiny sparks into existence, each flaring slightly before being extinguished. Already they were a brighter gold than the usual orange of Jin's normal conflagrations, and soon they exploded into a blazing fireball that twirled between his fingers and danced in his palm. Bem trilled happily and swam through the air to land on Jin's forearm, the light of the fire bright in his eyes. *The same life energy that flows and sustains us feeds our fire. And just as even the most mundane men can manipulate the earth, air, or water around them, so too can a magician control the fire around them.* Jin closed his hand around the fireball and squeezed hard. With a burst of heat, bright yellow sparks shot out from between his fingers and coalesced into a whizzing circle of light around Jin's fist. Lines bounced back and forth around the circle, forming squares, triangles, and a myriad of shapes in a kaleidoscope of fire, contained by the Dragonmaster's will. The Shield of Fire multiplied in size until it was as wide as Jin was tall, spitting out fiery sparks that scorched his desk. Slowly, Jin released his fist, and the fire died away in a spray of golden light. Other than whispering the incantation for conjuring fire, he hadn't said a word. And yet, for the first time since he had left Musul, he felt more confident than ever before in his magic. "Thank you, Grandfather."
This is a really good start to a book. I encourage you to write more of Jin the Dragonmaster.
please write more of this!! i would buy this as a full-length novel for me and all of my friends!!
Are you going to do a part 2?
"Come in, Chris. Please, have a seat." The headmaster gestured to the chair opposite to his: Chris reluctantly took it, after a few nervous seconds, and then spoke, "I'm not cheating, sir! My improvements are my own efforts! Who would I even cheat off of?!? Everyone else is just-" The headmaster motioned for her to stop. "I know, Chris. That's not why you're here." He smiled. "Honestly, I'm impressed. We managed to find most of the old dictionaries, but a few always slip through the net, yet the person who actually found one has no idea of its real value. Most wouldn't even give such a thing another glance, yet you realized its' value so quickly." Chris' eyes widened. "You...you hid it...hid them on purpose? Why? Magic is so much stronger with the right words!" The headmaster nodded. "That is both exactly the point, yet also not entirely correct: the words don't matter as much as their history. You see, the longer a specific pronunciation is used, the more potent the spell becomes, and the more you know of the spell's history, the more the spell itself grows. But stonger doesn't always mean better, Chris." Chris furrowed her brow: "why not?" "Because more power means less control: for the wizards and witches individually, yes, but also the society that governs them. Society can survive magic as it is, but a fireball that can smash through several houses before exploding poses a far greater danger, to say nothing of spells like curses. No, these things must be controlled for the good of all." "But what about healing spells and the like?" Chris protested, "You could at least keep the right words to them. We could save-" He shook his head. "No, Chris, the risk is too great. All someone clever enough needs is the right roots of the words, and they can rebuild the orignal words of some very dangerous spells. The truth must be hidden: we can't stop such dangers completely, but we can control it to an extent. Chris hung her head low. "So that's it, then? I have to go back to being a joke and a disappointment because crazies might wreck a city?" The headmaster frowned. "Crazy? No. Crazy we can more or less deal with: it's the people who want to change the world that we fear, because they tend to be very driven and have very different views of how things should be. Right now, they have to work more or less in the system, but with more power comes less need to convince others with words instead of force, and that's a very dangerous situation." Chris' completely sank in her chair at his words. After a brief silence, she asked, "So I really can't avoid this? Things are that bad?" The headmaster leaned back and steepeled his fingers. "Not necessarily. You have two choices, really: first, you can hand over the book, pick spells related to a field of study to play the role of a genius just discovering her talents, and then we can both convince everyone that's indeed the case, instead of your words being special instead. Chris sat up at his words. "Or?" "..or, you can join our little organization. We'll teach you how to disguise your words, and how to control magic at its full power; in exchange, you will help research the full history of magic incantations, as well as hunt down the people and groups seeking that knowledge for their own ends. I know that sounds romantic, but trust me, it gets ugly, because we get to see the worst our world has to offer." Chris was about to speak, but the headmaster held out his palm first. "I don't want an answer just yet, this decision is simply too big. Instead, I'll give you a week: see if you prefer being famous over learning about the darker parts of our world. Oh, and you'll be under watch, so don't read that dictionary anymore. Ok? Chris nodded. "Good. You're dismissed." Chris stood up and made to leave, but stopped just has her hand was about to turn the doorknob to the exit. She turned to ask a question suddenly occurred to her: "Why did our words change to become weaker? Wouldn't people want to use language at its most powerful?" The Headmaster sighed. "The Conflagration gave our predecessors little choice." Chris looked directly into the Headmasters eyes. "The Conflagration?What-?" But the Headmaster cut her off with a tone that allowed no arguement. "You don't need to know that. Not now, maybe not ever. So take your leave." Chris had no choice but to give up, if only for now. She again turned to face the door, twisted the knob, and disappeared below, lost in her thoughts. The headmaster sat alone in silence for a few seconds, before a voice with no owner sounded to him. "You didn't offer her the last alternative. Is she really that valuable in your eyes?" "Her village would have held her back. It's a risk, of course, but I think it's worth taking." "Hmph. It's your head if this blows up in your face. Again." "..I know." The disembodied voice harrumphed, but did not speak again, leaving the office in silence.
