August ??, 5AC
A rapid pounding seemed to shake the very walls. It also shook Timothy nearly out of his cot. Or at least that's how he preferred to see the fish-like flailing that saw him on the floor before he was fully awake. He reluctantly wiped off a thin line of drool from his lips and some crusts from the edges of his eyes before stumbling over to dunk his head in the tank of water that served as a sink.
The startling cold water, by jungle standards at least, finally completed the task that neither the knocking nor the face plant had. Gasping in shock, he shook his head, spraying leftover water in every direction and reluctantly snagged a towel before walking towards his closest.
A few minutes later, clothed, cleaned (at least partially) and ready for the day, Not to mention partially deaf from the constant banging. Timothy made his way over to a sideboard and poured himself a cup of water. He waved his hands over the top and watched as clouds formed in a swirling dance, before dissipating to display a short red-headed woman repeatedly slamming a wooden pole upwards into the horizontal stone gate that led up his tower.
He stared, baffled for a few moments then sighed, tracing a pair of runes in the air, leaving a glowing tracery of light behind. An ear and a mouth with a speaking trumpet. “Ma? What the hell are you doing?”
“What am I doing? I'm banging on my son's door for 10 minutes straight! What were you doing?”
“Sleeping! Dammit, and I'd like to continue that activity if you don't mind, so please cease and desist, ya? Come back when it's mourning.”
“IT IS PAST NOON! TI-” Timothy traced a new rune, a nautilus shell with a circled and crossed-out ear. He knew his own name. And judging from her degree of... excitedness, his middle and last name as well. He most definitely didn't need her shouting all three out for all and sundry to hear.
He waited a few seconds while her mouth kept going and he imagined steam pouring out of her ears. He took a moment to run a few quick detection charms. An illusion popped up, but it was tightly grouped to a small section of her hair, and on the bright red of her lips. Timothy stared for a minute, then quickly 'forgot' seeing either. That way lay nothing good.
Somewhat regretfully, he unlocked the gate. Right in time for her next attempted knock to shove the wooden stick through the now liquid stone.
No doubt tired of talking without being able to even hear herself, she deftly made a spell-assisted jump upwards, bouncing once off the right wall before sailing towards the now liquid door to his rooms with the speed and grace of long practice.
He waved the scene away, letting the water become merely water again. Then chugged it. Turning to face the door, he tried and failed to stifle a yawn. After noon hmm? He might have gotten a bit too enthusiastic last night...
He should have some decent tea and dried fruit left in the food cupboard right? He mused, trying to remember when he last refilled it, when she burst through the doorway, no longer muted and more than willing to express herself on the subject.
Timothy listened for a few moments, then went back to thinking about breakfast. It was more of the usual, and he’d heard it too often already. How dare he lose track of time, leave her waiting and couldn't he behave more like an adult, get married and have twelve babies before she was too old to enjoy them...
He hid a sigh and, also with the fruits of long practice, mostly tuned her out, giving the occasional nod or grunt while he moved from thinking to actually looking for that elusive breakfast.
Only mostly though, getting caught when she actually asked something requiring a response would just lead into a recursive loop.
That state of affairs lasted for several minutes while he brewed his pot of tea, placed it and a plate of dried fruit on the table (Ha, there was some left!).
Unfortunately, the small pile wasn't going to do it. His stomach was intent on echoing some of what his Ma was saying. How long had it been since he last had a bite? He moved back over to explore the cupboard. It was pretty bare, didn’t he make a store run a day after he got back? That should be… he tried to count how many days ago that had been on his fingers but they kinda ran together.
Crap. Well. He considered summoning some more squashmeal, but glancing backward at his Ma, still going strong, he regretfully decided against it. Grabbing food was one thing. She seemed to accept that he could eat and listen. Casting spells not so much.
He settled for the few remaining pieces of jerky and a chunk of pumpkin. It was better simmered into a soup and he wasn’t a fan of the texture raw. At least it had a decent shelf life. Not soggy or moldy after most of a week.
Slim picking or no, it was enough for breakfast, although he would much prefer something hot. He even made up a plate for Ma, though she waved it away.
“-listening to a word I've said?” His fine-tuned sense of self-preservation finally dinged.
“Of course I have.” Not much more than that, but a word he could honestly agree with.
She stared at him for a few more moments, probably those supernatural mother senses tingling. Not that he cared too much. Caring just led to guilt trips and manipulation. Self-preservation demanded a bit of hardening to the heart.
With a sigh, she gave up. “Fine. Fine! But I'm angry with you child mine!” However, could he tell? Timothy wisely, for once, kept the words behind his teeth. “For my sins, I get called when you don't answer your messages.” Timothy winced, and unfortunately, she caught the expression on his face. “Yes. That's right. They call your mother when you disappear! Then I have to drop everything and run around to find you. And I'm getting sick of it!”
“Then don't do it!” Timothy huffed. “I'll get back to them eventually. The sky hasn't fallen and no one used the emergency drums,” Those he wouldn't ignore, no matter how deep he'd gotten in a project.
