Natural Weapon: Surprises

To demonstrate Wood, I cast Wood Shape, and walked to a nearby tree. Tracing my finger along its bark with the spell charged, I drew the outline of a smiling face. Instead of carving into the trunk, the spell warped the wood and caused the bark to bulge out and naturally grow in the shape of my drawing. Seeing this, Ennara giggled.

As for Metal, I cast Metalskin, a potent protective spell I had only recently perfected. I traced my fingers in the air in an intricate pattern of magical symbols, and spoke the command words; as I finished, starting at the fingertips and quickly flowing along my arms and over my entire body my skin hardened and was coated in a shiny layer of metal. “Ooh, thet’s a neat one! I can only cover meself in bark or stone. Not as tough as thet.”

To show Water, I went for a more combat-oriented spell and cast Steam Breath. I inhaled and felt the magical energy converge in my lungs, and turned my head away from Ennara and her wolf as I exhaled a cloud of superheated steam. The rocks in the cone of the breath turned red-hot, and glowed in the midday sun.

Earth’s spell was a difficult choice, but I decided to surprise her and show off Dimension Door. If she was familiar with the spells of a normal Wizard or Sorcerer it wouldn’t be that different, but my method was somewhat different even though the spell itself might be the same. I completed the gestures, and finished by placing my hand upon the earth below me and placed one hand on Ennara’s foot nearby. The touch startled her, but not nearly so much as when, seconds later, we both fell through the earth and appeared nearly a hundred feet away, on an overhang on the mountain above. “Whew! Uh, K-Khem, next time please give me a lettle warning ferst, okay?”

To finish my display – which had admittedly become something of a show – I cast the Fire spell that had given me freedom as I left Ithaca, Fire Wings. As my arms burst into flames, Ennara gasped and stepped back a pace, and I leaped off the outcropping and soared through the air. After completing a few circles to show my aerial ability, I flew back to the ledge where I had left her and found it to be empty. Worried, I flew back down to the ground to make sure she hadn’t fallen. My mind raced with the possibilities, and my heart was beating so hard my chest was thumping against the breastplate of my armor. She wasn’t on the ledge, she wasn’t on the ground, and her wolf Gaien was pacing lazily on the ground, unconcerned. She wasn’t anywhere to be found, so where was she? I glanced everywhere and all I could see was a hawk, circling high in the sky above me, either watching the strange man flying or maybe just looking for a mouse to catch.

All of a sudden, I heard her laugh. A full, long laugh, from above me. Flying up, I glanced around everywhere, trying to find the source of the sound, relieved that she was safe and apparently in good spirits. I never would have forgiven myself if I had caused a friend harm. Luckily, Ennara was in full control of the situation. Following the sound, I flew up until I was eye-level with the hawk, and watching dumbstruck at the hearty female laughter came out of the sharply curved beak of the hawk.

“Oh, Khem!” Laughter. “Don’t ye know? Druids can turn into animals, and it’s the specialty of my order. Sorry, I thought ye knew!” More laughter.

My mind was flooded with emotions: surprise, shock, relief, and finally… happiness. And for the first time in an unbelievably long time, I laughed. That moment, of a strange beast-man with flaming wings hovering next to a hawk with a human voice, laughing hysterically, is one of my fondest memories.

 

Natural Weapon: Interruption

It was difficult to express the joy I felt at Bernath’s approval; while the dwarf had been undeniably friendly and unusually accepting of my… differences, he was a strict teacher and the disappointment he felt throughout all my different weapon trials had been clear on his face. In that moment, when he was practically beaming, I felt like I had finally found my place. That was before…

I was awoken from my reverie by a strange, unfamiliar high-pitched whistle coming over the hills. Weeks had passed since Ennara first came to visit me, the strange feeling of friendship she left me with stirring up memories of my first place in society since leaving Ithaca – the unexpected tutelage of Bernath among the dwarves. It was a strange, happy time, training and honing my survival and combat skills while feeling gradually accepted among the people. Thankfully the strange noise interrupted my thoughts before they inevitably turned dark, a gloom I did not want to relive in light of the optimism towards developing a friendship with Ennara.

The whistling was getting louder – closer, most likely – and as I could hear it better I thought it to be somewhat off. I had been trained only a little in music during general school in Ithaca, and knew little of pitch or melodic theory, but I was pretty sure the notes drifting over the hills were out of tune. Still, what was attempting to be played was cheerful, and traveling bards were relatively few in this remote area of Ophion. Fortunately, bards were generally open-minded and eager to experience things out of the ordinary, no doubt to weave stories of their travels in the next available tavern. Undoubtedly my appearance would be a tale worth telling, so I hunched down along the road and waited for the traveler, making a point to look as unimposing as possible with my large, bestial frame.