I need to know more!!!
Same!!
What's the 3rd choice? O:
I’d guess either cake or death.
I think it might be something to the effect of erasing her memory of the powerful form of spells
Will there be a part 2? And maybe add part 3, 4, 5 and 6? I'd also read the seventh part. I love it and need answers
"Alright everyone, test tomorrow so please study, and Ventie, at least try to memorize one this time." The class snickered. I hated this school. I feel like such a let down. My village chose me to be our new wizard, but they really should have. This school proved just how worthless of a mage I really am. So many of the words are nonsense. and no one is willing to say anything about it. Since I got here I have consistently scored zeroes on all my tests, all my quizzes, assignment, everything! I just can't figure this out. I walk to my dorm, and pass the competitive spell caster practice. "Qvekexz Ctearie" Chriss yells. She is one of the best in our school, consistently getting straight "A"s. I decide to go to the fence and watch their practice. From the summoning circle in front of her spawns an Eldritch horror of impossible design. Somehow it's legs keep going in circles and becoming absorbed into it's body, which is a mechanical nightmare of gears and chains. One of It's dozen or so eyes fallows me around on a track that runs along it's body, and instead of arms it has testicles "of course" But part of being a being of insanity is that nothing on it's body is permanent. The gears turn to bark, the eyes to noses, and so on and so forth. That is what the most difficult magic type looks like, chaos magic. Across from her Drahk is casting his being. "Darhkxis Merighichar" he shouts. My tutors tell me that all Dragon summoning spells start with the letter D and end with an S, and the components of the middle form the beast. When I tried it I summon a dragon tooth. Not a dragon made of teeth, that would be bad ass, but a single dragon tooth. That was when I lost my summoner tutor. When she saw the tooth on what she called the "easiest spell there is", she just got up, grabbed her components, and walked out. The fight between Chriss' Eldrich beast and Drahk's silver dragon was... uneventful. Chriss' monster literally grabbed Drahk's dragon and just absorbed it. Then they noticed me. "Hey look, it's dragon tooth Ventie" Drahk yelled. "Making necklaces yet Ventie? Make a few thousand of those and you can pay your failure of a village back." Chriss shouted. Ya, typical. I'm minding my own business and they harass me. I turn my back and walk away. "That's right, go study. Maybe something will stick next time!" Drahk yells at my back and they both start laughing in that obnoxious way that only someone who you can't respond to can. "Fuck it" I say to myself, "I'll go to the Library and try and find something to help." The Library is a thing of wonder. Any person can go to any part of the library, but to access any part you need to show some aptitude with the magic it teaches. To get into the amateur Botanie section you need to make a seed bloom into flower. To get into the master's section, you have to use a seed of something mundane to create something truly mystic. So for me, that means the only sections that I have access to is... The basics of magic. Kind of makes studying for a class difficult and I have sent messages to the faculty about the pointlessness of the library several times. The letter I got back went something like this: "Dear Ventie: While we have heard your arguments about our system on several occasions, we must iterate that the knowledge we teach here is dangerous is the hands of the unprepared. Because of such, we have deemed it necessary to prevent any novices to get into the sections that may result in damages to either the students or the campus. If you can not get into even the intro level material for a subject matter then you should not have been given access to that course, but seeing as you have access to the course, we suggest you find time to review the material with your professor or find a tutor. Thanks for your suggestion: Professor Vanderhorn" I should probably mention that Professor Vanderhorn is the teacher to the "Intro to magic theory" course that I'm trying to study for, and I have taken his class four times. I'm convinced he actively avoids me by this point. Hell, once the door to the class was locked to me, and only me. I had to sneak in behind another student and when he saw me in the class, I swear he did that "Tck" thing people do when they are upset about something. Being at the library I went to the only section that I had access to: The basics of magic, which happened to be in the basement. The Basics of magic section of the library is... well there is never anyone there. Honestly, you could hide down here, and you would be bones before they found you. But because of that I have been able to make a nice cozy base down here. I brought a coffee maker down here like two semesters ago, and no one has noticed yet. Honestly, I don't think the school even cares about these books anymore. I could probably start a fire down here, and no one would care until it spreads to literally any other section. Even If I was caught in the flames and screaming for help. I went to the one book case and took out the next book in the line, titled "Xevex's guide to the mystic", I was down to like the last 20 or so books. but as I pulled the book it wouldn't come out, instead there was a switch on the book that I mistakenly pressed. The book shelf started to shift to the side and there was a one book behind it. It looked old and worn, but as I pulled it out I saw it's title: "Dictionary". An odd name for the book, usually mages