A letter left behind at the start of Adair's journey

((At this point in my NaNo, Adair leaves a note to his teacher when he gets his quest and sets off in the middle of the night. I haven't found a way to fit it into the story yet, so I figured I'd share it here. The boy has no idea what he's in for. Back in a few days, only going to the next town, hahaha! Almost two years later, half a world away, he won't even know where he lives anymore. Keep thinking you'll be back tomorrow, kid. You'll need that optimism.))

Dear Master Cole,
This is going to come out of the blue, but I need to take a few days off. I'll make it up, I promise. I think I figured out what happened to the map I drew for my journeyman-assignment. The person I met who was acting strangely the other day was the watchmaker- you were right. Last night he and a fortune teller- I can't recall what she said her name was- helped me figure out that the reason I've been feeling so odd is because someone is using my magic through the map and that someone is probably the person who is draining mages. It's all very weird and I'm not really sure what the map has to do with the attacks, but I'm positive this is true. I know someone is using my magic and I didn't get a chance to disconnect myself from what I had drawn before it was taken, so that must be it. Anyway, I'm going to go see if I can get it back somehow. The fortune teller said I would have some help, but I'm not sure who that'll be yet. She said she'd explain this better to you in the morning. I should be back tomorrow or maybe the day after; I think I just have to go to Greenveldt to sort this out.
~Adair

PS Please have Katie watch my cats for me while I'm gone and ask her not to let Vermillion get into my paintbrushes. (He keeps trying to chew the bristles off. I don't know why. He never did this before.) Tell her I'll draw her some more dancing kittens if she helps.
PPS. Oh, and have her try to keep Chartreuse out of the bedrooms. She keeps bringing in dead mice and leaving them on my bed. It's gross. ... Chartreuse does, I mean. Not Katie.
PPPS I brought my sketchbook and some tools, so while I'm away I'll work on something. I promise I won't slack off and I'll work extra hard when I get home.

Calling in a Favor (Short Story)

July 23rd, 713CC
(Possible future)
Five years after the events in The Acolyte's Map and It's Not Easy Being Green, nineteen after In the Cards (in-progress story), and twenty four after Adventures of a Young Messenger.

"Cyn, there's someone looking for you. I brought him to your office, but I think he might be crazy."

The high priest rolled his eyes up at the sky in silent prayer asking for patience; not for the priestess delivering this news, a long-time friend whose judgment he trusted, but for the small disasters that kept piling up that day. "'Might be crazy'?" he repeated, already regretting what the answer would be.

The other Messenger shrugged her shoulders slightly. "He seems harmless enough. I wasn't sure what else to do with him; it seemed cruel to send him back to the street and he was rather insistent that it was you he had to speak to."

Curiosity was beginning to win over exasperation, but it was a close battle. "Very well, Liz, I will sort it out. I know you have other work to do, but can I ask you to help Ricky with fixing that mess?" he gestured to the empty fountain a few yards away where a slightly blue-tinted young acolyte was scrubbing. "I fear he may do something else foolish before the day is over."

The dark haired woman nodded and took the brush that Cyneric offered without comment, a reaction rare for her. Whatever the situation that awaited the high priest inside the Messenger's Mosque, it must be odd if cleaning sculptures in the heat of midday was a better alternative.

Brushing his hands on his red robe to dry them, he headed inside. At his door he momentarily pondered if he could pass whatever this was on to someone else, then had a flitting regret that he could no longer avoid interaction by hiding away in libraries. He had finally lost some of that shyness that had plagued him all of his life, but he feared he would never be particularly social- a trait incongruous with his affable and extroverted religious order and which was probably found amusing by their mischievous deity.

Once on the other side of the door, he immediately saw what the priestess had meant and why she had made reference to the street. A scruffy man lounged in one of the chairs as though he belonged there. He wore simple tattered clothes and a few equally shabby bags rested on the floor at his feet; Cyneric thought he could possibly be about his own age, although it was hard to tell through the bushy beard and disheveled dirty blond hair. When this person heard the sound of the door close, he turned towards the direction of the noise, but did not seem able to focus on the precise location. Cyneric could quickly tell what the reason was for this: the unkempt man was blind.

"May I help you?" the high priest asked. He was unnerved by the unseeing dark eyes that, despite his soft footsteps, somehow seemed to be able to follow his movement across the room with some level of success. Was this normal for someone who could not see?

"I'm seeking Cyneric Conroy. Are you he?" The man had an accent- if Cyneric had to wager a guess, it was that of one of the northern islands. His words were well-educated and self-assured, putting them at odds with his vagrant appearance.

The Messenger began to nod, then stopped when he realized this was likely a pointless action. "I am. May I ask the reason you were attempting to find me today?"

"I figured you would help me." This was a cryptic- and rather presuming- statement; the man's gall was impressive, if not somewhat irritating.

A thought was gnawing at the back of Cyneric's mind, however. Blind, a northern accent, presuming something in a way that seemed he felt he had a right to... suddenly it clicked. He knew exactly who this was, but surely he must be mistaken... "Zodóseph?" he asked incredulously.

Under the thick, light-colored beard, the corner of the man's mouth twitched up in a kind of good-natured smirk. "Got it in one. You always said you were smart."

Cyneric found himself having to lean against his desk while he tried to make sense of what was happening. Why was this priest so far from his home country of Zet- and looking very much out of uniform? Had Eros again sent Seph to this kingdom, decades after his previous assignment here? Considering how that one had played out, with his mate barely getting out of it alive, Cyneric felt his heart begin to race as he asked, "With what do you need help?"

That question seemed to make the other man lose what had appeared to be a permanent layer of confidence; his shoulders slumped and he fumbled nervously at the cuffs of his loose sleeves. Finally he gave a simple, flat response. "I left."

"When you say you 'left'-"

"I left. My order. Zet. Everything." It was clear that Seph was trying to keep emotion out of his voice, but not doing a particularly good job of it.

The high priest, meanwhile, remained in disbelief. "You cannot be serious!"

"I haven't told a lie in twenty years; of course I'm telling the truth." Seph sounded offended by the fact that Cyneric would think otherwise, but continued to explain despite his annoyance, "I couldn't stay in Zet- I just couldn't face that, not after resigning."

"I see." Actually, he didn't. Cyneric could not even begin to imagine turning in his amber and leaving his brethren behind. He would sooner give up a limb than renounce his Calling. Probably, anyway.

It seemed his comment didn't matter much, though, as the once-priest had fallen into something of a rant. "Everyone I knew began to treat me like a criminal, like I had done some terrible act by wanting to leave. Me! I'd done everything my god, my order, and my country ever asked of me and then some! I've healed hundreds, thousands over the years. I couldn't handle the constant pressure and expectations anymore and it was beginning to make my magic unreliable and, quite frankly, dangerous. I'm burned out, Cyn. All I'm asking is for a place to stay for a while."

Cyneric could feel a headache coming on and rubbed at his temples to try to stave it off. This was not what he needed on his plate today. On top of that fiasco with the young acolyte defacing the statue of Hermes by dyeing the water blue (he had never liked that fountain- or the sewers beneath- much and it had certainly seen worse over the years, but that kind of sacrilegious act could not be encouraged), this morning the Gate had once again malfunctioned and sent a dazed and soot-covered Messenger to Joven instead of Logging Town. Then another acolyte had been caught stealing, two ordained priests, who certainly should have known better, had gotten into a fight over an assignment both wanted, and now he was being asked to harbor the runaway of another deity. Was it just frazzled nerves from the summer's heat affecting everyone or had he angered a curse-bearing gypsy without realizing?

At least this situation was one he did not have to face alone. He returned to the door and upon opening it, spotted someone walking down the hall. Almost amazed that something had gone his way today, he told the boy "I need you to find Brother Rafion and send him up here as soon as possible. He should be in the courtyard."

After the young priest-in-training had bounded away with a ″Yes, sir!″, he turned to see that Seph had ceased scowling and, surprisingly, looked almost happy. "Raff's here, too?"

"I promoted him to weapons master a few months ago, so technically he is now here on permanent assignment. I thought I had mentioned that." Even if he hadn't, surely Raff would have- but the half-elf's handwriting did look something like a drunken, ink-covered spider had meandered across the page. Perhaps the person interpreting Seph's mail had thought it said "whimsical monkey", which would have also been an accurate term.

"I must have left before the letter got there." That answer made far more sense, although now Cyneric was stuck on the idea of training spiders as scribes and almost missed Seph's following question. "How does he like getting to beat people on a daily basis?"

"Too much. In hindsight, perhaps I should have made him the cook or the math instructor."

The disheveled man actually snorted. "I've tasted what he calls food and, if it's possible, his ability to count is even worse. Counting apples might make his head explode."

Cyneric was saved from having to defend the other Messenger- not that he could, as he was having a hard enough time trying not to laugh as he certainly agreed- by a knock at the door and the entrance of the one of which they spoke.