“Oh really? And how long do you suppose you've been out of contact?”
Timothy froze, thinking back to the mostly empty food cupboard and his own questions in that regard. “Umm -”
“No! Let me help you. It's been five days! Five days where you have been messaged by no less than six Origins and 16 students. Students! You know the ones you are responsible for? You also missed a lecture for new guardians, a PAID lecture!”
Timothy hid a groan, he hated people who didn't have the basic respect for others' time to be punctual. Much less absent without warning! His stomach and aura both knotted up for a moment at the hypocracy, before a lone thought froze him. When had he made such an appointment? It wasn't that he'd never missed an appointment, but he usually arranged for a reminder an hour before. Either by spell or person.
“-and even your younger brother was wondering why you hadn't spoken to him about some new project he was working for you.” That was gasoline on an already out-of-control flame. Jason was her sore spot, or one of them at least.
It’d be a right fool who didn’t notice how unhappy he’d been and Ma was definitely not that. What was perhaps worse though, Ma could do very little to actually help him.
She’d never handled that well. Not when it was a bully in middle school when he'd needed to learn to stand up for himself, not when Jenney's organic foods company failed to secure a needed loan.
He sighed and threw away a number of angry responses. There were far worse flaws a mother could have.
“Alright, alright, Ma. I get it. I got head down in a project and some things got away from me. Though I don't recall signing up for the class you mentioned and I'd lay a bet it was one of those things Da accepted on my behalf.” Sensing another argument he raised his hands placatingly. No point arguing that with her when it was Da that he needed to talk with. “Still, I get it.”
She sniffed, still glaring. Then let it out in a huff. “I shouldn't be surprised. It's not like this is new behavior. You need a wife.” Timothy's hackles shot straight up. Oh no. Didn't she get this out of her system already? “Someone to keep you honest and make sure you stop for food.” She reached over and took away his plate and the bit of older pumpkin he'd been reluctantly nibbling at.
Reaching down into a messenger bag-sized purse she pulled out a series of sealed clay containers. She unsealed them with a tap from a wand and deftly filled the clean plate he'd brought out for her with freshly cooked hash browns, breakfast ham and even a small bowl of lentil soup.
He eagerly dove in. Sure it was either bribe or bait... but he wasn't above either. Though when he put it together with the wife comment... He wondered if he should have tossed it, and her, back down the entrance shaft. Almost... Who was he fooling? It was never in the cards. He took a bite of crispy hash browns and fought back a groan of pleasure.
“It's not healthy, the way you eat when your head’s stuck in one of your projects. You need a keeper!”
“Ma, I've managed just fine on my own for over two decades now-”
“Time in the tutorial with a golem feeding you does not count!”
“-A decade now.” He relented. “I'm not going to suddenly shrivel up and blow away because I got a bit too engrossed-” He quickly sped up as she glared at him. “The work I do is needed Ma. I'm not off painting a hotrod or building a lab in my garage.” Though frankly, he'd do it happily even if they didn't need it, it was just a nice justification.
“Oh, really? And if you get sick are you going to be able to 'produce' any more of these projects?”
“Leave it please Ma? You have plenty of grandbabies already. Go play with them and leave me out of it!”
He half-tuned her out again as she started to, well she claimed it wasn't yelling or badgering, just speaking forcefully. But he had four siblings who would beg to differ... as long as it wasn't to her face. Just as well, it gave him some time to put away more of the frankly delicious breakfast she'd brought up. Umm, ham...
“-Now, let me see.” She sat her massive purse on the table and started digging through it. He glanced at it suspiciously. If he ever wanted to create a dimensional bag like in the stories, he might just start with a woman's purse. It seemed they were halfway there already.
“Ahah!” She pulled out a stack of wooden tablets. They were each a foot by half a foot long and fairly thick. How she could lose something that big, or hell how did she fit them all… He gave up that line of thought. It wouldn’t lead anywhere useful.
Under protest, he reluctantly read through them and grimaced. They weren't the usual pointless baggage he could put off. Not requests for the same old same old but, instead a few honest requests by fellow Origins on some point of magic that they were confused on. It was a basic tenant of their society that Pathfinders helped one another on such requests, though never for free. When one wrong step could lead to death, it was just good sense to be sure before you moved. And for his sins, Timothy got more of these sorts of requests than most.
Not just because he was the most knowledgeable, damn that ego, but also because from their perspectives, his lack of ambition in the political fields made it far easier to repay his favors.
This lot was offering payment upfront. He immersed his mind briefly into the images embossed on the plate. First-hand observations of several new natural mana phenomena. A waterfall where the water mana and stone mana mixed into something unique. An extremely porous, whistling stone that grew beside the fall. Fascinating. His mind dropped deeper into the recollections and observations only to be brought up short by a cleared throat. He looked up sheepishly and shrugged at the glare he no doubt deserved this time.