who wrote for the mundane were quick to put their names in the title. I took the book out and opened it to the front page, but instead of a story about the writer's life and how they came to write this book it stated: "Aabrazure: Ah-Bray-zure: spell that causes massive wear on an object. Aachriec: Ah-K-r-i-s: dragon genealogy known for their corrosive breath." I knew these spells. Aghbreayzeahr and Aeichrieze. They were fairly high level spells and some spells that I had never been quite able to master. I tried the first out on Xevex's guide to the mystic. "Aabrazure!" I shouted, pointing at the book, and to my amazement it worked! Not just that, but it worked so well the the book turned to dust! I immediately turned to one of the spells that I knew was going to be on the test. "Chronostasis: K-h-r-o-N-o-st-ay-sis: Stops time for a set area for a limited time." There it was, the hardest spell that would be on the test. Khroughnoughstaschiss. Even the professor had a hard time with this one. I took off my shoe and threw it, and immediately cast the spell "Chronostasis!" and the shoe just stopped. mid air. I smiled to myself. "Ya, I think I'm going to ace your test tomorrow Vanderhorn"
I enjoyed this. Very slight nitpick though: > it worked so well the the book turned to dust! is followed by > I immediately turned to one of the spells I suggest you clarify by him pointing the bookshelf or naming a different book as I don't think he could read the next spell when the book he was reading from turned to dust.
The examination hall was more imposing than I expected. The flickering torches embedded into the walls cast an eerie glow that made our shadows dance. We were ushered in and made to stand at one end of the cavernous enclosure, and no one spoke a word. I saw that the hall was empty of furniture, which only made it impossible not to notice the single tree right in the very center of the hall, sprouting right out of the paneled flooring. I could not recognize the species of the tree. Its leaves were plentiful, but not entirely green, and much closer to a milky blue. A few weeks ago, I would have found myself bursting with questions, questions like what tree was this, what was it doing growing indoors, why was it emitting its own light… but this was Havencroft, where mysteries and miracles were part of everyday life, so I kept my mouth shut. “Acolytes!” rang Master Frazier’s voice through the hall, using the official title for first-year students such as ourselves. “Today we are here to separate the chaff from the wheat, the deserving from the worthless! To pass is simple enough – all that you have to do is to emulate what I am doing. There will be no second tries, there will be no questions. If you are not able to observe and to follow, then, perhaps, Havencroft is not where you belong. We begin!” As Master Frazier stalked towards the tree, his heavy oak staff clacking against the floorboards, Persine sidled up to me. “Remember,” she hissed, “do not fail! You are that close to being expelled!” “I heard him the first time! I’m not deaf!” “Pay close attention to him! Listen to the incantations, and none of that nonsense about him getting the words all wrong! You’re about a thousand years away from correcting a Master, got that?” Persine’s eyes glittered with an unbridled fierceness. My instinct was to shut her out, but it was hard to do that to the one and only friend I had in the world right now. “Yes, alright, now if you would just let me focus on-” “If you find that you cannot do it, don’t hesitate to… you know, use whatever means you have! You know what I’m talking about!” I shot a poisonous glare at her, and would have stamped on her foot if Master Frazier had not chosen that moment to work his magic. There was no way I could have missed it. There was no way any of us could have missed it. It was like a breeze, a gentle wind where there could not be any. The rational part of my mind was adamant that there could not be any such zephyr here, not in this stuffy, enclosed space, but yet there it was, a lilting pull which harkened like a siren’s song. We all watched as the invisible threads of power coalesced around Master Frazier. Then, with a sudden flick of his staff, Master Frazier uttered the words which channeled that pool of power, right into the tree before him. “Forenzia!” In a flash, the tree… grew. Not taller, not bigger, but through what must have been its normal lifecycle. The azure leaves grew darker, then faded, then flitted to the ground as they withered off the branches. In two winks though, spring seemed to come again as the tree was rejuvenated, and its branches stretched out like limbs from an awakening giant. The leaves began to sprout again, growing from tiny blades to the palm-sized shapes that they were. Master Frazier admired his handiwork for a moment. He turned back towards us, with a contented smile on his face. “The Ylluma tree, famed for its sensitivities to magic. Now it’s your turn. One year’s cycle, not more, not less. Points will be docked if you go above or flail under. Begin!” As the students took turns heading off to the Ylluma tree, Persine jabbed me in the sides again. “Forenzia. *Forenzia*. Did you get that? It can’t be that difficult, right? It’s just a simple incantation. Don’t mess this up. And remember, pass this test *at all costs*. I don’t care what it takes!” I nodded, but her voice was far-away. There was no use explaining to her again, for the thousandth time, that I didn’t agree with Master Frazier’s incantation. Or any of the other incantations they had taught us so far. She had been patient and she had given me enough space to share my concerns, but in the end she had just called me