What appeared along the road surprised me – happily – as a familiar-looking blonde girl playing some sort of flute and riding upon a dire wolf came loping my direction. When she saw me, Ennara stopped playing and waved, and the strange pair stopped in front of me. Grinning, I stood up and, with an exaggerated bow, said “H-hello, mer than.” It had been years since I had spoken Dwarven, but the memories had inspired me to think back on it, and the term was appropriate – hopeful, but appropriate.

She twisted her nose in confusion. “Merthan? Ye mean merchant? Thet isn’t the right word Khem, but hello to ye, too.”

“S-s-sorry, it… is… Dwarven. Means ‘small friend’.”

“Oh! I dedn’t know ye spoke Dwaerven, Khem. Though I’d doubt a dwaerf would call me small. I’ve never seen one taller then four feet!” She smiled and hopped off the back of her wolf… Gaien, I recalled. She took the flute she had been playing and slipped it into her backpack. “I hope ye’ve been well, Khem. I’ve been meaning to ask, ye mentioned ye were a ‘Geomencer.’ Whet exactly is it thet ye do? Since I’m a druid, I care for the trees and animals and such. Whet do ye do, talk to rocks?”

Caught off guard by the bluntness of the query, I stood dumbfounded for a few seconds. My mind was racing with the possibilities of what I was about to do. Never before had anyone taken interest in my calling – not even during my time in Vulcan – and I was both eager and nervous to display it. The spells themselves would be drawn from my studies in Ithaca, the Wu Jen arts. My skills as a Geomancer merely gave me the ability to cast them as I chose. Still, this could be an important step in developing a friendship, something I desperately wanted. Collecting my wits, I held a finger up with one hand while I grabbed my spellbook from the other. Flipping through the pages, I selected a handful of spells to demonstrate. “I… follow the Earth. Ground, sky, elements. Wood, Metal, Water, Earth, and Fire. Look,” I said, and started casting.

 

Natural Weapon: Training

The training was difficult, for a time. Bernath was a strict disciplinarian, but he was also kind and fair in his criticisms of my abilities. At the beginning of my training, it was awkward and uncomfortable for me to be within the walls of the dwarven city for such extended periods of time. Bernath’s home and training center was acceptably private, but the journey there and back to the comfort of the woods – though in the dark of night each way – was uncomfortable. I felt as if hostile eyes were watching me constantly, which they probably were.

It became apparent that I was unskilled with most ordinary martial weapons – Bernath’s term was that I had “flappy wrists” – and that I lacked the dexterity to be good with ranged implements as well. For several weeks, this frustrated Bernath to no end: he seemed determined to help me defend myself. After days of attempting different maneuvers with daggers, swords, axes, maces, staffs, spears, longbows, crossbows, and all manner of thrown weapons, I was ready to give up. My arms ached, my wrists were sore, and while I felt more physically fit than I ever had, the complete lack of success had dampened both of our spirits.

The only factor to Bernath’s training that had been a success thus far had been my defenses: gone were my tattered robes, and in their place I had been training with increasingly heavy armor pads to get used to the weight of real armor. Bernath was strangely silent on this topic, and would not tell me at which point of my weight training I could stop and get a real set of armor. He was pleased, in our long discussions in the evenings (made easier by the fact that over the months spent there Bernath had begun teaching me the Dwarven language), with my account of the blending of arcane and divine magic, as this meant I would be able to wear heavier armor without it hindering my spellcasting abilities. I was eager to try it out in a real combat setting, where I could cast spells and not feel so vulnerable.

As time went on, and I had spent roughly six months in and out of Vulcan training with Bernath, things started to change. The dwarves of the town, who had been wary and aloof around me, started to be more friendly and some even smiled at me as I walked past. I still stuck to traveling at night out of personal preference, but I no longer felt like the outsider I knew I should be.

After yet another failure in the training ring, Bernath had an epiphany with my training, and without a word ran off out of his home, leaving me confused and speechless holding a greatsword in unsteady hands. After my initial surprise had worn off, I gratefully set the large blade on the ground and walked slowly out of the house trying to follow my mentor. I saw him already a few blocks away, talking hurriedly with a caravan merchant and rustling through his wares. I approached, and heard the tail end of the conversation, something about “relic” and “talon.”