“Fine ma. Fine. Sorry to make you come up here, but thank you very much for the food.” He glanced towards his ritual room, regretfully. He'd been making so much progress! He sighed and turned away, metaphorically giving up on his- he checked the windows and grimaced again- afternoon. It didn't end there of course. He had to sit through more badgering about getting a wife and how he wasn't getting any younger and he was getting stuck in his ways so he had better tie the knot now while he could still be trained...
He grit his teeth through that one. He wasn't a poodle to be put through obedience classes!
But eventually, after extracting a promise to come to dinner, a promise he had determined not to give and failed miserably, she at last left.
Timothy sighed for perhaps the 20th time since he'd fallen out of bed.
He glanced back at the same longingly for a moment, then regretfully started digging through the requests included in those wooden plaques. Occasionally carving a response into one, before marking them as return to sender. Otherwise making notes for in-person meetings at some later date. It wasn't bad work and if he didn't have the ritual taking up so much of his attention he would have enjoyed dealing with both the requests and the rewards for them.
But he did have the ritual hanging…
With another sigh, he forced himself to stay focused. The sooner he finished here, the sooner he could get back to it. He'd gotten the timing chains in, polished off the three cauldrons and the rest of the preparatory work.
He kept reading. It was going to be a long afternoon.
And it was. But it passed, no matter how slowly, and he even managed to trigger the 'office hours' enchantment that would light up above the smaller side room he used for one-on-one meetings in Paradise. It was barely three minutes later when the return pulse caught him off guard. Was someone sitting there waiting? For how long?
Shit.
He tried to be available, but he couldn't deny that his own projects could make that availability... spotty. Considering the kids had to pay for solo sessions, they rarely wasted his time with brown nosing or other such nonsense but it was still another time sink.
He did the usual hop-skip and a jump up the access shaft to the scrying room. Resolving the security wards as he went. Finally finishing unlocking, unwarding then relocking and rewarding he threaded his way through the map tables before settling in on a thin cushion beside the pool.
It took very little time to snap it to the preset coordinates, then he pulsed the pool to life. It took a few seconds for the clouds to part, but soon enough he found himself examining the young lady sitting in a simple, if comfortable chair. She was extremely petite, flat chested with a tidy mop of page-cut black hair, not to mention a pronounced pair of front teeth. She was dressed nicely in the beaded hide clothing that was in fashion in Paradise, durable and pretty at the same time if a bit savage. She even had a variety of simple spell components, focuses and enchanted objects hung about herself in the usual way. Bone bangles, rings and necklaces for the later options while small bags attached to a bandoleer looped with a few potion bottles instead of bullets fulfilled the former.
Hopper, he mused, taking a few moments to bring her history and classwork to the front of his mind. She got the nickname for her teeth and a bit of restless leg syndrome. A bit cruel, but far from the worst he'd heard. For that matter, she'd owned it.
Now it better fit her habit of smashing her sparring partners with a brutal application of kinetic spells. A talented young lady, even if she wasted a lot of her time at that damn sparring ring.
Having all his ducks in a row (the wise, all-knowing teacher shouldn’t have to ask ‘What's your name again?’) he projected his consciousness into the simple, small room. It wasn't anything complicated, it had a single sturdy door, closed, to the back with a large comfortable-looking chair facing away from it, then a low stone table then the other smaller and less comfortable chair. The only other piece of furniture was a small sideboard with a couple of water pitchers and cups.
That was a good thing because nothing else would have fit in the room. Cozy was underselling it. The larger chair was already filled, although that might be the wrong word for it. It had been built to house a wide array of sizes and with augmented physiques that could be quite a bit bigger than anything needed outside the pro basketball circuit in the old world. The young lady opposite him was positively swimming in the seat.
Swimming and looking decidedly petulant about it. He could relate, being on the smaller side himself, he didn't care for the kicking-your-feet-freely-like-a-child look.
Something about it left him feeling like Pinocchio yelling that he was a real man.
He considered a fix for the situation. Maybe having the chair resize for its occupant... He mulled the idea around in his head for a minute. Going through a couple different possible avenues of approach, then caught himself and regretfully set it aside. It would be a waste of mana frankly, and she still was waiting. Not that he had time for more projects right now either.
“Hello Thumper.” He kept a simple smile on his face, carefully not showing his amusement as she jumped slightly at his sudden appearance. That never got old.
“T-thank you for answering, Teacher.”
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“I'm happy to help. But since you are paying for that help, let’s make sure you get your money’s worth, hmm? What can I help you with?”
She fidgeted for a moment, her face turning a bit red all the while. At last like an overblown balloon, she couldn’t hold it in anymore and let it out in a burst. “... Ankara-” That one he had an immediate memory of. Dusky skin, tall but gangly and with a patchy, hideous beard, not that Timothy was one to talk, Dammit! The kid was good-natured but had that common childish habit of trying to make friends by being annoying. Making enemies where he was trying to be friendly. “- and I were at the sparring grounds-”
She sat on the smooth moss-covered hill, eyes fixed on the fight going on below. She wasn't alone in this, the natural-looking amphitheater was well occupied with observers. Many were her fellow students, but many more were Paridisians taking a bit of time for entertainment. Not free entertainment, Thumper groused, Teacher didn't believe in that. Easy for him to say, he was rich! It was a bit harder to stomach for the continually strapped-for-cash students.