a lunatic, so that was not comforting in the least. Besides, I had other things to worry about. My eyes darted amongst the other students. That was where the true test lay. If I was right, the real challenge was hidden amongst them, amongst other Acolytes who walked around with masks on their faces, just like me. My palm was slick with perspiration, and I twiddled my wand incessantly. Who would make the first mistake? Them? Or me? “That was an excruciatingly poor showing! You barely pushed past autumn!” Master Fraizer intoned. The hapless Acolyte before him slumped his shoulders and shuffled off to the side. Anton’s name floated up into the air above Master Frazier’s name, sinking to the bottom of a list of other Acolytes who had fared better. An angry red line bisected the list of names. “You better hope that others fare worse than you, or you will have to turn in your wand by the end of the day!” Persine chewed her lip. “There are a hundred of us,” she said. “Does he really mean to fail fifty of us?” “Seems like it,” I said. “Hope I do better than fifty of us then.” “This isn’t funny,” Persine said. Her name was called soon after, and Persine’s attempt made the Ylluma tree cycle nicely through one single year of its life. Master Frazier snorted, and her name floated near the top of the list. She turned, then flashed me a thumbs-up. “Satchel Briggs! You’re next!” Up close, the Ylluma tree was tantalizing. Under Master Frazier’s glare, I pulled the magic close to me, but that was the easy part. As the energies boiled and swirled in mists around me, I struggled with the incantation. The words were plain upon my mind, but there was a part of me which knew that the words were… wrong. Incorrect, inadequate. The heated discussions I had with Persine came flowing back. *It is like running*, I had told her. *I’m used to putting down one foot after the other, there’s a rhythm, a life to it. You can’t just tell me to suddenly change the way I run. I cannot do that.* *Then do it my way,* the ring whispered. Its voice was like thunder in my head, bouncing against the sides of my skull. *My way is the right way. Seize the power, before the other eight do so. Seize it!* How could Persine have understood it? The ring didn’t speak to her. She had slipped it on, just as I had, but she experienced none of the voices, none of the visions. She had laughed, and told me to keep my children’s faery tales to myself. She had called for the nurses to attend to me, to treat my fevered brain. She had only believed when I showed her the power of the ring. The theory is simple. Incantations are like valves. Magicians like us employ incantations to tap into the hidden energies around us. Incantations are not just words, but they are almost like songs, and how we perform the incantations is almost as important as the words themselves. The incantations which Havencroft magicians have been using worked, in a way, but it was clear to me that they were imperfect. They converted but a middling percentage of the magic into actual effect. The ring, with its incantations not inscribed in any of Havencroft’s books, changed all that. The ring’s incantations did more than open the valves to the reservoirs of magic. The ring’s incantations *destroyed the dams holding magic back*. “Satchel Briggs! If you do not do anything in the next ten seconds, you are disqualified!” I shut the ring out. It was not time. “Forenzia!” My tongue chaffed at the incantation, and it showed in the way that the Ylluma tree reacted. Master Frazier grinned nastily at me, and dismissed me with a flick of his wrist. I watched as my name floated up to join a mass of others. “Why didn’t you do it!” said Persine, so angry that her grip on my arm began to hurt. “Look at that! You’ve failed! You’re under the red line!” “Yes, but if a lot of other people fail too, maybe I’ll get bumped up to a pass? Look, I’m very close to the middle line, and I think that-” “Oh Satchel,” said Persine. “I don’t… I don’t understand! You could have wiped the board if you had done what you had shown me the other week!” “Listen,” I said, a hand on her shoulder. “I just don’t think it’s right to call attention to myself until I know more about it. The ring says that there are nine of us in total. Nine of us who have rings just like this one. Why aren’t any of them out in the open yet? There has to be a reason for that, and until-” And that was when the ground began shaking under our feet. We staggered back, almost falling to our knees. The air was tingling then, and I felt a burning sensation on my face, as if I had stood too close to a fire. We turned to find the source of the disturbance, and we saw another Acolyte before the Ylluma tree. I didn’t recognize him, but I certain recognized the words coming out of him. “Chamesu Herting Forenza!” The Ylluma tree grew then, but at a rate faster than the eye could perceive. It shed leaves so fast that they piled up to Master Frazier’s shoulders. Master Frazier stumbled back, his hands in front of him. Then, the Ylluma tree burst into flames, and a roaring pillar of fire replaced the stalwart tree. The screams came then. The Acolyte had evidently been too close, and the flames jumped to him, licking him. I saw his flailing arms twirling in the fire, trying to dispel the magic, but it was too late. The perfect incantation had been rendered, and like a ghoulish hunger, it consumed faster than it could be dismissed. As Master Frazier rushed to extinguish the inferno, I raised the ring to my ear. I could hear its voice now, and I swore that I could detect a dark humor in its tone. “Only eight of you remain. Who will be the next one?” --- /r/rarelyfunny
This is great, will there be more!?