As I arrived, Bernath tossed a hefty coinpurse at the merchant and placed a heavy bundle into my hands, and ran back towards the training room. Even more confused, I followed him back, trying to figure out the contents of the package based on general shape and weight. Definitely metal: maybe a glove? Bernath had tried to teach me how to use gauntlets and spiked gauntlets as a melee weapon, but I lacked the force to really inflict sufficient damage with my punches, regardless of the added weight of the gloves.

When I entered the home, Bernath was furiously tearing through a chest in the corner of the training room. “What’re ye waitin’ fer? Open the package, Kieran!” Obliging, I tugged on the string binding the parcel and as the flaps fell away, saw the beautifully crafted gauntlets and the long, sharp blades at the end of each finger. They were of fine silvered steel, with what appeared to be a small sapphire at each joint of the hand.

“They’re… beautifully crafted. Do you really think I can use these?” My Dwarven, a wonderful language reflective of the brusque and self-assured dwarves, was much more fluid than my Common, which I had largely abandoned during my time in the wilds and neglected in preference of the more respected Dwarven tongue in Vulcan.

“Aye, I know so! Ye’ve got a feral streak lad, and if ye embrace it, I think ye’ll find yer talent. Also, somewhere… in… here… Aha! Try this on with em!” As he finished rummaging in the chest, he pulled out a crude-looking wooden mask, wired along the bottom with what looked to be some sort of fang. The item itself was far from beautiful, but it had the sheen of magic around it, so I know it had some undeniable level of power.

I put on the gloves and mask, and felt their magic strengthen my hands and face. I instinctively knew how best to use them, and dropped to all fours as I approached the training dummy. With a leap, I charged at the dummy and slashed at it with my hands, my fingers gaining strength from the gloves as they tore easily through the oaken target and, after sinking both claws in, I fluidly reared my head and chomped down on the head. The magic of the mask flowed into my face, and my teeth tore the dummy’s head off in a shower of splinters. In a matter of seconds, I had demolished my “foe” with little more than my hands and teeth.

Dumbstruck, all Bernath could whisper was, “Aye, lad. That… that’ll do.”

 

Natural Weapon: Memory

Startled by the dwarf’s casual demeanor, not to mention the strength of his grip, I awkwardly pulled myself up the rest of the way to my feet. He stared at me expectantly with warm, blue-green eyes. Waiting for me to speak.

“Greh… uh…H, he-hello” I stammered, the words rolling out of my jumbled thoughts.

“So! He does speak! Haha! Good on ye, lad! I’m Bernath Truesilver, of Vulcan. And who might ye be, then?” His booming laugh echoed off of the peaks and cliffs, reverberating in my sensitive ears. The wilderness had been silent, and the boisterous dwarf cared nothing for that fact.

“Hrm…” I scratched my head as my mind raced, “K-Kieran. Uh….Of…” I searched my memory of the maps from the College’s library, trying to think of any other cities than Ithaca. Finally my mind recalled another, close to home but far enough to alleviate my fears. “Of Thebes.”

“Ohh, Thebes, eh? Well ye must be a spellcaster then, aye? Ye’ve certainly got t’e fancy clothes for it, tattered as they may be! Hahaha! Alright lads, let’s head out. Kieran, ye’re comin’ with me. If ye won’t be mindin’, I’ll treat ye to some good ol’ fashioned dwarven hospitality!”

Without much reason to object, nor the wherewithal to resist the dwarf even had I wanted to, I awkwardly accompanied Bernath and the others back to the dwarven smithing town. It had been years since I had been in civilization, and my wild features definitely drew some attention from the townsfolk as we crossed the threshold into town and through the streets towards Bernath’s home. The town wasn’t particularly large, and while I had wanted to avoid the town square, there really was no other way to navigate the sturdy geometric buildings the stout folk lived in. Forges and smelters seemed to be on every street corner, and there were steady streams of caravans carrying weapons, armor, ore, and other goods of the earth going into and out of town. There were a few elves, here and there, mostly travelers and other merchants trading with the dwarves for their fine crafted goods, offering fine elven wines and spices in exchange. The liveliness was… jarring to me.

Finally, we made it to Bernath’s house, slightly larger than most, nestled up in one corner of the town up against a mountainside.

“After ye” he said, making an exaggerated gesture while holding his door open for me.

