Our story starts in Avendell - a city with countless stories. But this one will focus on just three. First will be the young witch.
— — —
Witch’s Day
Samantha Brown awoke groggy. The sun shined in on this spring morning, but the curtains were still mostly closed, so the room was only dimly lit.
One of her roommates, Marianne Huchins, was hunched over one of the two wide desks in the room, writing something down in a notebook while looking at an open textbook that was as tall as four inches (10 cm) when closed. The paper of the book was stained yellow, and the hardcover had deteriorated and become smooth around the edges.
Mary gave an irritated growl, dipped her quill into the inkwell and continued her scribbling.
Sam blindly reached up, to her side, grabbed her large round glasses, and put them on. Straightening them on her nose, she saw that Catherine Honorit was still asleep. She looked over at the wall clock. It was 7:15 and classes started at eight, so she had plenty of time.
Sam climbed down from her bunk, saw that the bed below her was empty, came to the conclusion that Sarah Moony must be the one in the bathroom, went to Cathy’s bunk, climbed up the ladder until her head and shoulders were level with the top bunk, and gently nudged Cathy’s shoulder, whose face was still in her pillow.
“Five more minutes, Sam.” replied a quiet, near muffled voice.
“I’m not your mom, Cathy. If you wanted to sleep in more than maybe you shouldn’t have stayed up so late.”
Cathy rolled her body so her face was facing Sam and said, “Ah, I couldn’t help it, I had to finish this novella I started yesterday.” She brought forth from her shelf a thin book with the title Necromancer’s Knight on it. “It’s so much easier to put down a book, but once a short story grabs you, you just have to follow through. And I already had to stop in the middle the night before.”
“Why are you justifying yourself to me of all people? Just get up already.”
“Okay,” Cathy sat up on her bed, legs criss crossed, “but I’m not trying to justify myself, I’m telling you you absolutely have to read it.” She practically shoved Sam off the ladder as she pushed the book on her.
“Alright alright. I’ll check it out.” Cathy’s eyes gleamed in joy and anticipation. She couldn’t wait until she could chat with her friend about what she thought about the story.
Sam came down from the ladder, passed by Mary and said, “Forgot to do your homework, Mary?”
Without looking up from her work, she said, “Shut it.”
Sam shrugged in resignation (if Mary had asked for help then she would have gladly obliged), continued to the bathroom door, knocked, and asked, “Sarah, how much longer?”
“Almost done. Five more minutes.” With Sarah, five minutes more minutes meant 10.
Sam went to her dresser to pick out her clothes. Hm, should I wear my black robe or my black robe today? This was the only choice students of the prestigious magic academy Reigran in the capital city Avendell had in terms of wardrobe variance, since there was a set uniform in place.
But even so, some of the other kids had a more disheveled look with untucked shirts, rolled up sleeves, and loosened ties. And some of the girls would wear colorful bands or braid their hair elegantly.
Sam wasn’t one of those girls with style, or who thought too much about her own look, or she wasn’t before. But once she entered Reigran at the age of 15, she suddenly started wearing makeup and caring more about standing out appearance-wise. She wasn’t sure why, or didn’t even notice it until recently, when she looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize herself. It only took her two years.
After Sarah got out, and Sam had finished putting on her makeup and doing her hair, she stared at her reflection critically, and asked it, Who are you trying to impress?
A knock interrupted her musing, “Sam, you almost done?”
“Yeah, I’m done.”
— — —
Sam and the others were dressed and ready for the day, with their wands in the holsters around their belts, and a textbook and notebook in their arms. If they needed any other textbook or notebook then they would simply return to their room and grab it.
The four lined up in front of the entrance door. And as each approached it, they turned a dial next to the door, opened it, and went through. When Cathy was about to leave, she told Sam with a wave, “See you in conjuration!”
Sam waved back and replied with a smile, “Yeah.”
It’s not that Sam was on bad terms with her other two roommates, but that she and Cathy were on particularly good terms, when the two met, they just clicked. So classes were definitely more fun when she shared them with Cathy.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Dozens of other witches and wizards streamed into the class from dozens of other doors that opened themselves into the classroom, and when someone closed their door, it disappeared from the wall.
Once everyone took a seat, their teacher, Ulfrus Natious greeted them, reminded everyone of and summed up their last lesson, how far along they were on the projected lesson plan, and dictated them to open their books to page 643.
Everyone appreciated how into it Mr. Natious was, recounting the histories written in the textbook with enough verve and vigor to match a stage performer, but whenever it was a student’s turn to read, they lacked the previously shown enthusiasm. And it wasn’t that the textbook was written in a boring way either; it added drama to momentous moments and used lively words whenever possible, but when the test day would come, all that would matter was memorizing the dates and facts, so this discouraged them from doing something as needless as acting it out.
But this wouldn’t discourage Mr. Natious, no, he was set on finding a way to make history interesting to these youngsters.