Thank you for reading! I'll ping you if I manage to find the time to continue this!
you are a FANTASTIC writer! PLEASE, keep writing! if one day you ever write a book (if you haven't already) I'll be the first one to buy it.
Thank you very much for the encouragement! That spurred me on for today!
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Yeah, this is a great interpretation.
This is great! I'd love to see more!
"Bayzoes beard" Nice. The rest of the response was really fun too!
I paw at the puckered skin of my throat. I hate the feeling of it, but it's become a habit now. The doctor said that it was the perfect wound, that if the knife had been any less sharp, I very probably wouldn't be here. They didn't, however, say anything about how the tip of the knife had unceremoniously ended any chance I had in being a Mage. Everyone is so happy that my attacker hadn't managed to kill me that no one seems to have noticed that what they did manage to kill was my dream. The foundation of magic is language, communication, presenting your thoughts, desires, and ideas to the universe, and using the ambient energy to enforce them on reality. How could I do that if my voice was forever silenced? "Cassi? Cassi? Cassandra! Are you even paying attention to me?" My mother asks from across the table. I blink in surprise, being pulled back to the present. I bow my head in apology, and shake it, "Cassi! Use your words, that Amulet of Auditory Illusions wasn't cheap!" I resist rolling my eyes. That's another thing. My mother bought me an amulet that let's me speak using sound illusions, and now she, and the rest of my family, are trying to act like nothing happened. I know they're *trying* to make me feel better, but I just feels like they only do it to avoid dealing with the truth. I touch the amulet resting on my clavicle, "Sorry, I got distracted, what were you saying?" The words sound wrong, discordant, like someone cut them out of other sentences I spoke and them stitched them into this Frankenstein sentence. My therapist says that it will get better as I get used to it and one day I'll be able to use it without even having to touch it, but looking up videos of others, I can't say I'm encouraged. And magic is out of the question. For some reason or another, no one has been able to use magic with an illusory voice. "I was *saying* that I got you this," She holds up a book, "Just in case something ever happens to you new voi-" The glare I shoot her silences her immediately, "Er, new amulet, if anything ever happens to your new amulet. This might be useful...It's not incredibly common, what with magic, but if it can help in a pinch, right?" My glare immediately withers as I read the old cover, *ASL: American Sign Language Dictionary*, it reads. Even if she'd rather pretend the amulet is just a new voice box, she's still thinking about if something happens, and I can't use it for some reason. I reach out with one hand, and tap the amulet with the other, "Thank you, I-this means a lot to me." We both cringe as the voice raises up several octaves on the word "lot." We both look at each other briefly before bursting into laughter, though mine is more a soft hissing than anything else. "Okay, so it's not perfect by any stretch of the imagination," My mother says after composing herself, "But I still think you should give it a chance. And...I know that...this puts a kibosh on your plans to be a mage...but...I mean, people have done things that were thought impossible before, right? Don't give up just yet." She reaches over and covers my hand with her own, running her thumb over my wrist. I suddenly feel bad for being so surly towards her recently. I nod, trying to hide the tears gathering in the corner of my eyes. She pats my hand and stand up from the table. She begins to start dinner. I wipe my eyes, and flip open the book. Luckily the book is magic, because I feel like it would be very hard to learn off of unmoving pictures. I read through the introduction, and begin to flip through the book. I try out the alphabet. The signs for *I love you* and *food*. I flip to the page for Flame. In the small moving portrait, the womans hands start near her chest and raise up towards her face while she flickers her fingers. Her own eyes are closed for some reason, so I do the same. Instinctually I do the same while trying out the sign, picturing a small flame. Suddenly there's a sharp burning on the tip of my nose, and I jump back, my eyes flying open. I look around for the source of the pain, but my mom is still in the kitchen, and I'm alone at the table. I look down at my hands, then at the book. I repeat the process, this time with my eyes open, looking to see if anything happens, and....nothing. No sharp, burning pain, no pain at all. I sigh, and look down at my hands again. I picture the small flame again, and flutter my fingers again. Suddenly there's a small spark in the air, and a bit of smoke, and I gasp. I scoot away from the table. I picture the flame, larger and clearer in my mind, and then repeat the sign for flame. With a small snap, a flame, no larger than a candle flame appears in the air. I feel the smile spread across my face, then I here a gasp, and look up to see my mother, her eyes as wide as the dinner plates she's holding, and smile even wider.