Uneasy, I hunched down through the doorway and entered… A house much larger than I had expected. What couldn’t be seen from the outside was that the house, while clearly having a higher ceiling than most of the shorter dwarven roofs, was actually built into the mountain as well, and extended for nearly a hundred feet into the mountain the full length of the house. The floor was covered in smooth wooden planks, and there were wooden dummies placed here and there along the floor, and the walls of the “cave” were covered in targets, weapon racks, and other training implements.

“W-what… what is…” I started.

“Welcome to t’e training room of the Vulcan militia, Kieran. As I said, I’m Bernath, General Bernath of the Vulcan Guard. I insist on gettin’ ye a bath and new clothes, and if ye are willing, I’d like to train ye to fight like a dwarf. Or like a whatever-ye-are trained by a dwarf. These mountains, and I know ye’ve been livin’ here a good while, are no place for relyin’ only on a spellbook. So whaddaya say?” He was grinning widely, but for the first time looked somewhat apprehensive as well.

Really, what choice did I have?

 

Natural Weapon: Social

After she had left, I went back to my cave and pondered the possibilities. If she, one so small and friendly, wasn’t afraid of me, why were the others? Was there perhaps… a chance I could be accepted? With these hopeful thoughts in mind, I allowed myself to drift into memory. Once, I had been allowed in the city of Vulcan, had even found there not necessarily a friend, but a mentor.

I wandered the mountains for weeks, aimless in my pursuits and content with my fresh lot in life. It was about a year into my travels, and I was trekking the mountains near Vulcan for the first time. I had encountered huge varieties of monster and beast in my travels, and those I could not befriend or calm with Borealis and those ties to the natural world, I was able to best in combat with the spells of the Wu Jen. While these skills were useful and indeed powerful, if an enemy was able to draw in close to me I had significantly more difficulty. I still wore the ragged robes of the College of Ithaca, mere tatters after years of wear and little maintenance. Similarly, I had never been trained in melee combat, and knew not how to swing a sword or shoot a bow effectively. This left me vulnerable.

As I walked among the mountains, I had seen in the distance squads of dwarven patrols guarding caravans along the road or protecting the entrances to mines from attack. I watched, and marveled at their gleaming metal armor and the strength and grace with which they struck, parried, and twirled their shining blades. There were those at Ithaca who preferred martial training over magical, but I had never paid them much attention and their skill paled in comparison to the expertise of the dwarves. I wanted to approach them, but was too afraid.

One day, as I was observing a patrol scouting the mountains to the north of Vulcan, the rocky slope I was perched upon rumbled and cracked, and the section immediately around me started to slide and tumble down towards the unsuspecting dwarves below. Fearing for their safety, I acted on instinct and let out a frightful roar as I hurtled with the rock down the slope. Hearing my call gave the dwarves just enough warning to look up and dive back out of the way. When the dust had settled, I found myself covered in rubble looking up into the frightened and confused eyes of six dwarven guards, their hands on their weapon hilts but without drawing them. One drew a bugle carved from a ram’s horn, and the clarion call echoed throughout the mountain peaks.

I heard them muttering, whispering to themselves, but I did not know their language. I had never seen a dwarf up close, and their broad, stout stature and finely toned muscles intimidated me. I wasn’t scrawny by any means, but neither could I compare to the raw strength they exuded. Their long beards, tied and braided in intricate knots and patterns, mocked the shaggy mess of ragged plumes that my face was now covered with. After a few minutes of the dwarves talking amongst themselves, and myself being too frightened and confused to attempt to speak or even get up out of the rocks, the circle of dwarves parted and another one, this one slightly taller and even broader than those surrounding me, entered the ring and put his hand on his chin and squinted at me with an appraising eye. His armor gleamed like the reflection upon a lake on a sunny day, and was perfectly smooth and polished, the metal a shining silver with a hint of icy blue.

The supernatural shine of the armor dazed me. I had never seen anything like it before. Thus distracted, I was caught even more off guard when he coughed lightly, pulled me up by the collar (as far as his four-foot frame could reach) and spoke in Common:

“Aye, well getch’ourself up, lad! Can’t say a proper hullo lying on t’a ground, now can ye?”

 

Natural Weapon: Speech

I had been away from my cave a fair distance, near the woods attempting to tame some of the local beasts. There was a small family of chimaeras in the mountains near my cave, and the local dwarves who stumbled across me in their travels, while not hostile, had taken to calling me after them due to my monstrous appearance. I couldn’t blame them, per se, for my inability to trim my feathered beard after years of wilderness life gave me a rather haggard appearance, and the presence of my other features certainly didn’t help to discourage the resemblance. Over the time spent with Borealis and communing with animals and spirits, I had developed an empathy with wild creatures and was testing to see if that ability extended to monsters. It isn’t a small thing, confronting three wild chimaeras by yourself, but I had learned how to appear unimposing to them and was making headway in making them peaceful.

