I keep my head mere inches from my plate, both arms protecting my horse-steak from the intruder. Nuala gives me a disapproving stare, but I refuse to do anything until I have eaten a proper amount of food.

“Ed, you have eaten 3 pounds of meat already. Do you plan on consuming all 450 pounds today?” She says with no small amount of disgust. It really isn’t my fault, I passed out after we hauled the nightmare to the house and slept all through the following day. Now I am starving and fully intend to enjoy the fruits of my labor.

It is strange though, that I hurt so little. Sure, I am sore and ache all over, but it feels more like I was tuned up by the city watch than like I fought a monster to the death. I keep chewing absentmindedly as I do a quick check of myself. My broken bones are fully healed, courtesy of Nuala I am sure, and my head is no longer fuzzy. I feel pretty good in fact, strange thing that.

The sound of a book hitting the table brings me back to reality. I start and stare at where my plate once was. In its place rests a tome easily 4 inches thick, filled with browning vellum. “This,” Nuala says haughtily, “is your new grimoire and study material. The back third or so is unused, the rest is apprentice material for you to study.”

I finish swallowing my steak and give her an embarrassed look, “I actually don’t know how to read.” It shouldn’t be a surprise, most people don’t know how to read. “And besides,” I continue “only wizards and summoners need to learn to read. I just need to learn how to do those crazy rituals.”

Nuala gives me a look of pure terror; I guess I really offended her sensibilities with that last comment. Oh she is ranting at me, I should look like I am paying attention. “Yeah, un huh, yep, ok, of course” I continue to pretend to listen until I get slammed with a jolt of power. Arcane energy courses through my muscles and I lock up and fall out of the seat. Nuala stares with murder in her eyes.

“If you ever patronize me like that again, I will sacrifice your still beating heart to Gah-Zul so you may spend eternity in the Planes of Terror. Am I understood?”

“Yes, ma’am” I say with some difficulty. Today I learned Nuala is not someone to piss off lightly. I should write this down in my grimoire when I learn how to write.

Nuala, still giving me a petulant glare, continues. “I suppose we will need to work on literacy, as well as ritual work and spell inscription. You are correct that you do not need to be educated, strictly speaking, to be a Ritualist, but all good spellcasters have some basic education.” She taps a finger to her lips and scrunches up her face. Nuala is probably a couple hundred years old, but her thinking face is adorable. “Edward, are you aware you are a natural warlock?” She finally asks.

I explain that I have no idea what a warlock is, let alone a natural warlock. Apparently a warlock inscribes spell formations directly on their skin, acting as a catalyst for a spell, like a well prepared spell staff or ritual circle. This means they can get strong personal magic effects if they use themself as a ritual focus. All this is to say that my master now wants to inscribe an intricate comprehension spell on my skin to help assist my learning.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Great, if this makes the book learning easier, that means we can move on to spell casting earlier.” I exclaim.

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I am a fool and should never agree to do anything ever for any reason. When someone says they need to inscribe something onto your skin, that is code for paralyzing you and using a ritual knife, which looks a lot like a filleting knife, to carve runes of understanding into your skin. Now I may not have been able to feel the cutting when it happened, but I felt it once the paralytic herbs stopped working.

If you have ever had your foot fall asleep, imagine that feeling all over, plus feeling like someone drove a nail into your forehead and you approach the discomfort that the comprehension spell induced. The worst part is it appears the comprehension spell is a part of me, after a fashion. I can force the magic in my body to remember the spell and after the magic digs a fresh set of trenches for the spellwork, I can gain that understanding again.

It is really useful to be able to memorize words and runes and their meaning at a glance. It’s kinda like having a royal scribe in my skull. Much less useful is the excruciating pain needed to use that information for anything more sophisticated than basic spelling or reading. Nuala says that the spell will slowly integrate and become a part of me, making it easier to use. I am sure she is telling the truth, but I suspect it is not the whole truth.

The day after my reading lessons, it is story time. Or rather, Nuala agreed to lecture me on magic. Apparently magic is broken into two major branches, Light Magearts and Dark Magearts. Light Magearts are the typical warrior fare, and are all about cultivating internal power. Magic is used to nourish and strengthen the body, muscles, mind, reflexes, senses, etc. Obviously every magic uses does this to some extent, but light mages specialize in it. Apparently it gets its name from an ancient warrior god of the sun or some such.

Dark Magearts are the storybook wizards and is all about the projection of magic. This can be a simple magic attack spell or a sophisticated ritual. Again, light mages can do this to a certain extent like when they project a slashing attack, but it is the dark mage’s specialty. The name is from some ancient god of wisdom and the moon. The most interesting thing about my physiology is apparently warlocks are considered “dusk mages”, I use my body in both Light Magearts and Dark Magearts, and can do both with some proficiency. There is a whole school of spellcraft for just warlocks, but Nuala says that is for when I understand the basics of both schools.

With the lecture over, I grab my hunting bow and check my hunting knife, to make sure its edge is still razor sharp. My body thrums at the promise of the hunt, and I stalk into the woods. I move swiftly and silently but quickly find myself moving faster and faster through the forest. Intellectually, I know something is wrong, I am too excited, too eager to kill. I have almost 450 pounds of meat curing at home, but I can only think about drinking the lifeblood of a freshly killed beast. My stomach knots in hunger as I charge through the underbrush and before I know it I am chasing down a deer.

I abandoned using the bow or knife at some point, although I cannot say why. The stag runs but I am gaining on it, ready to feast, to gnash and tear and eat until all is dyed crimson. I leap at my prey and grab its antlers, ready to snap the startled animal's neck when my muscles lock up, my teeth snap shut, and I fall to the ground losing my prey in the process. I feel like I was hit by a lightning bolt, every muscle spasming and blood runs from my nose and eyes. What is happening to me?