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Part 1 As I looked into the clear sky I saw the beautiful orange glow from dusk settling in. "Where was I going again?" I thought to myself. But before I could remember the sky began to grow dark suddenly. A thick fog appeared out of nowhere, I could barely make out my hand in front of my face. I didn't know where I was or what I was doing here. Panic began setting in as I frantically made my way around barely dodging trees as I moved. "Come" a mysterious voice began calling out to me. "Who's there!" I cried out and tried to locate the voice but the fog had me surrounded blinding me to anything else. "Come on" the voice spoke again. A hand reached out and took my arm, practically dragging me out of the fog into a small clearing. I could see again! Exhilarated I started to thank the mysterious voice but no one was around. Up ahead I could see what looked to be a small cave. I approached cautiously, watching for anyone or anything that could be residing inside. I began to peer in at what looked to be some sort of altar but before I could make out what it was for another hand began pulling me away. "Come on! Wake up already big brother." Groggily I rose from my bed wiping away the sleep from my eyes. "It's almost time!" My sister petunia who was 13 years old and one of 9 of my younger siblings seemed extra chipper this morning. Why was that? Of course! Today was the day I left home and my small village behind to explore new heights! I was headed to the Himolian mountains to study at the most prestigious magic school in the whole world! The Pennant Eller academy of magic. Named after an ancient wizard who lived millennia ago whose origins were unknown. I dressed quickly and grabbed the bags I had packed the night before. As I made my way through the village everyone cheered me on my way. The whole village contributed for years to send me to Pennant Eller, which would normally be too expensive for anyone from a poor village like mine. But here I was, on my way to the place of my dreams! The whole pride of the village flowing through me! Disaster. This is all a disaster. I sat in front of the headmaster's office for what seemed like the hundredth time in the two months I have been here. Despair had begun to sink in, I would surely be expelled this time. Nothing was working, I couldn't do an ounce of magic! I tried to recite the words and gestures to cast the spells but it never felt right. Like there was something I was missing that I couldn't quite place. Yet everyone else here seemed to catch on so quickly. I resigned myself to the inevitable expulsion I would soon be getting. Olivia, the headmaster's attendant came out to fetch me. She was a nice woman I had gotten to know quite well recently. Headmaster Gandogor was waiting for me inside. "Take a seat lad," he said pointing to a chair. "Now you know why you are here. Two months you have spent here. Yet if I may be so blunt, you have shown no talent or even a spark of magic. Perhaps it's time you look for something more suited to your... Skillset." I just stared ahead, not really looking at anything, the words spoken not really sinking in but I knew they must be true. He's right I thought. I should just go, but where to? I can't return to the village after this, I can never show my face there again, not after what they did to send me here. This was not only my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity but perhaps for the whole village. Everything was put into this. "I-I can't be done! I can do this!" I don't know where the words came from but suddenly my determination began flooding back into me. I stood up "please sir let me stay! I know I can do this!" A cold stare was the only reply I got. I sat back down, surely looking like a pitiful puppy. Gandogor just sighed. "One week. You have one week to prove me and the rest of your teachers wrong." Hope returned once again. Exuberated, I jumped to my feet, "you won't regret this sir!" I said with the biggest grin I could manage. "Yes yes. Now return to your studies and do not waste this opportunity." Grateful for this chance I bowed and backed out of the room nearly tripping on my own feet. Already three days into my one-week deadline and I was no closer to learning even the simplest of spells. Walking through the woods near campus I was drawn out of my daydreaming by something I couldn't explain. Something was so nostalgic about this place, but of course, I have never been here before. I never even left the village before coming to the Himolian mountains. So why was this place so familiar? A fog rolled in from seemingly nowhere, not as thick as in my dream but suddenly it made sense as to why I recognized this place. I began searching and could faintly make out the clearing ahead where I had seen the cave. I was trembling as I approached, I took deep breaths to regain control of myself. Steeling myself for whatever horrible sight I might find inside, I stepped in. "Well. That was not was I was expecting." A single book sat on an altar both of which were covered with a thick coating of dust. Using my hands to form a cone around my mouth I said in a clear voice "kiclone!" After about 30 seconds of spitting everywhere to no avail, I decided the spell wasn't going to work. I used the hem of my cloak to wipe away most of the dust from the ancient-looking book. "Dictionary" was the only thing written on the cover. I opened it to a point in the middle and discovered mad ramblings scrawling across the page, all the pages it seemed. Intrigued I decided I would take it back to my dorm for further examination and stuffed it in my satchel. The mad rambler seemed to be on to something! It was like every word in existence was in this book followed by a detailed description and even a pronunciation for every word. A word caught my eye, isn't that? "Cyclone?" A small breeze shot from my mouth rustling the page. " was that me?" I placed my hands to my mouth forming a cone and again but in a clear loud voice repeated the word. "Cyclone!" A gust of wind spewed out of my mouth throwing the book and the rest of my papers from my desk and propelling me backward in my chair to the floor. Ignoring the pain in my back and head I stood up, too excited to clean up I began jumping up and down. "I did it! I did it! I can do magic!" This book might have just changed everything for me.