Not that he didn't have a point in this case. The bottom of the amphitheater was circled and bisected by many powerful wards. Isolating it from the spectators and offering a fair degree of protection to the participants. That kind of protection wasn't simple or cheap to make. Nor to maintain, she sighed looking aside at a tall dark-skinned woman lounging atop a rune-covered boulder like some kind of jungle cat. The Warden of the Ring.
Hopper suppressed a familiar flinch as the wards fluoresced madly as a large spike of ice struck them, proof again that the Warden wasn't there just because she looked pretty. Not that she wasn't that as well. Her Amazonian form lounged in typical Paradisian clothing. Or as Hopper who came from one of the much more straight-laced southern Holds reflected, lack thereof. Her bronzed skin and impressive curves reflected the light in a mesmerizing fashion. Hopper glanced downward in dissatisfaction.
With a sigh, she stopped looking. Comparisons were odious.
Instead, she focused back on the fight below, where an almost white-haired girl in a summer dress of a matching color was sliding through a world of frozen perfection, creating and flinging jagged shards of ice at a mahogany-skinned young man with his arms extended straight out to either side. He stepped forward, backward and side to side in time with a repetitive, yodel-like chant. The heavy glass beads, bones and feathers that spotted his brief hide loincloth and vest flexed and jumped in dizzying, mesmerizing patterns, reflecting and twisting his image in a kaleidoscoping pattern. One moment there was one of him, a figure of muted browns, black and startling red. Of blue and purple feathers against white bone and beads.
Then with a step, there were eight in purple and red, with feathers of black and brown. Then one again, only it was an impossible twelve feet tall and as thin as a fence post. Then short but wide, then four feet to the right, then five of them dancing in lockstep. Then it collapsed once more into a single youth, still dancing in the same spot with a barrage of ice spikes sticking out of the ground directly behind him.
It wasn’t surprising. Not now at least, not after the same thing had continued to happen for the last minute. Shards of ice lost their targets amid the flickering visual distortions while the world of frozen perfection was blocked sharply by a primal spiritual world, filled with totems, dizzying colors and twisted perspectives.
All the while Frosty (the ice bitch, though few called her the second part to her face. All she needed was a petrifying wand and a talking lion to complete the cliche.) was sliding about like it was the x games.
The grass and stones came to life as their spirits stood up to attack, taking human forms at times, animal at others, but always with bits and pieces of whatever they came from abundantly displayed. Swords made of wide grass leaves swung, teeth of jagged stone bit and birds with leafy wings and berries for eyes dive-bombed her. And each froze solid on approach, then shattered into nothingness without touching so much as her shadow.
But... she abruptly leaned forward. This was different! Sparkle’s chant had sped up and its wording was changing to something she recognized. She could hardly fail to, considering it had led to a fairly painful loss on her part several days ago.
Nightmare arts. It wasn’t just the natural world that he could take on temporary spiritual life. Concepts and emotions were fair game too. She grimaced. He was tapping into something that shouldn't be touched. There had been far too much death and dying in any surviving hold. That kind of negative energy lingered on, despite the Spiritfather's efforts. It was a scar that everyone living had to bear. And this asshole liked to rip those scars open and rub it in people's faces!
She'd been left twitching and sobbing after their last fight. And it had taken the better part of an hour for her churned-up emotions to settle. Most of an hour trapped in a nightmare supercharged with worry, depression, guilt and raw terror.
She despaired for a moment, she wasn't one of Frosty's fan club. But Sparkles needed his ass kicked. She tensed up watching as nightmarish shadows bled up and took a vague canine form, salivating for a target.
Then Hopper's eyes bulged out. The jagged pointlessly inaccurate shards of ice weren't pointless after all. In a concerted flex that must have been days in the planning, the small sparkling icicles deformed just enough to catch the light in concert and reflected it as a large beam of pure noonday sunlight directed right into Sparkle’s eyes.
With the nightmares already formed, he didn’t have time to reverse the spell, but he also hadn't given it a target. A beast of hunger, fear and hate, it wasn’t capable of not attacking. It defaulted to the closest living thing.
Evil intentions become evil actions. In a wave the beast poured forth, sliding over the ground like a wave of oil, faster than Sparkle could run, faster than he could react. It flowed over the ground first, then over his legs, then hips and chest. Till his entire form was left flailing about in a thick coating of tar, Michelin man style, though Hopper wasn't laughing.
She wasn't feeling pity either. Served him right, Thumper figured with schadenfreude, as he crumpled onto the ground twitching. A bit of his own medicine! Hopefully, it would teach him not to be such a dick.