″What's this Liz says about a hobo?″ Leave it to Raff to enter a conversation so tactfully- and so obliviously. As he tried to get through the doorway without tripping over the medium-sized dog that pushed past his legs, he failed to notice that anyone besides Cyneric was in the room.

Raff carefully dropped the padded helm he had been holding in order to tie back his long hair and distractedly ordered, ″Jack, heel!″ The armor and padding he wore did little to hide his slight frame; although now in his forties, thanks to his elven heritage he still did not look much older than the group of young acolytes he had been instructing. This, coupled with his constant cheerful and somewhat flighty attitude, had caused the Messengers who had not known him well to shirk on those lessons. At first. They had soon realized that this youthful instructor took his duty- and his weapons- very seriously.

Not heeding the half-hearted command, the shaggy mutt dashed across the room to jump into Seph's lap and begin licking at the scruffy man's face. This surprised Cyneric, as the dog rarely strayed from Raff's side and even more rarely showed affection to strangers, having explained that he was ″the elf's protector and companion″. Considering that it had shown up just before Raff crossed paths with a dragon and a cursed artifact, Cyneric figured it ″spoke″ the truth. He had not bothered to explain to it that it was technically his job to be those things since getting into an argument with a dog would be a waste of time; besides, Raff could use all the help he could get to stay out of trouble.

What then surprised the high priest even more was that instead of pushing the dog off, Seph briefly hugged it close and began talking softly to it as though it would understand him. Cyneric knew that it could communicate with the Messengers any time it wished, much like his recently god-sent fox was able to, but how could Seph- who wasn't of their order- know that the dog was more than it seemed? And who the heck would snuggle a strange dog, anyway?

While Cyneric remained baffled by magical canines, Raff had finally noticed where his pet had ended up. ″Jack, heel″ he repeated, then added in a ″Blast it, get over here!″ when it continued to ignore him. At last it jumped down, but remained near Seph's feet as it began gnawing at its paw, as though daring Raff to try to order it around again. Cyneric had to hide a grin behind his hand when he saw the dumbfounded expression on his mate's face; Raff had never had an animal ignore him before.

Shaking his head, the half-elf began to apologize, ″I'm sorry about him. Jack's never done that before.″ He did not seem to realize who he spoke to, despite knowing Seph far better than Cyneric did. It must have been the beard.

Seph seemed to play along with the fact that his friend was clueless by paying no mind to the apology. ″Is he actually a dog acting like a dog? I think he's too shaggy to be another fox trying to trick me, but I wouldn't put that past you or a fox.″

Again that dumbfounded expression returned and Raff blinked in confusion several times before exclaiming, ″Saef?? Ye look like something the dog dragged in!″ Despite being fluent in the human tongue for now more than half of his life, the half-elf still retained some of the brogue that had come with the language he had originally spoken.

Oh yes, that elf is ever so tactful, Cyneric thought with a grimace, but quickly realized he had no reason to worry. Seph grinned his crooked smirk and remarked, ″So he is a dog. Thanks for not stringing me along this time.″

Raff hurried over to squeeze the man's hand in greeting; had he not been padded in layers of leather armor, he probably would have hugged him enthusiastically, which was his usual greeting towards almost anybody. No wonder people thought he was decades younger than his actual age. ″What're you doing here?″ he asked as he slunk down into the other chair next to Seph's. Even weighed down with armor, he moved like a cat.

″Who better for a down-on-his-luck delinquent to entreat for aid from a trying situation than the high priest of an accommodating religious order?″ was Seph's sarcastically wordy reply.

″He's here to call in a favor from someone who owes him greatly and has the authority to help,″ Cyneric clarified when the half-elf's eyes began to glaze over.

When Seph nodded, Raff looked from one human to the other appearing to still not follow what the two of them were talking about. ″You, Cyn? I don't understand. Wouldn't it be me who owes him? I mean, I was the one he saved from- ye know.″

After twenty years, Raff still did not feel comfortable talking about his time spent captured. If it hadn't been for Seph opening up communication through letters, knowing from experience as a healer from a war-ravaged country that in situations like this there was someone who would be both prying and concerned, Cyneric never would have entirely found out what had happened. That, too, he owed Seph for, although eventually they had begun corresponding because they had become friends of a sort. At particularly introspective times, Cyneric sometimes wondered if learning at sixteen that such evil existed in the world had in a way destroyed some of his innocence long before he would have come to learn this as an adventurer. Perhaps that had been part of the reason he was ever after prone to fits of paranoia and cynicism, although, despite his silence about the subject, Raff himself never seemed to be half as affected by what had happened to him.

″Follow that thought through, Greeneyes,″ the high priest prompted. There were days when the half-elf could have momentary flashes of surprisingly astute insight and then there were times where he could be as dense as a rock. Cyneric knew to be patient and wait until Raff caught up with the situation when it was one of his slower days.

After a moment more of thought, the elven priest replied with chagrin, ″Oh. Right. That should've been obvious. What do you need from Cyn, Saef?″

The once-priest began to fumble with his sleeves again, as though that was a nervous habit whenever he was uncomfortable. ″I'm looking for a place to stay for a while. I left my order.″

Raff's reaction was the same as Cyneric's had been. ″Ye did what?″

The dog began to whine softly. Seph reached down to scratch its ears, which seemed to calm both of them a bit. ″Like I was saying earlier, I got to the point where I felt smothered. I just couldn't handle the pressure anymore. Everyone was expecting too much from me, as though they thought I was some sort of miracle-bringer and not just a talented healer. My faith was slipping and it was making my ability to heal unreliable. Some days it was as strong as ever, some days it wouldn't work at all. I figured I should leave before it caused a huge problem.″

As if in awe of the wreck that was his friend's life, Raff tried to stammer out several questions at once. ″What? But- I don't... How- What did you do when the magic didn't work?″ was the one he finally settled on.

Seph nudged with his foot the small satchel that sat on the floor next to the dog. ″Salves, poultices, and herbs- and hope that one of my brothers or sisters was nearby if things got too bad.″

Now it was Cyneric's turn to give a more thought-out comment. ″What I do not understand is how you could leave when your skills were so needed.″

Seph's head snapped up when he heard that. Letting go of the dog in order to sit up with his back straight, he said defensively, ″I didn't leave them in the lurch, if that's what you mean. There are other healers just as strong as I was with far better faith; I was just the one that people knew about. Eros must have been okay with my decision because no calamity hit me on the way out.″

So at least the healer had not been his order's only hope and he had his god's approval, although probably not his blessing. Hopefully that meant that Cyneric would not be struck down himself by helping Seph. Silently he said a short prayer to Hermes hoping that his next words would not be a mistake. ″You helped out a Messenger when he needed it most; for that I will gladly give you what you ask. For helping this one in particular, I owe you far more than that. Raff, I'll need you to find him a spot to stay in the mosque until I think of a more permanent solution. Perhaps Hermes will have a suggestion.″

The half-elf nodded emphatically and while the relief on Seph's face was evident, he still seemed somewhat unsure. Had he really thought that he would be turned out or did he fear what the judgment of a god might be? Trying to reassure him, Cyneric told the healer gently, ″Do not worry, Seph. Gods willing, everything will be fine.″

Seph nodded but said no words of thanks as he followed the dog out of the room; for all that Cyneric had asked Raff to help the healer, it seemed as though the dog wanted to lead him instead. At the door he carefully stepped around the discarded helmet then said low under his breath to his guide, ″Yeah, I know how this works. Just lead and I'll follow.″

Raff noticed the lack of gratitude as well; a sheepish expression crossed his face once he was alone with the other Messenger. ″I think he's relieved. I know he doesn't like asking for help,″ he explained, then looked up at Cyneric with thankfulness in his bright green eyes. ″He's a bit of an arse, but this means a lot to me, Cyn.″

The high priest leaned down to kiss his mate's brown hair softly. ″I know, love. Trust that I will find a way to repay him.″

The half-elf grinned up at him, then bent to pick the bags up off the floor. Before he could follow Seph and the canine out, Cyneric stopped him. ″Hold on a second. Do you know why he is acting like he understands Jack? Does that seem odd to you?″

Raff shrugged as best as he could considering the burden of armor and Seph's possessions. ″Until a few months ago he had a fox that was like yours. I guess he's used to silently talking animals.″

In Raff's preoccupation with trying to carry the packs and retrieve his helmet on the way out, he didn't notice that Cyneric's jaw had dropped. How had a priest of Eros gotten a divine fox of Hermes, something only the Head Messengers received? And how could he talk with a sort of magical dog when he wasn't even a priest anymore? Cyneric fought the sudden pressing desire to go bang his head against the wall until the world began to make sense again and settled on walking over to the corner of the room where a small shrine was set up. He had the glimmering of an idea of what to do with Seph that had started when the healer mentioned in passing that he could still heal without magic- a very useful skill- but he definitely needed some divine guidance. Divine guidance and possibly some answers; his god had some explaining to do.