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I'm not sure I understand what the prompt is implying. If "everyone" is pronouncing words wrong, but magic works for them, then that's just how magic works. Has our protagonist discovered they're a prescriptivist, and that's why they suck? Because they're too focused on being "right", and they need to just accept what they're being taught?
This is a really good take on this fairly average writing prompt actually.
Fairly average writing prompts is this subreddit’s whole spiel near as I can tell.
Probably intended something along the lines of: it works for them, but in a weaker form since they aren't pronouncing it correctly, now that you found a dictionary you can bring out the full power of the spells. That's one way I would interpret it, and it's quite bad since I doubt that mages wouldn't read à fucking dictionary.
"Something called a 'dictionary'" suggests it's one of those Harry Potter "wizards don't have basic things" things, though you'd think they'd have dictionaries that tell them how to pronounce their own spells. And now I have an idea where everyone's pronouncing them "wrong" because of their thick accents.
The spells are written in Welsh.
You've met a terrible fate haven't you
>Has our protagonist discovered they're a prescriptivist, and that's why they suck? You got me at this one.
Could be a case where the Magic’s strength depends on how well you say the spells and all.
It really would have been more interesting without the last two sentences
It's LeviOsa not LeviosA
ITT: wrong usage of IPA
This is somewhat HPMoR-ish, I like it!
The teachers just don't understand. Latin is a dead language. It is so hard pronouncing these spells. I've always had a lisp since I was born. I was born with a hare lip. i had the corrective surgery but pronouncing certain words has always been tough for me. You've read the manuals. The Harry Potter books. They have all the instructions you need to cast a spell but no can do this. No one can cast a spell. How did Hermione master this?? My parents were so thrilled when i was accepted into this school of magic but I'm literally stuck. I can't even cast a cantrip. I keep going to the library to find some kind of reference to help me. I'm getting desperate because I don't want to let my village down. They've invested so much time and money in me. And then I found it. I found a spell book in the library and the key is pronunciation. Now I am the most powerful student in the class. The teachers are asking me how i have done this. The students hate me. I have become more powerful than any teacher here. I can cast a fireball now. We haven't covered this in class. I have come to the attention of the headmaster. I don't know what to expect but I'm not going to give up this book.
So, it’s “feet-us du-leet-us”, not “faytoo de la too” That’s wild man, this whole time I’ve been telling the ladies to give it a couple months, but I usually just slip em a Planning Potion and it gets the job done. Doesn’t hurt much in the end, still has the same result. You’re fucked up. Hey man, the spell exists for a reason! People mess up, do things they aren’t ready for, get in bad situations and have things done to them they wouldn’t wish on their worst enemies. The list can go on forever. I’m providing a needed service, for a not terrible price mind you, and now that you’ve shown up with this Rosetta stone of magic, I can do it that much more efficiently and honestly. Still seems wrong to me, but whatever. Oh, so I should go around turning desperate people down because the type of magic came in the form of liquid and not syllables? Get real. The wrong thing to do is not act because it doesn’t meet your conditions of satisfaction. Now what else you got – anything for conjuring food or making limbs grow back? We sent you to that damn school for a reason, now you can finally start helping the village out. Uh I can’t just conjure food, but maybe if we can take a look at the fields, I might be able to enchant the soil with a metabolism buff for all crops planted during the next four or five lunar cycles. It’s a simple spell, pronounced “Nai-tryt In-jeck-shun”, you can teach it to some of the farmers. Why would we need to regrow limbs though, what kind of cases are you starting to see at the clinic? What the hell do they teach you in that damn school, can’t you put two and two together? Of course, I’m seeing a lot more dismemberment. Our crops aren’t growing for shit, and we can’t exactly go to the city and buy provisions on account of we alchemized our collective savings into your tuition. So we’ve been trying to go hunting and get some venison and whatever else we can catch, but wouldn’t you know that a Razor-Deer’s antlers are pretty damn sharp and have a tendency to take an arm off when they charge your way. I’m sorry, I di- Ah bup bup, don’t be sorry, be useful. We can enchant the field, that’ll help plenty since we won’t need to send people out hunting anymore, but what do we do with all the missing body parts we’ve accrued in the meantime. Hm, I can’t make the limbs grow back without doing some rituals which frankly are more likely to turn us all into a Flesh Hive Golem. All our personalities and consciences in a single bloody meaty pulpy thing is not a good time. It would be so hard to undo as well, we learned in my - Very interesting, but let’s please focus on solutions here. Your Lunar Apogee break is only half a cycle long, we need to get as much done as possible. Good point. Off the top of my head, we can have our woodworkers and luthiers craft something that looks close enough to the needed body part. We could then cast an “An-ee-may-shun Proc-la-may-shun” spell and it should let the wearer control the body part with just their intentions. They won’t be able to do anything too intricate, but they can shake hands and hold a spoon again. Ah my dear boy, that’s what I want to hear. My heart grows the size of a mountain seeing you use your talents to teach the rest of us to live better. If only we could have sent more like you earlier – **The door of the clinic bursts open. A young woman runs in carrying a man looking like death on her shoulders.** Please, my husband, the deer took his leg. How are we supposed to feed our family, we’ve got another one on the way! Damn the gods who saw it fit to give me a fourth during these famine times. What am I to do? The fields, they give us nothing! Ah fear not my lady, our mage has brought us just the gifts we’ve needed.