The only thing that could have been better was if Frosty had slipped on her own ice at the same time. Hey, a girl could hope.
A spectral snake more than a dozen feet long and a foot and a half in diameter lunged out of the Wardens aura and coiled about Sparkles, sliding through the tar coating, before expanding out with the boy entirely inside its spectral body. Evil emotions given corporeal form were left chewing small wounds in its scaley hide.
A nightmare, once spawned, would not dissipate naturally. Human emotions once given form would not depart without being experienced. They had to be felt and accepted before they could be banished to where all such things belonged. They left a somewhat pitted skin behind them, but only for a brief moment. Then the snake shed its skin and emerged pure and powerful once more.
“The match goes to Frosty!” The Warden called, bonelessly rising from her perch and sliding forth with a hip-swaying strut that left Hopper green with envy, but unable to look away.
That was why she was the Warden. The snake, not the hips. They'd learned in class that it was a symbol of medicine in ancient times. The explanation as to why had been unconvincing. How could a slithering, sneaky, poisonous, and evil creature embody the concepts of medicine? Still, history didn't need to convince. You just had to mine it for symbols and meaning.
And for the warden, she'd found her meaning.
With the oil-slick tar baby gone, Sparkles wasn’t getting any worse, but he was still shaking and twitching. The Warden's protection wasn’t the same as healing.
Small cuts she could seal up in moments. Not healing, but preventing them from getting worse until the victim could take a potion or cast a self-heal. Her control more than tight enough to just affect the damaged areas. But nobody. NOBODY messed with the mind. The smallest amount of uncontrolled intent there… she shuddered to think of it.
Despite that, he got off easy. With most of the attack diverted he’d wake up shortly. She wouldn't bet on the next few days being pleasant for him, but it wouldn't be dangerous either.
That was brilliantly done. Sneaky too. She'd have to watch out if Frosty was starting to think sideways like that. The bitch was powerful, but normally on the blunt side. Still, that was a worry for later, it was a pleasant day and she had enough money put aside to pay for food and lodging for at least a week! With a happy sigh, she leaned back on the comfortably thick moss, hands linked behind her head and basked in the sunlight.
It would take a while to clean up the arena before the next match could start. Not to mention that the Warden usually went over the fights, explaining where they went wrong or areas where they could do better. Even occasional warnings about how you were casting things. She was a powerful and knowledgeable woman.
Of course, she charged for that privilege... Damn you Teacher! No free lunch from you is one thing, but why do you have to push that to every other teacher too?
At least the Warden was worth what she charged. She had a way of pointing out mistakes that, while humiliating, still cut to the heart of the problem and gave you a route to improve.
But, Hopper grimaced, her belt purse might be fullish. But that was just for everyday living. It was a far cry from being able to afford all the extra’s Teacher made available.
That was the problem. The Runefather was big on paying for what you received, no more and no less. Everything that was offered was worth what was asked. But despite there being good bang for the buck, she still only had so many bucks. She could work more hours to make more money of course. But then she'd have less for study, class, chores and sleep.
She'd tried that for a bit. She couldn't let study or class down, nor was working optional. That meant less sleep. For about a week. Then she crashed hard. Slept through class and messed up a few jobs bad enough to not get paid. Haaaa, no choice.
“Heya Thump, did you enjoy the show?”
She didn’t bother to open her eyes, she’d recognize Ankara’s voice anywhere. He’d been a constant pain in her ass for months now. Wherever she went he was bound to pop up.
“It’s Thumper! What do you want, Ankara? I’m busy.” Like that was going to work, but a girl could hope.
“Ha, it’s between matches and you're lying down with your eyes closed. Very busy.”
“Napping seems like a better use of my time than chatting with you.”
“Ah come on, don’t be that way. I have a really cool new spell I want to show you.”
She gestured roughly towards the arena, “There’s your opportunity to show off. Don’t let me stop you.”
“Come on Thump-”
“Thumper!”
“But Thump sounds so much cuter!”
“Do you want to die?”
“How about you give it a try? I’ll show off my new spell and you can try to beat me up. Win-win.”
She sat up abruptly and stared at him. “Was that a challenge?” He never went this far, not since she gave him a solid beating about a year ago. She’d considered making the challenge herself more than a few times. Anything to make him go away. But challenging already defeated opponents was a bit too close to bullying. She’d dealt with enough of that. On the other hand, if he came asking for it… Who was she to turn down a free punching bag?
“Well-”
She cut him off, “I accept! I’ll put our names on the board, see you in the ring!” She bounced up and sprinted off, even going so far as to augment her jumps for additional speed to get away before he could change his mind. Oh, this was going to be good!
She checked the board and had to fight the urge to jump with glee. Only one more match was scheduled ahead. Grabbing the chisel hanging from its leather tether she extended her aura, wrapping the cutting tip in her intent before quickly carving 'Hopper vs Ankara' on the next line. She barely saw the next match, dancing from toe to toe in excitement. Then it was time. She found herself standing opposite his smug face on the packed earth of the arena.