((After writing that silly list of things that might happen to my characters, I realized that I was on to something with three of them and this plot bunny was born. This may or not be what happens in five years, but I'm leaning towards this being pretty darn accurate. This ficlet references a few things from The Acolyte's Map but it's mainly pulling from "In the Cards", the novel I'm still working on. Someday I'll share what happened when Raff was taken prisoner and why Seph shares some abilities with the Messengers!))

Halfway Human (Part 1 - Prologue)

As narrated by Raff Goldenstrings
May 8th, 695CC
Thirteen years prior to the events in The Acolyte's Map

The fox has instructed me that I'm t'tell this truthfully and completely, leaving out nothing this time. I feel silly speaking t'naught but the air- and my pet mouse and the bossy fox, I suppose- but Felix says that I needs must speak what's true t'atone for the false I told the healer earlier. I don't understand this. I've been taught t'bend the truth when I needta and I didn't speak false so much as leave bits out. Why are the words I use around Saef so important that I must be chastened so by his- our- animal guide? Maybe I shouldn't of- shouldn't have- even bothered telling Saef anything, but I'm not sure he was convinced I'm what I say I am. Okay, and I was also kind of hoping my story would get a smile out of him. He never smiles and I'm not entirely convinced that he knows how t'laugh. I wish I knew why he's always so grumpy and prickly. I mean, he wasn't the one captured...

But that's nothing t'do with what I've been instructed t'say. I must do as I'm bid, especially when it comes from a fox, and hope I finish before Saef returns; he already thinks me crazy for talking t'animals. I can only imagine what he'd do if he found me talking t'the sky! Most of what I said t'him was true. I am a priest of Hermes; two months ago I was ordained and given the title ″Prior″. (Maybe a bit longer than two months, now as I think on it; I was in the dark place so long, I don't rightly know today's date.) I know I don't seem old enough t'be more than an acolyte, but I truly am older'n I look. I'm twenty-two, 'though if I'm t'be honest, were I human it would perhaps be more like seventeen. The other Messengers were never really sure what age t'treat me, so it was assumed I was of age with the young acolytes I trained with.

'Tis somewhat strange for me t'be a Messenger, with my pointed ears and all, but we all do come from different walks of life. Farm boys, children of merchants and traders, young people who grew up knowing the woods as I did, even nobles; my mate's a nob, as is a lass who trained with us. Any can be picked for this order, so long as they have something that makes them fit. Generally that trait is mischief, but our skills and hobbies vary as much as our backgrounds do. All this is the truth, as is what I told Saef about my life 'fore entering the priesthood.

I was raised by my mother and grew up around her kin; they're trackers, rangers, and various woodsy sorts. My da would visit us, but he was never so good at spending time in the wilderness and my mum always says she isn't comfortable in cities. (I still don't know how that relationship ever worked... but now that I'm older and have a love, I guess I can personally attest that sometimes opposites do attract!) My father was always amused that I joined up with a human priesthood despite my upbringing which should have left me more elf than human. He never got t'see me ordained though; he passed a few years back. My mum's always refused t'tell me exactly what happened and she'd become distraught whenever I asked, so I stopped. Maybe someday she'll tell me, but I haven't the heart t'upset her. This, too, is all truth.

Where it got a bit hazy was when I started goin' deeper with my tale of how I came t'be a Messenger. At the fox's request, I'll try t'speak clearer and tone down my accent so I'm more understandable. Felix, ye know no one's listening, aye? ... You know no one is listening, correct? Better? You are worse than the priest who instructed us in languages, ye know- I'm amazed that dealing with me didn't make him hand in his robes and run off t'be a hermit, far away from stubborn and thickheaded elves.

((This narration takes place during "In the Cards" [my current novel that's also currently a messy rough draft], shortly after he meets Seph [whose name he can't pronounce yet], and is introducing a short story about Raff's past. I'll be posting the next part soon!))

It's Not Easy Being Green (Short Story- Part 1 of ?)

((In our D&D game there's a three month gap where the characters are all off doing different things on their own before meeting up again to adventure. In Cyn's case, one of the things he's been doing is spell research. Here's the first part of a short story that I may finish someday; this takes place in the "now" of my writing world, shortly after The Acolyte's Map and very, very long after In the Cards [that mess of a story that I'll finish some day!]))

August 17th, 708CC
Cyneric sat in a soft, overstuffed old chair in the common room of the Messenger's Mosque in Woodland city, his attention fixed on the worn leather-bound book that rested on his knees. Despite the summer's heat that was scarcely allayed by the open window at his back, he had the hood of his carnelian-colored robe pulled tightly over his head. Whenever he turned a page, he would hastily rehide his hands in the loose sleeves, as though caught by a chill- or else trying to keep them out of sight.

He was so engrossed in trying to decipher the faded words of a long-ago scribe that he failed to notice when someone approached. It wasn't until the voice had said his name for a third time that he jumped, nearly knocking the book off his lap. He managed to catch this just before it hit the floor, but his page had been lost; he muttered a quiet curse under his breath. The book safe, he raised his head, moving slowly to keep his face hidden in the shadow of his hood. He had gotten quite tired of the curious stares his colleagues had given him all afternoon and had decided that feeling nearly suffocated by the heavy fabric was a better option.

When he saw the dark haired woman standing before him, a look of amusement on her face, he realized how immersed in his reading and thoughts he had been; he should have been able to recognize that voice! He rose and placed his book carefully on the seat cushion before catching the woman in a brief embrace.

″About time you noticed me, Cyn,″ she said as she hugged him back, ″I was afraid I'd have to send a herd of cattle into the room to get your attention.″ Her brown eyes showed the mischievous gleam that he knew so well. It had been a few months since their paths had last crossed, but she had been one of his closest friends for a very long time.

As he took her hand to pull her over to the row of chairs, he replied, ″I rather doubt that you could fit them through the door or squeeze them past the mail room. I cannot see that Armand would appreciate you damaging his mosque. That's what the acolytes are for.″

The woman laughed and agreed as she took the chair to his right. Liz was a few years older than he and, as another Messenger of the same rank, she was garbed in a red robe identical to his own- other than her hood worn down showing her dark brown hair in its usual long braid.

″When did you return?″ Cyneric asked, wondering if she had actually been here for days and he had been too preoccupied to notice. He supposed it would not be the first time for that; he tended to have a one track mind when it came to research or studying.

″Last night. I would have interrupted you sooner, but you were holed up behind a locked door and I was warned that going in there was probably a bad idea.″ She raised a questioning eyebrow and added, ″I was going to ignore that warning, of course, but then I remembered some of the projects you'd mentioned that you wanted to work on. Instead of knocking, I contemplated fleeing the city. Should I have run?″

″Of course not. You would have been perfectly safe in the work room. Well, probably. Most likely, anyway.″ Cyneric admitted, fidgeting with the inside cuff of his sleeves. ″Safe″ would have been correct, but quite possibly she would have left the room different than she had entered it. Not harmed in any way, but decidedly different.

Liz covered her eyes with her hand as though her friend was giving her a headache and let out a theatrical sigh. ″Cyn, what did you do now? Does this by any chance have to do with the fact that you're hiding?″

″Possibly. I could just be- hey!″ What he had been about to lie about was interrupted when she reached over to pull his hood back. She gaped for a moment, much as the few other clerics of Hermes had done earlier that day, then broke into an uncontrollable fit of giggles.

Cyneric glared through eyes that were currently an odd shade of bright green, then reached with hands that had a definite yellow tinge to pull his hood back over his long hair. Hair that had once been midnight black but which now matched the lime shade of his eyes. The glare he shot was mostly just for show, however; as a priest of a mischief god, he and his friends had gotten into worse predicaments than this, although rarely ones that were so colorful. In a haughty tone of voice, he remarked, ″Green hair is all the rage in Rinos, I'll have you know. Not wanting to clash, I decided the rest of me should match.″

Gasping for breath and wiping tears from her eyes, Liz commented, ″Then remind me not to take any assignments for the capital city. I look terrible in green.″

Unable to keep a straight face any longer, Cyneric, too, fell into a fit of laughter. Perhaps if this was a permanent problem it would be cause for a serious reaction, but he knew- or at least hoped!- that it would wear off by the end of the day. When the two of them finally got themselves under control, Liz posed the question, ″What the heck were you actually trying to do? You look like you angered a colorblind wizard. It's very festive color on you, by the way, with your robe and all.″

″At least I got 'festive' out of this, so that's something.″ He shrugged sheepishly as he explained, ″I was trying for a spell that would aid disguises and undercover assignments.″

His friend stared at him, disbelief evident on her face. ″As what? A dryad? A holly bush? Are you sure you're not colorblind? What color's that wall over there?″

″White. They are all white, which wouldn't prove your theory,″ Cyneric pointed out. ″I would have thought it was obvious; the spell I was using backfired.″

Now a raised eyebrow was added to Liz's disbelieving expression. Cyneric had a feeling that he knew what she was thinking; he had wondered the same thing when he had caught sight of himself in a mirror. Sure enough, her next comment echoed what he had thought earlier that day. ″I thought divine spells fizzled out of existence when they didn't work. Since when do they backfire?″

″Since now, apparently.″ He tugged his sleeves back over his hands, which had come free again, then gave another shrug. He would certainly be glad when- and hopefully not if- this wore off! ″My hypothesis is that I'm experiencing spell backfire because I am not attempting to learn existing spells, which is what normally results in spells 'fizzling'. I'm trying to create them largely from scratch and the results have been somewhat... well, unexpected.″

″Or maybe Hermes just has a sense of humor,″ Liz pointed out. That was something that hadn't occurred to Cyneric, but it did seem likely, now that she mentioned it... ″And you said 'spells' with an 's'. What other mess have you been working on?"

