Explosions tended to be a grand affair. Near blinding light, concussive sound and force, and the unbearable heat. All served to warn those nearby of the imminent doom coming their way. Ian landed against he far wall and slid down, his ears ringing and his head pounding as he landed in a heap on the floor. His chest heaved as he tried to suck in the air that had been forced from his lungs. It took him a minute to regain his breath and pick himself up.

“What the hell was that!?” Ian shouted as he rounded on the source of the explosion.

The source was a man. He was lounging on a pile of cushions with a bored expression. His right hand was still steaming as it dropped, in his other hand he clutched a flask. He took a long pull, watching Ian’s annoyance grow.

“I told you to defend yourself, and look you did,” The mage said around a large belch.

“Roland…” Chastised the woman sitting beside him. She got to her feet, heading toward Ian, and before he could protest she was using her magic to heal the minor burns.

“Thank you, Pandora,” Ian said as the healing magic set to work and relieved him of the worst of the pain, “and just how am I supposed to defend myself against something of that level Roland? I can barely hold a shield let alone stop a fireball.”

Part of the back wall fell down as if to emphasize Ian’s point. Roland shifted his gaze toward the wall as though it were a traitor.

“You’ll never learn if we keep playing it safe as we have been for almost a year. You have the talent, you simply lack discipline.” Roland said as he slipped his flask away and got to his feet heading toward Ian. His robe seemed to collapse in around his thin, lanky frame as he walked.

“Yes, but he can’t train if he’s dead now can he?” Pandora chimed in as she went back to the pile of cushions.

“Yes, yes,” Roland said while waving her away, “Okay, one more time, this is how its done…”

Roland launched into the now familiar lecture about magic, which Ian only half listened to his mind on the events of last year. He had been pulled from Earth and landed on a fantastical new world called Paragore. In a short time he’d discovered that, not only were his wildest fantasies about magic were real, but so were elves, dwarves, minotaur, and a whole host of other creatures. Paragore was home to dozens of races, governments, and massive sprawling continents. All of them held dangers, wonders, and adventure to anyone brave enough to seek them out. Ian was not such a man. Ian was a detective from Washington D.C. and this last year had been a lot to take in. Ian pulled himself from his thoughts when he realized Roland was no longer lecturing. Instead he was in an argument with Pandora about the hole in the wall he’d just made.

“What? He wasn’t getting it, so I thought a practical demonstration was in order. Look, Ian, you’re trying to hard,” Roland said, “You’ve managed to get a good grip on the basics over the last year but now, now you’ve got to apply that. You have to feel the magic, draw it to yourself, and then conjure what you want it to do in your mind and then release.” While he talking Roland casually made complicated hand gestures in the air. He jabbed his index finger as though making a point and a runic green circle flashed into existence and faded just as quickly. The wall put itself back together in short order and he arched a questioning eyebrow at Ian, “Again?”

Ian turned back to the wall and clapped his hands together without responding. He drew himself up to his full six-foot-five and focused on his core, drawing the magic up from deep inside. He caught the spark and concentrated drawing it into his hands, he let everything else fall away. There was only the spark and what he intended to do with it. Last year Roland had offered to teach Ian magic after it became clear he was going to be staying in Paragore. Even if it wasn’t by choice, I an was going to make the most of his stay.

Sweat dribbled down Ian’s face as his magic began to heat up. A warm orange glow spread over his hands as he concentrated on the spell, his breathing even and level. Magic, as Roland described it, was fickle and tied to the emotional state of the user. The more powerful the emotion the more control a mage had over their craft. And for Ian there was no more powerful emotion right now than of loss. Loss of his home, his way of life, and of a very dear friend. He pulled his hands apart and between them blossomed an orange sphere.

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“Ingaphara,” Ian said opening his eyes. As the word rolled off his tongue he felt the power rush through him. His hands flared again and… promptly puttered out. The orange sphere flickered and died with a tiny pop and Ian let out a frustrated growl.

“Let’s call it a day there Ian. At least this time you were able to manifest fire. And that is no simple feat,” Roland said with an uncharacteristically encouraging tone.

Maybe I really am making progress, Ian thought.

“For a ten-year-old,” Roland amended. And there it was the biting sarcasm back in full swing.