“As always,” The Warden lounged to the side, speaking towards the, “fight to learn, not to harm. You’re humans and an endangered species already. Don't do something we’ll all regret.” Thumper nodded, stepping backward and raising her hands.
The prone figure raised a hand languidly, before speaking the traditional phrase. “Act with dignity. Act with skill. Begin!”
Her hand dropped!
He hadn’t fought in months. Or at least, she was ashamed to admit, she hadn’t noticed him fighting. That was a very different thing. Still, people only changed so much in such a short time. Not to mention that aural manifestations were a stone-cold bitch to change. Years, not months. He’d always leaned heavily on illusions before. Mirror images, conceptual illusionary fear, potholes that weren't there and occasionally flat ground over real potholes.
He was a nasty enough fighter if you gave him time to set up.
She wouldn’t.
She lunged forward, giving him no time to form seals or chant spells. It lacked the power of either of those more formalized forms of magic, but her own tastes ran towards direct aura manipulation. As her mind willed it, her aura moved and condensed into a phantom arm, one of six her projection boasted on its Indian features. Her aspects were force and motion. Perfect for short, sharp blows.
The arms darted forward, stretching like putty to strike over the 10 feet of distance and slammed into his stomach, doubling him up even as he dodged backward to rob the blow of some of its power.
It wasn’t a spell as such. Just because persistent constructs were usually used as mana tanks and armor didn’t mean they couldn’t be used offensively. It wasn’t as powerful as a prepared spell as she didn’t surrender the mana. But it was fast. And by committing her will and mana, it was both offense and defense at once.
An advantage, but not one she felt the need to use now. She didn’t need balance, she needed offense! To keep him busy and unable to react. Sometimes you had to read the situation and take advantage of it.
She let her aura thin out on her back and flanks, forcing more of it forward into jabs and slaps. Not to harm. Not yet. Just to interrupt his casts and keep him off balance.
Getting closer to his staggering form she began a quick chant, with accompanying hand gestures, to summon a force construct. The DnDers called this sort of thing a Biggbys, not that she aligned with them, but it was useful to have a name to start from. She’d trained so very hard to combine this particular spell with her aura. With every spell gesture she built the spell module, but she also threw out a jab or slap to interrupt her opponent.
Symbolically referencing, and focusing on her aural hands to empower the spell, even as the spell's force component was bled from her opponent's attempted dodges.
Ankara staggered backward, bouncing and rolling away from the blows where he could, but he was no chump. Even hurt and staggering he at last managed to finish a chant. A couplet that threw out three versions of him, coupled with a spin and a jump, it wasn't clear which was the real man.
Mirror images, freaking annoying but expected. She could drop her sight to the magic field and see which one was real… if she had the time. It wasn’t easy picking things out of that chaotic swirl. No, instead she did the easy check. Three arms snapped out in a sequenced strike, one to each image, delayed by half a second between them. He flinched when the second landed, sending his form rolling away again.
Gotcha!
Bringing the chant to a close a glass-like hand appeared in the air above before smashing down with authority. A last-second ‘Deflect’ displaced the falling hand to the side in a cloud of dust. But ‘deflect’ was not ‘block’ or ‘disperse’, the hand went one way, his rolling figure the other. Fast. Not as satisfying as a proper thumping, but it did mean she could smack him around a bit more.
She’d take it!
She spouted several quick words and spun her hands through the required gestures to redirect the glass hand sideways in a smashing backhand. He flew about like a hacky sack, as she repeatedly redirected her spectral hand and aural fists to slap him about. He took it, flicking out deflects, the occasional visual interruption or mirror images. But she just slapped through, covering all four mirrors with her extra hands.
He was much tougher than she’d remembered, but that just meant more fun for her. She lunged closer, stretching her punches out robbed them of power. Up close they jolted and rocked him about, off balance and vulnerable to the larger Biggby’s blows.
Biggby's hand was relatively slow. She kept up the pressure, flinging him backward or sideways like a rag doll despite his increasingly desperate ‘deflects’ or ‘shields’. This was her arena, and she wasn’t about to give him any chances to turn things around.
But damn… it was really taking a while. Most wouldn’t be able to stand up after more than one or two of her big slaps. He'd taken at least ten! She started to wonder as she redirected the glass hand yet again to smash into his failing shield spells. Enjoying the way he rag-dolled.
He flopped to the ground gasping for breath and with the tell tale signs of mana exhaustion. She could relate, she was gasping desperately for breath as well, but she was standing, he was curled up at her feet. Beaten. She raised her hands to the sky, relishing the moment as the Warden stood up and spoke.
“Match goes to Ankara!”
That's right she was the- wait, what?! The world twitched around her, instead of the middle of the ring she was standing near the edge, and Ankara’s body was not lying in front of her, just a few fading eddies in the arena’s isolation ward.