Cyneric gave her his best vulpine grin, just visible under the hood of his robe, and asked, ″Would you like to be the first to learn magic worthy of our order? I guarantee it will be worth a slightly green hue.″

Without hesitation, just as he thought she might react, she mirrored his smile. ″Count me in.″

Already plotting about how the research might be faster and more accurate with two mischievous priests working on it, he gave Liz her first task. ″Great! Please dig me up some guinea pigs- I mean volunteers- and meet me back here in three hours.″

The woman gave a mock-salute and bounded off.

Some questions for the protagonists...

((The Dungeon Master of the game Cyn is from gave us a few questions to ponder; I liked this, so I think I'll answer it as my four current protagonists. Obviously it's entirely unlikely that all four will ever be in the same place at the same time, so suspension of disbelief here. ;) This is post-Acolyte's Map and Hidden Magic, as well as after Cyn's encounter with evil.))

A guardian stands before you and says, "You must leave everything behind to pass, except for one item." What do you take with you? (Assume he will let you keep any non-magical clothing you are wearing. Treat a suit of armor, or something similarly bulky, as one item.)

Meren: "Easy this one is. My bow. Although without my quiver, useless the bow would be. My spellbook, perhaps?"

Phillip: "Yeah, I agree on the spellbook. If I can't constantly have Illusion magic at the ready, I'd be in deep trouble. I wonder if I can sneak my mask in under my robe so I can have that, too... Elf-girl, distract the guardian for a minute, would you?"

Meren: "Sigh. One thing only, Phillip. Just the book bring."

Phillip: "Fine, fine."

Cyn: "Does non-magical jewelry count as clothing? I need to have my amber on me at all times, but I have another piece of jewelry that means almost as much to me that isn't in any way magical. If the guardian won't let me take that one as well, I'll Charm him into allowing me to do so. If that doesn't work, forget it, I'm finding a different route that will allow me to bring both as I refuse to leave either behind."

Raff: "Uh. Well, Cyn beat me t'answering that one, so ditto."

Meren: "The only one the rules following am I?"

Raff: "Rules are overrated. Hey, if I give sad puppy eyes can I keep my mouse, too? ... oh, what am I saying, my animals can just follow me."

Cyn: "Why did I not think of that? I left my fox behind; while your animal entourage is passing through, can you herd Loxie along with the rest?"

Raff: "You named your fox Loxie? Foxie Loxie?" *snickers*

Cyn: "Said the elf who keeps naming mice after food products."

Raff: "I did that once, okay, maybe twice, but-"

Meren: "Bickering would you two stop, please? Some of us places have to be. Next question, if answer it correctly you three will?"


The crooked stranger before you opens the door and bids you enter. "Behind this door, you must battle your worst fear." What's in the room beyond?

Meren: "-Second thought on, continue bickering. That door past, wish to go I do not! Behind the door is behind the door: a room. Underground. Walls, always walls, no light! No trees! Dank air! Leave the room, I cannot and smaller it gets! Walls- why a door through did my fear have to be??"

Raff: "Woah, woah, calm down! You're not even in the room yet. Why don't you go outside and breathe and we'll finish these questions up?"

Phillip: "Yes, please do. My answer is going to make you even more twitchy since it's-"

Meren: *twitch twitch flee*

Phillip: "-Undead. Ranks of the nasty buggers, all sent after me, looking at me with empty eyes, teeth clattering, skeletal claws... can I follow Meer? If it's all the same, I'd rather not go through that door."

Cyn: "Fat chance. We don't wish to go through that particular door, either."

Phillip: *grumble grumble twitch*

Cyn: "There, see, not so bad. This is theoretical, not actual. For my answer... well, Raff, I hope I'd be able to see you on the other side, but that is rather doubtful considering what would be through there."

Raff: "What do y'mean?"

Cyn: "In that room I would be alone. My fear is being unable to reach our god and losing that inner divine connection- and in turn being exiled forever from our brethren, the people who have become my family. Being excommunicated, forsaken and unloved is my biggest fear."

Raff: "Ouch. Aye, that does sound absolutely horrible! Losing our Calling would be bad and I wouldn't handle that well, either, but-"

Cyn: "You have never truly been alone, so you would not know it well enough to fear it as greatly as others could."

Phillip: *mutters under his breath* "Hear hear."

Raff: "Exactly. So behind that door isn't isolation, but something more like Meren's. It's helplessness. Being weak, vulnerable, useless, not able to protect myself, the messages I carry or those who need my help. It's being taken advantage of and being powerless t'do anything about it. Been there, don't wanta face it again. Can we all just pick a different door instead? Next question, please."


As you rub the lamp, a genie appears! "I am in your debt! I shall grant you one wish." What do you ask him for?
Raff: "That's better. But is there anything I want? Hmm..."

Meren: *shouts from a distance* "This blasted claustrophobia lose I would like!"

Raff: "Aye, fixing the previous problem would be nice. I'd wish t'not be underestimated and if I am put in a situation where I'm treated like an easy target, I can get myself out of it quickly. Would that work as a wish? Should I simplify it and say I always want my wits, my weapons and my magic? How about you guys? Wishing t'cancel the skeletons and potential loneliness?"

Phillip: "Look at me, elf. Do you really think I'd miss an opportunity to be normal again? In case you haven't noticed, I'm purple."

Raff: "For all I know, that is normal. Meren's green."

Phillip: *eyeroll* "Of course purple isn't. My wish would be to look the way I used to. If I appeared normal, I wouldn't need to rely on magic and costumes to cover the fact that I'm marred and could concentrate my magic elsewhere."

Raff: *shakes his head* You're talking to the wrong people. We like disguises and being odd. Right, Cyn?"

Cyn: "Somewhat. You take it to an extreme, Greeneyes. However, no, my wish wouldn't involve my fear. I'm having trouble deciding which desire I'd ask for, though: A longer lifespan, being able to get along better with people, or for all evil priests to be gone forever and never turn up again."

Raff: "Geez, you don't aim for small, do ye?"

Cyn: "This is offering us anything. Well, with enough practice, I could possibly eventually get better at dealing with people, so wishing for that may be a waste. The third... that could have repercussions that might turn out negative because it is such a far-reaching wish- and it's too violent, too much like a type of genocide. In wanting to do Good, the action would end up decidedly not Good. Eliminating the Evil priests would eliminate their gods, or at least make them far weaker, which is good in theory, but what if that made the Good priesthoods too powerful and caused clashes within that alignment? Hermes and His Messengers would be caught in the middle since we do not take sides or strive for power."

Phillip: "That roundabout theorizing is giving me a headache."

Raff: *grins* "You'll get used to it. He's always like this. But you do think too much, Cyn. I can't see how getting rid of bad could be bad."

Cyn: "Perhaps not, but I'd rather not risk it. The first wish would probably be the best of the three as it would not effect my ability to be a Messenger and would not have any sort of influence on anyone else. It certainly couldn't harm anything, which undoubtedly makes it the most appealing of my options."

Raff: "And I can't say I'd dislike that one, but I still think getting rid of evil would be a good thing."

Cyn: "Then you should have wished for it."

Raff: "Guess we need t'find a second magic lamp!"

Phillip: "Whatever. I'm going to go try to break Meren from that claustrophobic crazy fit. Again. Freak rescuing the odd, as usual."

((If you're wondering why Meren sounds so odd, she's finally learned Common, the language the other three speak, but she's not very good at it yet. Meanwhile Raff's accent has slipped into the heavier version he picks up when he has no reason to hide it- and speaking of Raff, I'm working on a story where I get to throw his fear at him. Mwahaha!))

Hidden Magic - Story, Part 10

Banner art by JackOfClubs (jack_spire on livejournal).
You can find the whole cover art here- JoC did a great job on it!
There's also a great mix/soundtrack that goes with this story- you can find that here.