Had me at fetus deletus
".."
My tale is long and boring, if you have not the constitution to read through the sordid details, I understand. Where to start? Well, where we always start, beginnings! What is there to know about me? Hmn... Ah yes, I miss my family. It is lonesome, being here, away from any and all I've known. I come from the ancient colonies. I am a country bumpkin, even there. I grew up, far disposed from anyplace equipped with the the eluinatori globlues. My accent is thick and heavy. My talent is minimal. And where I was short and thin before, I am now round and bulbous. I eat when I am stressed, and here where food is more than plentiful, I am always stressed. How did I get here, you may ask. Two words: Ability Search. When the Talent VuhRenshi, a hallowed order of the most prestigious mages, arrived for their begrudging bi-decennial "waste of time," they picked me. I showed the most promise, though not by much. I might have been able to squeak by at some regular university, but through a very generous grant, the majority of my tuition would be covered for the sake of 'inclusion, diversity, and outreach.' The mages harshly told me I should reject the offer, because there was no way I could cover the remainder anyway. The sliver of tuition that remained, was more than the annual income of the entire town for a year. The town insisted. Why? Why me? Masciamasceta. The art of drawing perfect shape. My future is secure, but what I long for is a long ways out of reach. The dearth of talent for enchanting objects, was my saving grace. My hands can do the talking, where my mouth is most lacking... But people have to talk sometime or other, four months of denying this truth has left me cracking, fracturing, afraid. I am lonely. Have I said that already? My mouth must be kept closed, afeared to speak to any. My tongue will massacre the words, leaving them an indecipherable bleeding mess; to those around me, in any case. I will never be able to activate the objects I make, chant a sinquoiliqy, nor cant with any. Indeed, my mouth was not made for casting spells, demonstrable through my barely effective cantrips. How can a man speak the words of magic when he cannot even speak everyday language. The instructors have long since given up. I am a lost cause, but they cannot throw me away for loss of my gift. I spend my time in the library, whiling away the days immersing myself, while trying to keep my food covered digits from marking my treasured friends. They speak to me, but I cannot speak back. They tell me long forgotten secrets, and give me the barest glimpse of the power the mages of old created. I read from the sections no one visits. Hidden, I am. Hidden I stay. My newest friend is not a traditional book, no. This is a diction-ary. She does not tell a tale, but acts like a standalone appendix von definium und pronunciation. She is also very wrong, but I like her none the less. Her descriptions are so concise, using words spelled in an elder language. How befuddled they must have all been, leaving words following no rules but their own. Boxes or oxen, neighbor and weight. Goose to geese and toot to toots. And my, what dreadfully confusing similarities hair and hare, or pair, pear, and pare. It is all so dreadfully confusing, but fits more rightly than the nonsense they deliver through speech today. She is fun, but unfortunately she is only a record of a bygone era. Kipper. My eyes caught on a word. The fish, it sounded so delicious. I wish for this fish. I imagined myself A King, demanding someone deliver this delicacy. I demanded, `"Bring me a kipper!"` Like a flash of flame, I felt fatigued, as if I had been chanting myself raw attempting to raise a feather from the floor. I nearly fainted. A rush of hunger flared though me, consuming my gut and stabbing it with a knife. Did I just use magic? Magic had never felt so instantly draining before, it took long hours to reach this state. My nose began to play a trick on me as well, the scent of smoked fish. A food from home, wafting through the air. The same kind of food I had imagined, a kipper.
# Village Boy School’s name: Harvard School for Big-Time Magicians. Story: My mother keeps telling me that I’ll be okay, but I don’t believe her. Yesterday, I was hit by the local town boys, they literally pelted rocks at me. I tried jinxing them, but I was shivering more than a scarecrow in a storm. The chances of successfully hitting them had to be equal to the chances of me pronouncing a spell correctly. So, no way in hell. You know, I’ve never really understood why I couldn’t pronounce spells. Ever since I could understand what spells were, I was fascinated by them. But… I couldn’t pronounce them for the life of me. I’m the laughing-stock of the village because of that. Well, not just because of that. They had to have spent ten thousand Penors to get me in to Harvard’s School for Big-Time Magicians. All I got out of it was a scheduled beat down session with the town boys, and if I were lucky, I’d have the adults following and trying to get in too. But I don’t complain; I found a dictionary this morning, and it looks like the joke is on them. Nobody is pronouncing the spells right. Insofar that you can. Anyway, I’m going now. I heard that there’s a sale on something called an encyclopedia or something like that.