While I was concentrating on calming the beasts, she came.

“What’re ye doin’ there, sehr?”

I leapt back in surprise, startling the chimaeras and causing them to flee back to their den in the mountains – seeming more surprised than I was, but surely this was not the case. Not five feet away from me, towards the woods, stood a woman. Short by comparison, with her long blond hair flowing freely, she wore a bodice made of animal hides around a long tunic, and her bright, peridot-green eyes were glowing straight at me.

“Geh… Guh, I-I-I… Huh?” was all that I could stammer in reply. Gods, how long had it been since I had spoken? Years? My mind raced to recall my knowledge of Common, the most widely spoken language in the land, one I hadn’t used in ages.

“Ah sehd, what’re ye doin’ there, sehr?” she replied happily, seemingly unfazed.

“Huh, ha… I… Am, tren… tram… tame? Taming,” I said. My mind seemed to take hours to find the right words, and my memory of the language’s structure was completely missing.

“Tayming khemeras? Thet seems a tahd… Dangerous, doun’t ye think?” I understood what she was saying, had heard it on the tongues of people my entire life, it was spoken by many of the monsters I had encountered, the dwarves of Vulcan, and the… elves…

“Hm… heh… You…E-eh-eh-Elf, ye… yes?” Though I doubt she could see through the mess of feathers on my cheeks, my inability to speak had caused me to blush horribly.

“Oh, no. Well, not complehtly, anyway. My father whas an elf, so I suppose that meks me half. I’m Ennara Elderlaw, a druid from these areas. Who and what are you?” After so long away from conversation, her accent (not quite the heavy brogue of the dwarves, but similar and with a hint of the lilt of the elves) made it a little hard to grasp the words, but at the same time, it was… friendly. Friendly was something I had been without for a good long while.

I held up a finger while stammering under my breath, trying to form the words without embarrassing myself further. “I… am… Called. Chimaera. By… them,” with a point towards Vulcan, “Am… Geomancer. I follow… Earth, and… Sky.” I wanted to tell her my real name, but I was no longer Kieran. In my mind, I had left that name behind me upon the coast of Ithaca. Even after all the years that had passed, I still feared word of me reaching my parents. Better that their son be dead, for their sakes, than a monstrous renegade of all they stood for.

“Geomancer? Hm. Never heard of thet, before. Well, nice to meet ye, Khemera. I s’pose thet explains the other khemeras, then. Do ye live around here?”

I nodded.

“In Vulcan?”

I shook my head.

“In… Elfheim?”

Head shake.

“Hmm… Not in our druid communes, I know. Not… Not in these mountens?”

I nodded.

“Well! Here I thought we were livin’ in the wilderness, ahnd then there’s you! Well Mr. Khemera, I need to be goin’ on my behsness, but I’d like to see yer khemeras next time I pass through, if that’s alright?” She smiled and, completely flabbergasted, I just slowly nodded and weakly coughed. If she sensed my discomfort at the conversation, she showed no sign, and just started walking happily along her way again. In her wake were dozens of questions that I couldn’t speak, words I couldn’t remember, and a sense of happiness I hadn’t had in a long time. I was too confused to be sure, but I felt as if I had, for the first time in years – since I had left everything of my old life behind, made a friend.

 

Natural Weapon: Travels

Eventually, I made my way out of the water and scrambled up to the rocky beach. To my surprise, I found my ramshackle pack roughly a hundred feet up from the coast, and made a mental note on the usefulness of altitude on distance. I nervously felt my new gills, which had mostly closed themselves upon exiting the water. Curious, I walked carefully back to the water and ducked my head in, and felt the gills flip back out and begin processing the water immediately. Handy.

Overwhelmed with the possibility of the huge landmass I now stood upon, I set off towards the West. My best memory of the map of the area told me there was the city of Thebes not far to the Southeast, a place I wanted to be sure to avoid. Thebes, it was said, was a city of rigid militarism in its enforcement of magical artifacts and spellcasters. The city was built around a merchant port, which was carefully monitored and overshadowed by the imposing Mage Tower. The Tower’s guards inspected and recorded each magical item and mage that entered the city, and surely the administrators within the Tower itself carefully inspected the known history of any entering the city. Those that the Tower disagreed with or feared, it was said, had a tendency of showing up in the dungeons shortly following their arrival.