Hidden Magic, Part 10
(Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3,
Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9)

Meren continued south in a much better mood than she had been in. She would learn and do so quickly. She would get by fine without her brother's help. Now if only that mage turned out to be someone inclined to help a strange vagabond elf. Her smile faded as a thought occurred to her: what if the mage doesn't speak a language I do? This gave Meren a few minutes of panic before she recalled that her father had said it was a halfling village, as well. Even if the mage was not a halfling, someone there would be able to speak with her and point her in the right direction.

This conundrum solved, Meren traveled on almost cheerfully. It was a cool night, the moon was bright enough to see by, her brother would be safe with his own kin soon, there was the sensation of something brushing her arm... She jumped, yanking her arm away and twisting around to her right. Nothing was there. What the... She looked from side to side, but there were no trees this close to the river and her elven infravision wasn't picking up the glow of anything living in the area, either. When she felt it again, she almost let out a shriek and only years of training for silent scouting kept her from doing so.

Her heartbeat didn't slow until she heard a hoarse voice whisper near her ear. "Calm down, elf-girl. It's just me."

"Phillip? How? Where are-" she began to ask, then mentally chided herself. Magic, of course. "So that's how you got away from the clearing. I'm seriously beginning to think that you're following me around, you know."

"I think not… Alright, so this time I may have been." Now that she was paying attention to the spot to her right, she could see vapor rising about a foot above her head as he spoke. Guess he's still stuck with that, she observed as he added, "And I... er... did follow you back to your home."

"You did what?" Meren exclaimed, turning to glare at the spot she now knew him to be. "How many times do I have to tell you to leave the area? And could you please just make yourself visible again? I feel like an idiot talking to a cloud of smoke."

She heard Phillip mutter something under his breath, then he reappeared looking rather sheepish and from what Meren could tell through her night vision, still somewhat discolored. "Six, I would guess. But before you say anything else, you didn't seem too upset when I knocked out those orcs and put out that fire."

"So that's what happened? I should have known," Meren tried to glare at him, but found that she couldn't and felt dangerously close to smiling at the annoying human. "I suppose I should say thank you."

"Always a pleasure to help a woman in need," he replied with a smirk. Meren snorted, which didn't seem to take away his strange good mood. After a moment, however, he turned serious again. "If you don't mind me asking, elf-girl, what happened back in your … town? Encampment? Whatever it's called? Why are you going south and the centaur back into the forest?"

Well, there goes my good mood, she thought. But what was the harm in telling him? He'd probably just tag along, annoying her longer if she didn't. "East. I'm only going south until I can cross the river. My kin learned of my magic- thank you for throwing yours in there because they now think I have even more than I actually do, by the way- and they sent me off to some sort of mage in a town to the east. Kryro is going north to find his kin." There, that was vague enough, right?

Phillip's dark eyebrows wrinkled. "A mage? But I'd thought you were already trained."

Meren stared at him blankly. Why would he think that? "No, never. I can do magic, but my father thinks that a mage can help me not set things on fire."

The human shook his head slowly and gave a short, low whistle. Finally he said, "Hearing that, you do need to find a master. If you can do magic like that on your own, setting the forest on fire may be the least of your worries, Meren."

Being called by her real name for once made the elf realize that the man was serious, but a statement like that was downright terrifying when she'd already been fretting about her lack of control. Phillip tugged at the frayed hem of his sleeve and Meren got the impression that he was thinking hard about something. After a minute or two, he said, "I didn't mean to frighten you, only to give a warning. Just make sure the mage you find is a good one. I don't mean good as in 'competent'... well, I do, I suppose, but what I meant was someone who is a good person." His raspy voice grew quieter as he added, "Believe me, this is important."

As he spoke this, Meren recalled his earlier paranoia. She nodded; clearly he was trying to warn her away from his experience, whatever it was. "I will. But where are you going? More … things aren't following you, are they?"

He stared at the staff in his hand, studying it for a few moments, then glanced behind him. The wood elf was about to ask her question again when he answered softly, "I hope none are. And I don't know. I was going west, but how can I go home looking like this?"

"Wouldn't that be the best time to go home?" When the man looked down at her, confusion evident on his purple face, she explained, "If they're your kin, they won't mind who you are."

"As yours so readily accepted you?" His hoarse voice was bitter, but Meren didn't think he was actually directing that sharpness at her.

The wood elf frowned as she realized that he had a point. A rather good one, actually. "Alright, bad example, but you have to go somewhere you can be safe for a while." After saying so, she realized that she meant it. Despite the human's irksome tendencies, she truly didn't want those horrible things coming after him again. Drat. Chalk it up to that healer nature, she mused to herself.

An idea occurred to her: I don't really need this and I think it has something to do with magic... She reached into her pouch where she'd stuck the pendant earlier that day and pulled it out by the chain. "Here, take it back," she said simply, holding out her vine-patterned hand.

Phillip stared at the slightly luminous purple object for a long moment, then shook his head. He looked down at Meren and in the dim light she saw in his dark eyes an emotion she couldn't quite read. Is that concern? Before she could figure it out, though, he looked away again, but took her free hand in his for just a moment. "Take it with you, elf-girl. If the master you find is worthy, show it to him. It may help you. Otherwise, keep it a secret."

Meren could only nod dumbly, completely bewildered by his words and actions. This was the same person who had been a thorn in her side for years? Why was he being so helpful? Seemingly satisfied by her mute agreement, Phillip gave her a small smile. "Good. Stay safe, Meren."

His words echoing those spoken so recently by her brother left Meren even more speechless, and it wasn't until he'd walked out of sight westwards that she realized that she hadn't asked him why exactly he'd turned purple in the first place. As she walked across the stone bridge, she shook her head. If you couldn't trust your own curiosity, what could you trust? She couldn't help smiling to herself as she mentally answered her own question: spells to frequently be chaotic, a brother who always wanted to protect you and a human wizard to be dependably unpredictable. Now if only she could get that first one to function properly and the last two to realize that she could perfectly well take care of herself...

The End

Hidden Magic - Story, Part 9

Banner art by JackOfClubs (jack_spire on livejournal).
You can find the whole cover art here- JoC did a great job on it!
There's also a great mix/soundtrack that goes with this story- you can find that here.


Hidden Magic, Part 9
(Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3,
Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 10)

The young wood elf was broken out of this reverie by a shouted "What did you just do?" right behind her. Meren yelped and almost dropped her bow. Turning around, she saw the scout leader standing with her hands on her hips. Behind her was Eryndir and Meren wondered how much he'd seen.

The young elf was torn. Did she explain or deny what she'd done? Maybe she could pass the globes of light off as swamp gas... in the middle of temperate woodland. And the fiery attack she'd thrown... Meren cursed silently under her breath. There just wasn't a lie that could work to explain this away. As she begun to stammer an answer, her father spoke quietly but confidently, "That was magic, was it not, Meren?"

Knowing she had no other choice but the truth here, she could only nod. Tawarthel stepped back, her brown eyes narrow. "Magic, Eryndir? But the shaman should have caught any arcane potential-"

Eryndir locked eyes with his daughter who looked down at her feet. "Not necessarily," he answered, not looking away from his daughter, "Not if Meren's is a different sort."

"A different sort? How can there be a different sort?" the scout leader eyed Meren as though the young elf was something repugnant, "Unless her mother..."

"Was simply a healer," Eryndir quickly finished, clearly trying to nip that thought process in the bud, much to Meren's relief. He then asked the young elf, "But why did you not tell?"

Meren's answer was to glance over at Tawarthel. "Because of that reaction. I know elves shouldn't be able to do what I can."

The older woman crossed her arms over her chest. "See? She admits it. Eryndir, you must send her away. We cannot have that kind of magic being hurled around, alerting outsiders to our location and setting our home on fire."

Meren had been about to retort that that kind of thing hadn't happened before when her brother stuck his hoof into his mouth instead. "She did not mean to do that, sir," he directed at Eryndir, "She has never done anything harmful to the woods before."

Except for that time I created a pit, Meren thought to herself as the two elders turned their attention to the centaur, who shied backwards at their mutual stare. "You knew of this ability?" the scout leader demanded, putting an emphasis of contempt on the last word.

Now Kryro seemed to realize his mistake and opened and closed his mouth a few times before speaking again. "... Yes? I thought it would be better not to share that knowledge..."

Eryndir did not look happy, but Meren thought she saw more disappointment than anger on his face. "Meren, Tawarthel is right." The scout leader smirked at this as he added, "We cannot have you hurling fire around, even if you were able to put it out again." For a moment, Meren thought of explaining that she hadn't in fact done as much, but quickly realized that explaining that she had no idea how the fire had diminished would do little to help her case.

"I would not allow an untrained archer who knows not how to aim to scout, so a mage destroying our trees I cannot allow here, even if she is my daughter," he continued. Meren could feel her face turn white, as though all the blood in her body was draining into her overly large feet. This rose slightly when his next words were, "No, not forever, Meren; just until you have what you wield under control. There is a village of halflings and humans to the east where I know a wizard resides. You must go to her and see if she can help."