And so, after a couple of readings, Mr. Natious saying, “That’ll be on the test,” a few times and subsequent scribblings, class ended with a coo from the birdhouse clock on the wall.
Sam picked up her stuff, found an empty wall, took from her pocket a dial and placed it against the wall, causing a door to appear in front of her. She turned the dial, took the dial off the wall, and returned to her room where she replaced her textbook and met up with Cathy.
Sam and Cathy then found two seats in Conjuration class. Most everyone enjoyed the practical spellcasting classes more than the history or language classes, since they didn’t just have to memorize facts and names or prove that they understood literary devices through essay form.
Instead, they would memorize chants and wand motions. And seeing the immediate success or failure of their spells truly made the students feel like they were progressing their own craft, rather than simply regurgitating another’s.
Conjuration was the one of the eight schools of magic that focused on the creation of physical matter. The simpler and smaller the creation, like a mite or a drop of grease, the easier it was to create. And sometimes, a spell required a physical component, like a pork rind or butter for the [grease] spell.
Once everyone took their seats, their teacher Seelie Fiddlemiss instructed, “Welcome back everyone! Today we’ll continue where we left off last time with the spell [familiarize]. Now I know not everyone is getting it immediately, but please don’t let that make you think you have to rush yourself. This isn’t one of those fast-handed combat spells, but a ritual. We’re conjuring our familiars.” After taking a dramatic pause, she continued, “Familiars are the lifelong partners of every witch and wizard. And while they’re usually useless in terms of direct combat, they’re paramount for getting a lay of the land or a battlefield from unheard of perspectives. Imagine your eagle familiar soaring through the sky and seeing what it sees, or smelling through the nose of your dog familiar.”
As she continued her speech in the background, the students continued with their ritual spell. Ritual spells were different from normal spells in the sense that instead of taking a few moments, rituals took at least an hour, and they took many more materials than regular spells.
In front of Sam was a burning brass brazier with charcoal, herbs and incense in it. She held her hands open around the brazier. It wasn’t required but it helped her concentrate. This was the class’s third consecutive session for the [familiarize] spell, and only 20% had done it right so far.
When some of the student’s brazier’s exploded, Mrs. Fiddlemiss would say that they had lost concentration, and when some student’s brazier’s had a hole melted through the bottom of them, she would say that they were concentrating too hard. How hard am I supposed to concentrate then, they would exclaim in frustration in their minds.
Sam was one of the students with the melted brazier last time. But not this time. This time she would get it. But ritual spells were hard work - to have to concentrate on a single task for an entire hour. Some of the students even passed out from mental exhaustion, though, admittedly, not many.
Sam recalled, Mrs. Fiddlemiss’s words, “Visualize your familiar in the brazier, your lifelong partner,” that part was easy, thought Sam, “Now do that for an hour.” And that’s where Sam and the other students thought that she must have been joking. But she wasn’t. And so, after the first day of trying to cast [familiarize] Sam and nearly all of the other students had splitting headaches.
Sam glanced over at her blue mana bar on the top left side of her field of view. 236/286. She had been casting this spell for about 50 minutes. I should be close.
To her right, Mason Rigwell's brazier exploded in a brilliant conflagration.
Sam ignored it and continued in silent anticipation.
And then it happened. A poof of blue smoke erupted from her brazier, and from it appeared the outline of a cat.
For a moment, Sam was so in shock that something actually happened after hours of nothing that she simply stood watching, mouth agape. Then she came to her senses and saw the smoke dissipate as the outline gathered it into its form.
The ethereal, wispy cat’s shape pranced and floated down from above the brazier until it sat on the desk in front of Sam. Then it gradually solidified into a glass-like form, and continued shifting until from its glass body, there gained the appearance of a regular black cat.
From the way the cat, her familiar - Sam realized, sat and stared up at her, Sam thought the cat looked rather expectant.
“What?” Sam asked.
And from seemingly out of nowhere Mrs. Fiddlemiss appeared at her side, saying, “A name! Complete the ritual by giving your conjured spirit a name!”
“Oh, uh, how about Coal?” she asked Mrs. Fiddlemiss.
“I don’t think the little one likes that.” she said looking down at the conjured cat.
If you can imagine, it looked away in disdain, Sam noticed.
Awful picky, aren’t you, Sam thought.
I have a right to a good name, don’t I, asked the cat.
Sam’s eyes widened in shock.
What, did I say something funny?
Sam had forgotten that familiars could communicate telepathically with their masters.
No, it’s just that - ok, what would you name yourself?
Well, I don’t want it to do with only my looks. How about something to do with my baring?
Sam looked hard at the cat and thought about the sort of feeling it gave off. It was not one of a hunter or a stray, but of a loyal servant.
“How about Arthur?”
Arthur nodded in approval.
+30 exp.
— — —
And here our story ends for now. Next will be the blacksmith’s apprentice.