I spent days wandering the vast, open plains of Ophion, taking in the sights of nature and the vast variety of wildlife the continent sported. I relied on my scavenging skills and Borealis’ magic to provide myself with food, and relied upon my magical training to defend myself from wandering monsters that took objection to my presence. I spent each morning praying and studying my spells, and I spent each evening in thankful prayer that Atlas had delivered me from the perils of Ithaca. My life was full of new possibilities, and I never wanted to return.

After a handful of days, which I did a poor job of tracking, I arrived at the edge of the Terrato Mountains, a vast mountain range bisecting the continent of Ophion lengthwise. Having nowhere better to go, I set off into the wild mountains. One thing I discovered, in the mountains, was that those dwelling there were more ferocious and less friendly than those in the plains. There was less wildlife in general, and I stumbled upon more than a few caves filled with orcs, goblins, kobolds, or more monstrous foes. Through these encounters I honed my skills, and as my knowledge of magic and proficiency in blending the arcane and divine forces increased, my body shifted as well. Over the weeks and months of wandering I developed more bestial traits which aided my quest: eyes like a rat which granted me better vision in the dark caves of the mountains; reverse-jointed legs like those of the elk that allowed me to run faster and bound on all fours across the plains; a cougar’s tail granting me better balance which I used to perch in trees, and the ability to spin a web from my hands like that of a spider to ensnare prey and discourage pursuit from attackers.

All told, I spent roughly three years in the wilds of Ophion, living among animals and learning my place within the balance of nature and learning how to hone my magical abilities to survive and aid those who stood with me. I felt most at home in the mountains, the drastic combination of rock and sky reminding me of my debt and devotion to my patron god. I eventually settled, (as much as one living among nature can settle), in a cave in the mountains several hours Northwest of the dwarven city of Vulcan. The dwarves rarely ventured into my area of the mountains, presumably due to poor deposits of useful metals, and it was nice to have the reminder that civilization was nearby. Though the dwarves were greedy to have as much metal as they could smith, they also had a natural-born respect for the earth and its power over them, and so I had no qualms with their way of life. The elves, living in the wooded city of Elfheim to the Southwest and numerous druid communes nearby, were a mystery to me. Secluded, they cared little for the outside world and my only encounter with their kind was through traveling merchants taken by the wanderlust common in their youths, and rare glimpses of their city from the safety of a tree-branch. That is, until one day, she came.

 

Natural Weapon: Sojourn

The next morning I awoke, groggy and frustrated, the bristling of my facial feathers keeping me awake throughout the night. I attempted to pluck one, but the pain was unbearable. Resigned, I packed up the rough bedroll I had fashioned from loose branches and leftover twine, tucked my spellbook into the folds, and set off for the coast. My goal: the mainland, and the freedom it promised from the ever-present fear of Ithacan passersby.

Despite having lived on an island my whole life, I had never been taught how to swim: that was the lot of the sailors and merchant-folk, not suitable for the scholars of the College and the more well-to-do families. I suddenly wished I’d had a harder upbringing, as that experience would be useful now. I traveled to the Southwestern corner of the island, as far away from the centrally-West ferry dock and any prying eyes. With Borealis (the name I had given my spirit hawk) on my shoulder, I approached the rocky shore and for the first time viewed the foreign coast of the mainland. It was fairly unimpressive, looking very little different from the ground I stood upon, but I knew that what awaited me on that land was a life I had never known. However unsure I was of what that life would be like, I knew my new path left me no other choice.

I reached for my spellbook, and flipped to the page I needed. There it was, in the third-level spell list, a spell I had never cast before, but which was my most logical option to escape: Fire Wings. Aptly named, it granted the caster fiery wings, like those of a phoenix, allowing them to fly and use the flames to fend off attackers. Swallowing my doubts with a loud gulp, I memorized the incantation and replaced the book in my makeshift pack. I clasped my crystal, and began to chant, feeling the energy of the ancient language well up in my throat as the power built within me. I drew upon the energy of the earth beneath my feet, and as I finished the spell raised my arms above my head as they burst into flames. The fire was bright, but I felt no pain.