As Meren tried to make sense of the fact that it sounded as though she were being exiled, the tribe leader spoke to Kryro, "I need you to alert your tribe that there may still be intruders in the area. Go with Meren as far as the river, then find your kin. Likely they shall need your aid more than we at the moment."

The young scouts both bowed their heads in acknowledgment, but neither were pleased about the tasks set before them. We are his kin, Meren thought to herself as they walked to her tent to retrieve the rest of her scant belongings, and he's a warrior, not some errand boy.

The centaur remained oddly silent until they were a few miles away from camp. Finally, as they were weaving their way through the last outskirts of trees, he spoke up again, "I am sorry I said that, Meer. Perhaps if I had kept my mouth shut, you would have been able to stay."

Meren shook her head. "I don't think that would have made a difference. Even if I'd been allowed to stay, Tawarthel would have found a way to convince my father that I was a danger and I would have been sent off anyway."

"You do not know that-" the centaur began.

"Even if not, they do have a point, as much as I hate to admit it. I am a danger, 'Ro." When she saw her brother shake his head and look about to interrupt, she continued, "I am. Sometimes my spells work but when they don't, they really don't... and the thought of burning through my home has me terrified."

"Why worry of that? You stopped the fire before it could spread," he pointed out.

Meren looked down at her hands, then let them fall to her sides. "No. I didn't. The fire did go out, but that wasn't from me. I couldn't even cancel the lights I accidentally placed above camp. Even if some spells do work, I don't know enough of how to stop them if they get out of control. I am a threat, 'Ro."

Kryro still didn't look convinced. "But with even the magic you have, it could be used to protect the camp. No one else can throw jets of flame at an enemy."

Meren sighed; for all that the centaur had been uncomfortable with her new skill to start, he was now the one always pushing her to use it, but he couldn't know what it was like to have that sort of wild power... "That's actually fortunate. Trust me, this is for the better. If that mage my father spoke of can help me get this under control, then I can come back and use it to guard."

"And if she cannot? What will you do then?"

"Leave and find another mage who can help." The look on her brother's face made her heart sink into her stomach. He was clearly worried about her and if she was any judge of the person she knew best, he was beating himself up inside for not being able to help her out of this dilemma.

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. How could she convince him when she was somewhat worried herself? "I'll be fine. I promise. If this town doesn't work out, I'll come find you and you can help me locate a different mage, okay?"

The centaur looked as though he was going to complain about this plan, but finally just nodded slowly. Meren thought for a moment that she'd accidentally set off that mind control spell again, but the lack of energy surging through her hands disproved that. No, he just trusted her, which was a far better reason, but if anything it left her feeling even worse.

The two continued on in thoughtful silence until they'd reached the water. In the dim moonlight Meren couldn't see the bridge spanning the Moon River, but knew it to be just south of where they stood, having frequently used it to reach the woodlands on the other side. "Go on, 'Ro. You need to spread word like my father asked."

The centaur remained still for a moment, making her wonder if he was going to demand she let him follow her, but eventually he said, "Alright. I still do not like this, but I seem to be outnumbered in this decision." He reached down to squeeze Meren's shoulder. "Stay safe, Meer. And when you reach that mage, please do try to not hurl fire around too much. She may be more inclined to help if her home is not burned to the ground."

He spoke those words seriously, but Meren knew when he was teasing her. She stuck her tongue out at him then smiled, "Oh, alright. If you insist. I'll stick with the boring magic. Maybe I can find a way to summon butterflies instead."

Kryro smiled back at her, then after another squeeze to the elf's shoulder, turned and trotted off to the north.



The next part can be found here.

Hidden Magic - Story, Part 8

Banner art by JackOfClubs (jack_spire on livejournal).
You can find the whole cover art here- JoC did a great job on it!
There's also a great mix/soundtrack that goes with this story- you can find that here.


Hidden Magic, Part 8
(Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3,
Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 9)

When Meren neared camp she was greeted by the sound of raised voices. From the sound of things, Tawarthel was yelling at someone. The wood elf grimaced but was glad she wasn't on that side of the scout leader's temper for once. She'd begun to quietly move around camp towards her tent but froze when she heard the timid voice speaking quietly in reply: Kryro's. How did he get himself into trouble when he hasn't even been here? Meren wasn't about to leave him to the wolves, though.

Changing course to head in the direction of her brother, she remained out of sight in order to try to catch what was going on. From the sound of things, Kryro wanted permission to go out and find her, claiming some sort of hunch that he was needed. Tawarthel was not impressed by this and wouldn't let him leave, and from the sound of things seemed a bit confused as to why Meren was gone in the first place. Blast it. That spell that hit my father didn't extend to her. Why didn't I think of that?

But maybe she could try actively to get it to work this time? It would be worth it to get her scouting partner out of that mess he'd stepped into. Closing her eyes and focusing on the woman standing a few yards away, Meren began to softly chant. But as she stepped out, about to begin speaking with the scout leader to complete the spell, something went wrong again. Her hand grew tingly, as it had last time, but that was where the similarity ended. Instead of the woman being struck by a mind control spell, the energy flew off behind and above her, settling on top of the tents where it formed into four globes of light in the evening sky.

Uh oh... she though. How am I going to hide that? As she prayed silently that no one would notice, Kryro's head raised. Tawarthel noticed this even though she hadn't seen the lights, and turned her head, her long braid swinging around, to see what the centaur was looking at. Meren cursed under her breath as she attempted to figure out how to cancel out a spell that she hadn't meant to cast. She tried calling out a few words in elvish ranging from "dim!", "darken!" "snuff!" and a last desperate "go away!", but none worked. Tawarthel was now looking from the flickering torch-bright globes to Meren and back to the lights, her mouth agape. Kryro met Meren's eyes and shrugged helplessly, mouthing silently to her "Now what?".

Meren could only shrug in response. About to dart out of the temporary village when no other plan presented itself in her head, she froze when she heard more shouting, this time outside of camp and in a harsh, guttural language. A few yards away, the centaur's eyes widened and Meren saw his lips move. This didn't look as though he was trying to talk with her this time, however, and if the wood elf had to guess, he was trying to translate what was being said. When his face went pale, she realized he understood and that it couldn't possibly be good news.

"Orcs!" he said, turning to the blond elf and grabbing her arm to get her attention. "Orcs have found the camp and are attempting to surround us!"

Tawarthel blinked, then aimed a glare almost as fiery as the newly created globes of light at Meren before bringing her fingers to her lips and letting off a series of shrill whistles. Both Meren and Kryro recognized that alert; it was a warning that an enemy was close to camp and everyone was needed with their weapons ready now. When she saw that glare directed at her, Meren realized what had happened: her newly created lights had allowed the orcs to find a camp that was normally well hidden. But how had they gotten through past the sentries around camp? The wood elf's heart sunk into her stomach as soon as she'd posed that question. Of course. They'd probably followed her. She'd led them here.

Feeling a strong mix of shame at being so preoccupied that she hadn't noticed something trailing her, anger that something had and distress that something could happen to her kin, Meren took off running east, the direction she'd heard the orcs calling from. One elf might not be enough to keep enemies away, but she was going to try. Fear for herself was the least of those emotions right now, but she'd admit to feeling a lot better when she heard loud hoofbeats following her.

The two reached the edge of camp just as a group of orcs did. As Kryro began swinging the large club he carried, Meren held back, her hand paused above her quiver. She could trust her bow. The arrows wouldn't go astray. But... she also knew that she possessed a spell that would work far better on a troop of enemies in a time where there was no need for stealth. Magic, weapon, which should she use? What decided this for her was three of the orcs moving in formation to surround the centaur, their spears and swords raised in preparation to attack. An arrow would only be able to bring down one, but magic would have a better chance of clearing them all away from him.

Meren lowered her arm and brought her hands in front of her, her palms facedown. She began to chant again, this time calling on the fire spirits to aid her and not let this one backfire. Please, she pleaded silently, I need this to work! She felt her hands grow warm and sighed in relief, then took a step to the left to move around her brother. Keeping her attention on where she was pointing, small jets of flame shot out of her fingertips and into the band of orcs. Six gave various incarnations of yelps and shouts; two of these began beating at their tattered tunics while five fell to the ground. Three of these stopped moving but the other two slowly rose back to their feet after getting their flaming garments under control. What struck the young wood elf as odd, though, was one of the ones that was now still wasn't one she'd hit with flame.

Something worse caught Meren's eye and pulled her attention away from strangely passed out orcs. Two of her streams of fire had become errant, soaring past the intended targets and into the bushes behind them, and the plants were beginning to ignite. To a wood elf, fire is always much, much worse than any kind of enemy. Orcs may carry swords, but fire could jump from tree to tree at an alarming rate, destroying the land the elves were responsible for keeping safe. Now Meren began to panic. She didn't have any water spells and she doubted any water spirits could hear a non-shaman when this camp was so far from the nearest creek; fire, earth and air were always far more handy but she couldn't think of anything she could ask of them to help. As far as she could tell, her magic differed from that of a shaman, but as a wood elf, spirits played an important roll even to a scout. But what else could she do?