She turned in a panic to see Ankara smiling widely at her from a dozen paces behind… Illusions? She’d beaten the hell out of a wall while everyone watched? Her head snapped from his wretched smile to look around at a crowd who was watching on with wide smiles and no few chuckles at her expense…
She looked up, seeing her own fist still raised in a victory pose that had strayed beyond comical and into flat-out ridiculous. She looked like a clown.
She was a clown.
It was too much. With a barely passable bow to the warden, she blitzed from the field in a run. Struggling to keep her face set and the water from leaking from her eyes. Did he need to humiliate her like this? A loss was one thing, but to let her beat on a wall while everyone watched? Let her think she won and even pose while everyone laughed? She hadn’t gone out of her way to bully him! Why?
She’d take the penalty for not sticking around for the after-action review. She just needed some time. Away from the laughter.
If she had glanced behind, she might have seen Ankara with a face suddenly stricken with surprise and worry.
“Hmmm, so you got caught in an illusion and made a fool out of yourself?”
She fidgeted a bit, “... you didn’t have to put it quite so bluntly, Teacher.”
“Pussyfooting around the issue won't make the pain any less. What in particular can I help you with? You know I don’t take sides between you. I’m hardly going to give you a workup on his spell.”
“I just want to know why my aura didn’t shield me from it! My aural manifestation and manipulation is the best in the entire class! It’s a defensive powerhouse and it should have protected me! Every time I touched him with my aura it should have disrupted the illusion, and my aura was in more or less constant contact! It shouldn’t have happened this way!” Her voice was rising to a shrill pitch the entire time she spoke.
He sighed, and stood up, before walking over to the sideboard. Juggling a motion spell with practiced ease to give his illusionary footsteps an authentic sound. “Tea?”
He interpreted her half sob half mumble as a yes while ignoring the extra parts that he could barely hear. Something about ‘not being British’. A few more delicate motion spells made his illusionary hands solid enough to pick up the pitcher and pour water into a pair of runed cups.
With a short pulse of his will the water heated up enough to release steam. Then picked up a good dollop of the loose-fill herbal mixture, trapping it in place with his will, even as he stirred it into the water. Then repeated for his own cup. He spent a few extra moments putting everything away before walking back to his chair, passing her a cup on the way.
“Ah, dear me.” Saying he forgot would be a dirty lie, so instead- “Did you want that hot or cold? Never mind, hot as it is, I don't need to ask.” He didn’t give her time to object. Reaching over he ‘touched’ the cup and activated the chilling enchantment. Reducing the steaming liquid to a refrigerator level of chill in a mere second.
Sitting down he left his cup hot. A bit of heat let the tea brew better, he took a sip, nodding happily at the taste but deciding against another sip. He didn't serve anything this nice in his tower. It was a treat he reserved to make these counseling sessions tolerable. But it really was too hot.
He'd give it a minute or so to steep, then cool it down. He sat back and enjoyed the fragrant steam. Giving her time to take a few sips of her own and hopefully calm down a little.
“Did you enjoy the iced tea?” He smiled and got a weak version in response. But at least she was trying. “Good, good. Now why, do you suppose, I could make the tea 'iced' while it was in your hands?” He pointed at her cup.
“Whaaa?” She started, glancing down in confusion.
“The cup was in your hand, well covered in your impressive aura. Why was I able to cast a spell to cool it?”
“..But, you're you. My aura’s never stopped you before.” She muttered, still confused.
“Don’t be lazy, Hopper. Are you telling me you've never noticed before when I cast a spell through your aura?”
“I've noticed.” She muttered, her cheeks turning a bit red.
“Did you feel anything this time?”
“...Yes.” She spoke a bit louder, shame dispersed by curiosity. He doubted she fully got it yet, but at least she was starting to break free of the self-pity and think. He waited a minute or so, but as she didn’t speak he decided to prod her a bit more.
“So why didn’t your aura interfere? Think! I’m not going to just hand it to you.”
He paused waiting again, lifting the teacup to his mouth for a sip, but remembering at the last second that it was still blasted hot. Whew. Nothing like spitting out a mouthful of tea to ruin the mystique. He activated the cooling enchantment and continued the gesture naturally.
Damn good tea.
“..I… I don’t know, teacher. It’s normal though, right? I use simple utility enchants all the time right next to other people. If our aura’s blocked them then half of cooking and cleaning wouldn’t work unless you were alone!”
He sighed, “So if I make a ‘utility’ enchant to clean you up in a fight, it will go right through your aura?” Despite his affected frustration, her suddenly downcast expression almost brought a chuckle out of him. She should have seen that one coming.
“..It doesn’t make sense.” She was almost crying, time to back off a bit.
“What did you expect to happen?” If she didn’t get it from that clue…
“Expect? Ahh…” She perked up a bit, though he had to ignore a bead of water at the corner of her eye.
He let her be for a bit. Drinking his tea.