Uneasily, I pulled my arms down rapidly, and felt my feet lift off the ground a few inches. Ecstatic, I flapped wildly and felt the overwhelming joy of flight; I slowly learned to keep my balance, and practiced on my side of the chasm, swooping up and down, left and right, until I felt fairly comfortable with the new sensation. It was… exhilarating. To the best of my knowledge, no other spell in the Wu Jen’s repertoire granted flight, and in its casting I had both reached a new level of magical mastery and granted myself the ability to follow my destiny. I flew for hours, in sheer wonder, before I settled back again and set my eyes across the channel. With a resolute nod, I lifted off again and set off for the land of Ophion…

Would that I had made it. In my anxiousness at attempting the new spell, and the joy of the flight following, I had failed to notice that used up nearly all of the duration of my flaming wings and, midway across the sea-route, the flames extinguished themselves and I began plummeting towards the rushing water. Frantically, I ripped off my pack and threw it with all my might towards the beach, hoping against hope that my spellbook would not be damaged in the water. Many spellbooks have enchantments to protect them from the elements; from rain, sea, flames, blades, etc. Since mine was an heirloom of sorts, I had never inquired as to its protections. Without seeing if it made it to dry land, I crashed into the waves and my lungs filled with water.

My mind raced through all of the Water-school spells I had been taught, raced through the knowledge Borealis had given me, and my mind came up blank. I kicked and pumped my arms to the best of my ability, but I was sinking fast. Forcing my mind to be calm, or as best as could be managed, I grasped my symbol of Atlas and said a fervent prayer, asking for his aid. My arms settled, my legs stopped kicking, and I allowed myself to sink, as I repeated the words of my prayer over and over in my head. I felt the fire of the water in my lungs, and then I felt… Nothing. After a moment, I forced my eyes open.

What I saw was unremarkable enough: the hazy blue of the sea, a few distant fish fleeing from the large, unwieldy intruder in their waters, and long strands of kelp dancing to the sea’s incessant tempo. What I felt, however, took me completely by surprise. I felt calm. No longer did my lungs burn, but I felt a strange pulsing on the sides of my neck. Nervously, I moved my fingers to the source of the pulse, and knew that Atlas had blessed me once again. Three lines of gills laced either side of my neck, the cool seawater flowing gently into the slats, providing my lungs with the oxygen I needed. I was entirely at a loss for what to feel: joy, thankfulness, wonder, disbelief, and apprehension. I stayed at the bottom of the sea for what must have been hours, in prayer and thanks to Atlas for saving me, and fear for what He had in store for me that he would save my life in such a direct way. Never before had I felt so important, yet so unimaginably small.

 

Natural Weapon: Stirrings

The first night alone in the wilderness was difficult. The trial of that day had taken nearly all of my prepared spells, and it was only through the assistance of my “spirit guide” (as I had taken to calling the spectral hawk) that I was able to find food and safe shelter among the wilds. While the spells of the Wu Jen focused on the elements, they were intended for mastery and use in combat, rather than balance and harmony with nature. There was something… freeing, about the hawk’s nature magic. While the spells I had been raised with required deep concentration, study, and preparation in front of a spellbook each morning, the spirit’s spells came freely, and I found I could cast the same spell multiple times before the spiritual energy ran out each day.

Another unnerving aspect of that first taste of freedom was avoiding the people of Ithaca as they traversed the island hunting game. I did not know what story Sophie had told the teachers and my family when she fled back to the town, but I could only assume they thought me dead, and I wanted it to stay that way. How could I confront my father, both as a parental figure and as an educator, and tell him that their way of life was fundamentally wrong? That they were killing the very land they revered? So, I took the coward’s way out, and stayed hidden among the woods. I eventually learned to commune with my spirit guide, and to sense other, similar spirits if they were nearby. As my awareness grew, I utilized my scholastic background, and studied.

I studied many things: the trees, and their qualities and growth patterns; the animals and their tracking, movement, and gathering habits; the people, and their ritualistic, unthinking way of going about life, unheeding of the damage they caused their environment; and my spells. I studied the differences between my practiced arcane spells and my spiritually-gifted nature spells; I studied the differences in the verbal and somatic components, how arcane spells were limited when my body was encumbered while the natural spells were not, how arcane spells relied on material components while the natural spells could be focused on a symbol. As time went on, I began to experiment. I tried to replace the material components of an arcane spell with my divine focus, a sky-blue quartz crystal, my holy symbol of Atlas. When that failed, I meditated. And in my meditation, I felt the stirrings of magic in the earth for the first time. When next I experimented, I focused on that earthen energy and used it in my spell, and finally I felt success. Over time, I began to try more and more spells, mixing one, then two, then every single method of casting between the two types of magic. And it worked.