The centaur's shout brought her attention back to the small battle in front of her. In her distraction, Tawarthel and two other elves had come up next to her and had begun firing into the melee. The original orcs were still there, six still singed and smelling even worse from that, but another two had joined them, leaving six still attacking. Kryro now had a gash on his flank, probably what had caused the shout. Seeing him hurt brought Meren back to action. She unslung her bow from her shoulder and fired an arrow ahead at the orc swinging at Kryro, bringing it down. The centaur gave her a quick thankful smile before swinging the club at the next.

Aiming at a second one, Meren froze with the bowstring pulled back. The fire in the woods was shrinking, seemingly to be putting itself out. In a few moments it had all but vanished, fading into a few smoldering embers and curling leaves. There was now a burned gap there, but that was it. What? How? I didn't- Meren started to think before realizing that this was the least of her problems at the moment. Her kin had the upper hand, though, or at least more luck. When two of the orcs tripped over their fallen comrades, the elves were able to take those down, and when the remaining three tried to flee, a hail of arrows brought those down, too. Recognizing a forced slumber when she saw one, Meren opened her mouth to warn her kin that three fallen orcs weren't actually dead, but Kryro had that covered. Odd time for it though it was, Meren couldn't help smiling a little at that. We do make a good team, don't we? Now if only she could figure out why those now ex-orcs had been knocked out. In theory she could have caused it, a Sleep spell being one she possessed and having spells that infamously warped into other spells could have been another factor, but not this time. Two spells couldn't happen simultaneously and that fire one had gone off perfectly for once, even if it hadn't quite done as intended. Perhaps those orcs were just narcoleptic?



The next part of the story can be found here.

Hidden Magic - Story, Part 7

Banner art by JackOfClubs (jack_spire on livejournal).
You can find the whole cover art here- JoC did a great job on it!
There's also a great mix/soundtrack that goes with this story- you can find that here.


Hidden Magic, Part 7
(Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3,
Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 8)

When the smoke had cleared, the young man's drastic change of appearance had startled Meren, but she knew better than to mention it. If he reacted the way she assumed he would, his narcissism would be a horrible distraction and he was already distracting her enough. His previously tanned skin was now tinged a definite purple, as far as she could tell from the bits she could see, and that long hair of his was now scattered on the ground in black clumps, but even this was less strange than the fact that the purple smoke had returned when he'd spoken to her; this time, however, it was issuing from his mouth along with the words. Thankfully he didn't seem to notice this problem, either. Meren was no stranger to magical unexpectedness and she very much hoped she hadn't been the cause. This wasn't a reaction she'd ever experienced, but her magic regularly did some odd things. She had been reaching for the trees behind her when the smoke had surrounded him...

But that magic was her best chance at protecting her forest, and themselves, of course. The elf gave a silent prayer to the earth spirits to let her magic work this time and began the first words of the only spell she could think of that would help: the one that had given her such strange results last time. Focusing her power into the ground beneath her, she called to the roots, vines and bushes not far from where she knelt. This time the plants answered, to her relief, and she felt the green energy flow towards her. It moved quickly, much faster than it had done in the past, but she was able to keep it from pulling out of her grasp. When a thick tendril headed towards the man standing behind her, she forced it up rather than out.

Now sensing the familiar feeling of thick forest around her, she opened her eyes to glance up into a dense thicket of plant life that had once been a clearing and up at the only orc caught on this side of the thorny wall, who was about to beam her with a heavy club. Reacting rather than thinking, she rolled to the left, the ground jolting her ribs as she dove. She felt around frantically for her bow, knowing she would never be able to fire an arrow off at this close of range at such a disadvantage. The orc swung the club back but as he was bringing it back around, he flew over her into the new thicket. Meren climbed to her feet, rubbing her sore side. What happened? I didn't do that... The answer became clear, but surprising. Phillip, coughing uncontrollably with smoke blooming out of his mouth and looking quite ill under that new color, brought his quarterstaff back to the ground to lean heavily on it. Injured and clearly unable to breathe fully, the man had found enough strength to swing his staff around in her defense. This, as nothing else he'd done so far had, impressed the warrior-trained elf. Impressed and shocked; she honestly hadn't thought him capable of such an act, physically or by inclination.

As the man dropped to his knees in another coughing fit, Meren pushed through the circle of forest surrounding them to look for any sign of the other monsters. She circled outwards, finding bits of bone, which she kicked further apart in case they could somehow later reform. She assumed that as the trees grew, they'd pulled the slow-moving skeletons into pieces. This was a relief, but less of one was the lack of any orcs. Being much quicker on the uptake than the undead, they must have fled when the spell had begun. They hadn't seemed too happy to be working with skeletons in the first place, so perhaps trees springing up under their feet had pushed them too far. She only hoped that they'd become so frightened that they wouldn't come back.

Thinking they were at least safe for the moment, she retraced her footsteps back to where she'd left the human. Her knowledge of woodlands and a good sense of direction meant she was positive of this fact or else she would have thought she was in the wrong place. The small clearing now lacked any wizards, purple or no. Okay... Well, at least he's finally gone. This was mostly a relief but part of her had been wanting an answer about what had happened. Why skeletons? And why had the human's appearance shifted so drastically? This was certainly something she wanted to speak to her brother about. Kryro would be just as confused as she was, but perhaps he could reassure her that she wasn't going crazy. Maybe by now he's back at camp? That thought in mind, she headed back home.




The next part of the story can be found here.

About to take on the Brotherhood of Dread...

July 4th, 708CC
2nd day of Brightmoon

The phases of the moon are particularly important at the moment; according to our "guide", we will need to be able to reach our destination within a certain phase. I explained this, as well as our adventures over the past week or so, over in the journal of my group. Here I will just write of things that are more personal in nature.

First, a minor observation- minor because personal is not the same thing as important. When trying to find ways to hurry to our destination, Ayman's Haste spell was brought up. Just... no. I am sorry but I will never allow that spell to be cast on me. Gaining a few minutes of extra speed is not enough to balance out making me one year older. This does not seem to bother the rest of my traveling companions but it very much does to me. Why, I will not explain though they are likely to learn the reason at some point, but I cannot do anything that will make me age faster than I already am. I have a good reason for this, even if I am too reserved to explain it.

Now to move on to what is actually important. If there is one thing I dislike more than the aristocracy, it is evil priests. "Loathing" and "repulsion" do even begin to describe that hatred. As much as I would like to never have to face these abominable creatures again, I am also quite impatient to get this quest sorted out and the duke rescued... if the vile priests have not already taken control of his will and bent it to their own. We certainly need to rescue the duke, but we also need to be prepared for what shape he may be in. This is not just goblins and a stray evil bugbear cleric or two anymore. This is a huge temple of the Brotherhood of Dread, the priesthood that already wants to see us destroyed. How can I get my friends to understand what we may face there?

I am not just speaking of undead or monstrous minions, either, which are things we have defeated before. My companions see me throwing around mind control magic on a regular basis with little effort and I am limited in what I can do with it, being bound to a priesthood of Good and my own principles (yes, mischievous people do have those). These individuals will not have my morals; they will not refrain from using us as they wish should their magic take hold. When you are mind-controlled, you lose who you are, your ability to think and react properly... that sounds obvious, I know, but it is not a good feeling to be on the wrong side of that, particularly if the person wielding the magic is using it for nefarious purposes. Even getting hit with mild mind-control is not pleasant (been there- how do you think we Messengers learned?) but my kind is at least harmless. I need to get my friends to understand what they may face so they can be wary. They are not nearly wary enough.

I do not think they understand how much of a threat Tarus still holds. I know I am coming off as paranoid and peevish, but I am feeling paranoid and peevish. I do not understand why the others seem to trust him. After using magic for well over a decade I know my limits and the reach of what I am granted by my god, particularly when it comes to charm and beguilement as those were what I was taught first. Something as empty-headed as a goblin will remain beguiled for quite some time, but a human priest? I would not be surprised if the spell wore off before we even reached the temple and then what? Once an evil priest, always an evil priest; how can we know that the moment he breaks free from the spell I placed on him, he won't gleefully stab one of us in the back- or worse? This is a spellcaster who has tried to kill us on more than one occasion. I know the kind of magic he wields and how it can be twisted so I will continue to keep a watchful eye over him, being the only one who truly knows what to look for and how to cancel it. This is fine and good for now, but one Messenger cannot possibly shield his friends from ranks of those with this kind of magic. Not for the first time, I wish I had one of my brothers or sisters by my side as I approach evil.

Hermes, please guide our steps, let me keep my wits and my magic ready so I can protect those I travel with. I know my magic is not the most powerful, but let it serve us well. Please.