“...I expected it to happen, so my aura didn’t block it…”
He reached over and touched her cup again. Her aura deformed as he did so. Instinctively making room, like she would when passing someone in a hallway or shaking a hand. But while it made room, it didn't fully uncover the cop. Just pulled back to outline it. He waited a moment for her to look down and see what he was doing. Then instead of heating or cooling, he pulsed a motion enchant to jerk the cup sideways.
Her aura instinctively resisted the spell.
He could feel her will fighting him and he let the spell fizzle out. Taking care to accept all the, very minor, backlash. She didn't need that. Ahh, the things he did for his students' self-esteem.
“Oh.” She stared down at her cup. Thoughts going a mile a minute behind her hazel eyes.
He watched on, still sipping at his slightly under-brewed but still good tea, giving her a chance to fully work it out.
“I wanted to beat on him, I wanted it so badly, that when he showed me what I wanted, I didn’t fight it…” She didn’t sound completely sure though. Best to reinforce the lesson a bit. A quick spell removed a very small marble-shaped piece of wood from the arm of his chair.
The ball darted in a quick showy circle in front of him. He made sure she was looking right at it, then a light flick bounced it off her forehead only to hover in front of him again. She saw it, expected it, and in turn it happened.
“Ouch! Why?” Confusion returned, along with a bit of a pout.
“Why did you let it hit you?”
“...You threw it at me!”
“Yes, yes I threw it at you. But why did it hit?” With a gesture, the marble jumped upright, pausing a moment where she could see it, then darted down to strike her kneecap.
“Ouch!” She started to cock her hands, a defensive spell no doubt. He didn’t give her the time to complete it. The other kneecap was so close and vulnerable after all.
“Oww!”
Down to the shin as she tried to block it with hands that stopped short of casting.
“Teacher please!”
He paused the ball, hovering again. “Did you feel me intruding on your aura?
Her eyes bulged a bit, “Yes…” her voice rose in pitch.
“You might want to spend some time thinking about why you didn’t resist it.”
“Teacher... “ She muttered looking down, cheeks red again but with a bit of a pout on her lips.
“Get ready.” He gave her a few moments to focus. Then flicked it at her again. A small fist of aura snapped up to catch it. “Better. But you don’t need the fist, you just need to decide.” She flung it back as Timothy pushed his small aura forward. This wasn't his discipline, but he could hum a few bars. The aura hardened as he denied the ball the ability to hit him. The ball struck the space a foot from his body and bounced sideways before a quick snap redirected it to his hand.
“Do you get it?”
“I pushed it away, right?”
He held in a sigh. Semi-autonomous threat recognition wasn’t as simple as conscious denial. But at least it was getting closer.
“Catch,” He tossed her the ball without waiting for her to respond and her hand snapped up to catch it. Her flesh hand, the aura around it did nothing to stop the ball. He smiled and glanced hard at her hand before raising his eyes to meet hers again.
“Oh.” She muttered, looking down with surprise. He gestured again and the small spell he'd hidden in the ball activated, spewing smoke in all directions. Already inside her aura, but not a part of it, she had no defense against the rising temperature and with a small cry, she dropped the ball, leaving a small burn on her hand.
She looked down as it rolled across the floor, still smoking and a deep red spread across her cheeks and down her neck. It looked almost painful at this point.
He sighed again. “We’re alone here, no reason to get embarrassed. You won't get anywhere feeling sorry for yourself. Yes, your boy Ankara managed to spank you in public. That you can be embarrassed about. You can go out and get embarrassed again, or you can acknowledge your loss and learn from it. Because this is a wonderful opportunity for you. Expectations are manifestations of your mind. Your mind. Control them and that lovely aura of yours can become so much more than it currently is.”
She looked down, hands tightening into white-knuckled grips. “...He’s not my ‘boy’.” She muttered.
“That’s what you're going to key on?” He looked at her in exasperation. “You know what? Nope!”
“...What do you mean ‘nope’ teacher?”
“It means nope! I’m not getting involved with your teenage romance drama.”
“Romance?” She muttered, suddenly curious.
“Nope! Go talk to your dorm mom for that sort of thing, not me!”
“...Please, Teacher?” She wheedled. Sad puppy dog eyes on full display.
He flicked the marble at her elbow, using his will to punch it through the first whimsy layers of unconscious rejection.
“Owww.” She jumped up, rubbing her arm vigorously. Must have hit the funny bone.
“I think that’s plenty for now. You are sufficiently battered by the clue stick, or marble in this case, now it’s up to you where you go with it.” He paused, looking closely at her expression for a moment before nodding. “And Thumper?” He stared at her until she made eye contact. “I expect you to figure this out. You are a smart, driven young lady. Don't let self-pity make me wrong.”
Before she could respond he disengaged the projection. His illusionary body turned solid black, like ink, before twisting and swirling down an invisible whirlpool into non-existence. He was going to have to come up with a few more visuals in the near future. A wizard shouldn’t repeat his tricks.
Now, he absently tapped the Field to check the time. He might just have enough time to fit in a bit more work...
He sighed and pushed the notion away. He'd better go find Da. And ask him about accepting appointments on his behalf. Again.