That first night, after sensing the earth’s power and meeting success in my attempts, I knelt and prayed to Atlas. An earnest, heartfelt prayer. I was thankful to have discovered this conduit to magic, but conflicted. Should I take this knowledge back to Ithaca, to show the College the error of their ways? Was this a path that they could follow, or was it mine to walk alone? If not to the College, then where to go? I feared to take any boat from the island, for fear of word reaching my father’s ears. When I was finished praying, I slowly knelt up from the ground and rubbed my face from fatigue. What I felt was not the familiar bristles of my now-fairly-shaggy beard, but… quills? I scrambled to a nearby pond and peered at the face in the reflection, a face similar to mine but now covered in the plumed feathers of a red-tailed hawk. Atlas had given me his power, and had left his mark on me. Forever.

 

Natural Weapon: Incident

It happened one day in my third year at the College, the day of our first field expedition and authorized unsupervised use of magic outside the College. We were split into groups of five, one representing each element, and sent into what little wilderness existed on the island to test our powers in real combat, and help eliminate any monsters that might threaten the town. Despite my father’s proficiency with Earth, I had developed an affinity with Fire magic. With me were Lance, the metal adept; Sophie, the water adept; Dorn, the wood adept; and Uther the earth adept. We had been working our way through some seaside caves, eliminating some sahuagin (horrible, mutated fish-men) who had moved in recently.

As we wound through the serpentine tunnels of the cave, going higher and higher into the mountain, we started to run into some difficulty. One of the sahuagin managed to penetrate Dorn’s defenses during combat and impaled him on its primitive spear, killing him instantly. None of us had experienced real combat before this, and the loss of our classmate was shocking. Afraid to return with our mission incomplete with a dead classmate, we continued on through the cave. The next battle was even more difficult, since Sophie panicked and used her highest degree spell, Gaseous Form, to flee and left Lance, Uther and I to fend for ourselves. Uther, in his haste, caused a cave-in behind us and cut off our only route of escape, forcing us to continue despite our depleted spell resources and our wounds.

In the next battle, Lance fell, his Rain of Needles bouncing harmlessly off of a sahuagin’s shield as its spear pierced his heart. Uther and I, wounded and panicked, fled to an opening at the top of the path.

What awaited us when we went out the door was not our salvation, as we’d hoped. The cave wound all the way up the mountain and exited via a small ledge overlooking a sheer drop into the rocky waves below. Cornered, we nodded and turned to face our certain doom, when I saw it: a hawk, flying in circles around the mountaintop, translucent and green, its wings leaving misty trails in the sky as it flew.

I pointed it out to Uther, who saw nothing, and as I did so it descended and landed on my shoulder, causing a chill down my spine. I stiffened as I heard the hawk whisper into my ear, a strange language that was a mix of strange words and avian shrieks. Though I had never heard the langauge before, I knew somehow that it was whispering to me the words of some sort of spell, and in my panic I obliged, repeating the strange words exactly as the wispy bird commanded. To both the surprise of Uther and myself, my limbs started to harden and stiffen in place, my hair turned leafy and green, and within a heartbeat my form changed into that of a tree. While I felt only a second of relief as my life was spared, that feeling was quickly replaced with horror as I was forced to watch, motionless, soundless, as Uther was butchered before my boughs. I wanted to scream, but could not; I wanted to change back and help him, or die with him, but knew not how. The strange bird had both saved my life and given me the most agonizing memory of my life. I will never forget that image, his screams, no matter how far from that life I have drifted now

I was stuck as a tree for three hours. The sun set and the night grew cold, and through my roots I felt the cries of the earth as the remaining sahuagin carved the cave deeper underground, felt the crash of the waves against the coast, and felt… outrage. The island that we revered so much hated us for the abuse we put it through, the spirit of nature itself agonized with each tree we cut down and every animal we hunted for our survival. The spectral hawk continued to sit upon my wooden shoulder and peered into my thoughts, into my very soul. From that moment, I knew that there was no return for me. No longer could I be party to the abuse of the land and its inhabitants. No longer could I face my fellow classmates and participate in lessons that would further abuse our island.

Once the spell had worn off, and my body was my own once again, I carefully made my way back through the caves. When danger faced me, my hawk companion whispered the spells I would need to get by them safely. It never taught me the words to spells that caused the creatures harm, only ways to protect or hide myself. When I was once more free into the wilderness, I found a secluded spot and said my first prayer to Atlas, though I did not know His name then. My hawk showed me the world of the spirits from whence it came, the balance of souls in all things and my role among them. And that very night, with only the clothes on my back and my father’s borrowed spellbook in my pack, I left Ithaca.