“Roland,” Pandora said, “Go easy on him, its only been a year. Ian, I think you are progressing wonderfully.” She rose to her feet, her fiery red hair fell down to her shoulders and stood beside Roland. Where Roland was lean, Pandora was curvy, her green robes doing little to hide the alluring figure beneath. “You can’t hold everyone to your standard Roland.”

“No, but I can expect great things from my first apprentice,” Roland retorted, “Anyway you’re late Ian, you’d better hurry if you want to make it to your next session in time.”

Ian glanced over Roland’s shoulder to the hourglass that hung by the door. Above the hourglass in hovering spellskrit, the language of magic, was the time. Ian groaned, he had ten minutes to get to the other end of the building. He grabbed his leather vest and pulled it on, buttoning it as he ran for the door. As he burst through the door a blue half-dragon kicked off the wall from where he’d been leaning. The half-dragon was huge, nine feet tall, and had arms the size of most men’s legs. His body was covered in scales that ranged from icy blue to deep azure. Six thick ebony horns protruded from his forehead and temples sweeping back over his scalp. The horns gave him the appearance of a fifties greaser with slicked back hair. He followed at a lazy jog.

“He’s going to take it out on you again. He told you last time not to be late.” The half-dragon called after Ian.

“I know, I know. I can’t help it that Roland likes to lecture, Rune.” Ian called back as he took the corner and almost collided with an elf dressed in some kind of glowing arcane armor. “Coming through Brother,” Ian said as he dodged around an elf and ran up a set of broad stairs. There he joined the main corridor that lead through the Fortress of Brass’ training grounds. Members of the Order of Brass moved along at a pace far to slow for Ian as he took the steps two at a time.

The Fortress of Brass was a series structures contained within a ring of solid black granite. The five main buildings were laid out like the dots for a five on a six sided die. The outer wall stretched up three-hundred feet and was heavily fortified with enchantments. Floortals rose and fell along the wall as guards rode them to change shifts. Brothers and Sisters of the Order of Brass milled about all over the grounds. The Order of Brass was a symbol of law, good, and peace throughout Paragore.

Ian ran past the horde of new recruits as he caught the time on another hourglass. I’m late, crap. He bounded up the stairs and then down the final hallway toward a set of double doors. He pushed open the doors an excuse forming on his lips when a broad hammer head came flying at him. The blunt head struck him in the chest and sent him careening back down the hallway a few steps. He tried to maintain his balance, failed, and ended up landing hard on his backside as a shadow fell over him from the doorway.

“I warned you not to be late,” Said the source of the shadow.

“Roland-” Ian began.

“No excuses,” said Ian’s instructor, “Ten laps for a warm-up, and another ten for being late. You know where I’ll be when you finish.”

“Yes Brother Ironroar,” Ian said, getting swiftly to his feet, towering over his instructor.

Ban’Koliath of Clan Ironroar stood at a mere five feet tall. Unusually short for his race which typically towered over other races. His lustrous tawny fur was already slick with sweat and his black mohawk-like main drooped to one side. He uncrossed his muscled arms and shifted the cushioned hammer toward Ian’s legs, aiming to trip him as he strode past.

Ian saw the shift from the corner of his eye. In a fluid motion, he drew a wooden sword from the rack nearby, shifted to one side, and brought the sword down to counter to hammer. Ban’Koliath’s lips upturned into a smirk as the two practice weapons made a dull thunk. Ian returned the smirk in kind and began his laps around the expansive room. The training room had an outer ring to it for running laps. Inside the ring were various combat training and exercise equipment, along with other members of the Order already training.

“Pick up the pace recruit!” Shouted a man.

“You are already behind!” Shouted another, an elven woman.

Ian came around the first bend in the track and barely had enough time to dodge around the sudden appearance of Ban’s hammer head. The minotaur had rushed ahead to hide behind one of the rooms support columns that ringed the inside of the track. Ian glanced back but Ban’Koliath was already gone. He picked up speed, determined to beat the minotaur to his next ambush. As he ran his training began in earnest with Ban’Koliath harassing him with unexpected ambushes and attacks, and to his credit, Ian managed to dodge most of them.