Hidden Magic - Story, Part 6

Banner art by JackOfClubs (jack_spire on livejournal).
You can find the whole cover art here- JoC did a great job on it!
There's also a great mix/soundtrack that goes with this story- you can find that here.


Hidden Magic, Part 6
(Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 7)

Meren retrieved the rope and stashed it back into her bag before turning to face the wizard again. Only then did she realize that she'd had her back to him the whole time, but he hadn't even moved. He had a sad, distant look on his face, as though he was thinking hard about something, and it wasn't until she'd walked over and poked him in the arm that he snapped out of it. As he blinked down at her, Meren noticed that his eyes were an uncanny shade of dark brown, almost a black. Is that normal for humans? she wondered, although this didn't hold her attention long. "I'll lead you to the edge of our lands. Be sure not to come across here again because the other guards won't be as kind."

"Trapping me in a hole is kind?" he asked bitterly. When he saw Meren frown again he bowed his head, letting his now rather-mussed long hair fall over his face, and clutched at his quarterstaff. "I didn't mean- look, thank you for getting me out and fixing me up. I do appreciate that, elf-girl."

Meren could tell that something was bothering him but wasn't sure if she should pry. Instead she just nodded as they began walking, or hobbling some, in his case. "It's fine. I do have a name, you know. It's Meren."

"Surprisingly pronounceable. I'll try to remember that for the next time I need a healer... not that if I get hurt, I'll wander around a forest, of course. And I'm Phillip, by the way." The wood elf was relieved to hear his voice take on a less cynical quality.

She couldn't resist asking, however, why a human wizard was wandering a forest. "Why were you here this time?"

There was that sad look on his face again and Meren almost felt bad for asking. Almost, because she knew herself to be far too inquisitive to let something like that go. "I'm trying to get home. My master-" he stopped in mid-sentence and began to look around again, frantically looking from side to side.

"Isn't here," Meren finished, assuming that that was who he was looking to avoid. She was sure of that; anyone wandering this area wouldn't be doing so undiscovered for long, whatever this master was.

As his dark eyes went large, the wood elf was sure that she'd hit a sore spot, or, rather, a paranoid crazy spot. He whispered to her, "No, you don't understand. He's... horrible, evil, unhinged. He may not be here, but what if one of his servants are?"

Now Meren was entirely confused. Why would servants be a problem? Didn't humans just use them for pouring tea or watching their children or something? Clearly this was a cultural misunderstanding. "Come again?"

Phillip shook his head and continued in a low voice, "You don't want to understand, elf-girl. Trust me."

The wood elf tried to shrug nonchalantly, but this actually had her somewhat worried. Whatever had gotten to the young man had obviously upset him and she didn't think he was faking that fear. Maybe if she changed the subject? "Alright, I won't ask. Where is your home?"

For some reason that subject did seem to calm him down and he loosened his grip on his quarterstaff, his knuckles fading from the white that they'd become. "Birchlyn. It's a village-"

"To the southwest," Meren answered with a smile, one mystery solved. So that was why he spoke Halfling! She knew that to be the nearest town to Woodedge, a halfling village and, oddly enough, where the shorter side of her family was from. Since he was local, that would mean that he at least had heard of the forest he'd ended up in. "You overshot when trying to get back there and ended up in the outskirts of Fayiron."

For the first time the elf saw the wizard give a genuine smile, which made him look a lot less haunted. "Then I am close to my destination. That is good to hear!"

Meren was extremely curious about those halflings who must have taught him their language; he was quite fluent, so it was likely that it wasn't something he'd picked up secondhand. She was just about to ask him more about his home when she was startled by horrible laughter to her right.

They'd left most of the trees behind them and Meren's curiosity had left her not to realize just how out in the open the two of them were, which wouldn't have been a problem, except for the group of monsters that seemed to have them surrounded. There was that orc the elf had wished for earlier and two more of its kin. But even worse than that were … well, they had to be what Phillip was talking about earlier.

Meren shuddered as she was hit with deja vu. Here was a handful- flock? Horde? Graveyard? Words flipped through her head- of skeletons, which were upright and walking towards them, clinking slightly as they moved. No wonder Phillip's so jumpy! she thought. Gripping her bow tightly, she drew an arrow from her quiver and put it to the string. If these things thought they could just stroll into her home, they had another thing coming to them, or so Meren hoped. She had a feeling arrows would only harmlessly go through the more boney enemies. She looked over at the man, her only backup in this mess. Phillip had frozen in place, his eyes wide again and he appeared to be trembling slightly. Meren sighed. Yeah, that's a big help.

Careful to keep the monsters in her line of sight, she kicked the wizard in the shin. It wasn't the injured one, but it hurt enough that he scowled at her, fear replaced by annoyance, which had been the elf's intention. "Now what?" she asked. Before the human could reply, one of the orcs began to speak.

---------------------------------------

"A new friend? Too bad for her we'll have to kill her, too," the orc said in the human tongue. Phillip glanced over at Meren, worried about her reaction to that statement. Upon seeing her expression of complete incomprehension, he realized she had no idea what the orc had said. One small favor there.

Taking a deep breath as he tried to keep his fear under control, he asked, "It was a waste of time to follow me, was it not? Don't you have something more important to do than follow one worthless apprentice?" Maybe they'd listen if he sounded like his master...

No such luck. The orcs only sneered at him while the skeletons, lacking faces with which to emote, remained still, which disturbed him even more. Maybe if I can get the green ones away, the creepier ones will follow, he thought as the skeletons continued to stare at him with empty eye sockets. He gave a shudder and looked over at the elf. She, too, hadn't moved further than to ready her bow and Phillip hoped she'd be be willing to cover for him with it if his idea didn't work.

The man reached into the neck of his robe with his free hand to retrieve the amulet he'd left hanging there and tugged the chain over his head. Assuming what he hoped was a powerful wizardly stance, but worrying he simply looked like a ragged, injured, terrified boy, he thrust the amulet forward. Doing his best to make his voice boom, he demanded, "Stand back or I'll unleash the full fury of this arcane amulet!"

To his amazement, this worked. Partly. The orcs stepped back, looking nervously between themselves. Phillip gave a quiet sigh of relief. Now can I get this thing to actually do something? For all that his master had desired it so much, he'd never actually used it, or if he had, it wasn't in his apprentice's presence. He concentrated deeply on the charm danging from his hand, trying to weave the power he controlled around it. Preoccupied by this, he didn't notice that Meren had begun chanting next to him. Since his eyes were directed at the item in his hand, however, he did take notice of its current state: the stone began flickering between purple and green. After a few seconds it settled on a deep blueish-purple, as though both colors had combined into one. He had only a moment to wonder about this, however.

Suddenly struck by what felt like a bolt of lightning, or as though a cat the size of an elephant had rubbed against his leg, he fell to his knees. As a cloud of purple smoke engulfed him, he began gasping to try to breathe through the heavy fog. His lungs felt on fire, his skin tingled, his head rang. What's going on? Never had his magic done anything like this, even as a new apprentice; the most he'd done was catch a book on fire, but this was a bigger problem than a bucket could fix.

As he gasped and wheezed, he felt something grope for his arm and he flinched back, knowing what kind of horrible things were near. When he saw the tattooed vines on the hand rather than bones or claws, he let out a sigh of relief, which caused him to break into another coughing fit. Leaning heavily on the elf and his staff, he was able to get to his feet as the smoke began to clear, but something was wrong... his lungs continued to ache and he felt a draft on the back of his neck, which contrasted greatly with the hot tingling of a moment before. And his hands, why did they look so discolored? Meren gave a gasp and he looked over to see her staring at him with her mouth open, but before he could ask, the sound of approaching rattling made him look past her. The monsters, no longer frightened since the smoke had all but dissipated, were approaching again. The orcs seemed to be staying as far from the skeletons as they could, but all were moving forward.

Phillip was at a complete loss. He couldn't run, he could barely breathe and what would happen to a spell if he couldn't stop coughing while trying to recite the necessary words? He was defenseless; all he'd be good for would be getting in Meren's way as the monsters sent after him got her, too. Perhaps if she could get back into the thick part of the forest, she'd lose them. He couldn't get away, but he had no reason to expect her not to want to flee.

His mind now made up in a decision he couldn't really comprehend, he found the elf's hand again. He dropped the amulet into it and whispered hoarsely, "Run, elf-girl. They want me, not you."

Her reaction surprised him as much as his own had. Meren looked up at him, her green eyes narrowed, and shook her head defiantly. "This is my home. My land. My magic. They have to get through me."

Before he could do more than blink at her vehement reaction, she dropped to the ground in a crouch, letting go of her bow to clutch the grass, keeping the amulet in her one hand. As the monsters neared, she began to chant in her unfamiliar airy language. Hoping she knew what she was doing, Phillip gripped his staff tightly with both hands, pushing back the pain in his ankle and the ache that still filled his lungs. If an elf was willing and brave enough to face monsters obviously arcane, then a wizard darn well could do the same.



Part 7 can be found here.