I try to pull the mail from the body of the jackal-like Dogman, but the heat of the ash melted the creature’s flesh onto the chain. No matter how much I pulled, it didn’t budge. Even if I did, I don’t think I’d be able to stomach wearing the stinking strands of charred flesh that would no doubt be stuck to it. I slide the scimitar out from beneath its body and pulled the black, curved sheathe from its belt. I slide it onto my belt next to the kris’ sheathe, and pick up the wand laying in the grass near the corpse.

There’s still a pain whenever I try to grip the wand in my right hand. I’m still able to hold it tenderly, however. It would be difficult to use either the scimitar or the kris effectively, so I’d be stuck using the wand for now. I don’t think I’ve been able to kill a single thing with just magic until now. What kind of mage was I? A Battlemage, I suppose.

Was I using magic as efficiently as I could? I like to think. I think the Ensnare/Ember combo was pretty good, and gust was good at taking down the serpents before. I need to practice. I’ll die at this rate. I reorient myself away from the barn, and toward the nearest farmhouse. I’ll use it as a home base for both exploration and practice.

There was a small well outside, with water that sparkled and reflected a distorted reflection as it bubbled far below. There was a near-rotted rope sitting on top of the white stone edge. I tied it as tightly as I can around the neck of the bottle, and reinforce the rope with strands of braided grass. Thick moss and climbing vines cover the walls of the house, but still, she holds steady. A damp musk permeates the insides as I push open the door. Deep scratches scar the earthen floor, and only gray ash sits within the stone hearth. It’d probably be a good idea not to light a fire in there. The smoke coming from the chimney would surely alert more of those Dogmen.

I pull off the thin, dust-covered blankets from the top of the wooden-frame bed that sat in the room pressed against the shuttered window, and set my own down on top of the straw-filled mattress. I put my bag down as a pillow and then sink into the edge after I close and bolt the front and back doors, and latch the windows. The only light is that which filters through the gaps between the thatch.

“Let me see as you do, oh companion.” I tap my temple with the wand and the world is cast in bright green for a moment before my eyes force themselves to blink, and the effect fades.

I sigh and raise my right arm.

“What is magic?” I ask, “I’ve been thinking of it like a game mechanic, but I’m convinced that if I keep going with that mindset, I’ll die.”

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“Depends on the type.” It answers. “With elemental magic — such as the ones you primarily use, it is asking for assistance from the Powers of nature.”

“Powers?”

“Powers, Principalities, Spirits. They come in many names across different cultures.”

“So I’m commanding them to do something?”

“Yes.”

I go over the incantations in my head.

“What is a Salamander? Aren’t they like lizards?”

“No. They’re the Powers that reside within all Flames. Be it the inferno of a wildfire, or the flickering head of a struck match.”

“What does that mean?”

“You can think of them as living flames. They direct the heat, and direct the flicker, and cast the embers to the sky.”

“How is that possible? Fire isn’t living.”

“And why isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t have cells.”

“That’s just a perspective foisted upon your mind by the material west. Fire is very much alive — it consumes, it breathes, it grows, and it moves.”

“Then what is a, ‘Daughter of the wind?’”

“A Sylph. The Power that resides within the Wind and the Air. They direct and move all the wind.”

“And gnomes? Aren’t they little bearded men with red, pointed caps?”

“No. Those are Redcaps. Vicious things; though not many left in our world.”

I lay down and hold my wrist above my head and yawn loudly as I continue pestering the shard with questions.

“Then what are they?”

“Gnomes are the spirits that dwell within the earth. They direct the flow of magma with the help of the Salamanders and the growing of all plants.”

“So they’re like dryads?”

“No. Dryads are the Powers of individual trees. Gnomes are of the Earth.”

I should find a book on this subject when I get back. The idea of nature spirits excites me.

“So, the runes I’m supposed to use when using spells — what are they? They’re all incredibly alike.”

“They are. They’re the symbols of the element you are trying to evoke.”

“So the upright triangle is fire, and the upright triangle with a dash going through it is air?”

“Yes.”

“And the upside down triangle with the dash through it is earth?”

“Yes.”

I have an idea. I push myself to a sitting position — the sudden rush of movement makes my head spin.

“What is a spirit of water called?”

“An Undine.”

Undine. Undine. I repeat the word in my head.

I slide out the wand from underneath the backpack and aim it forward and begin the process of drawing an upside-down triangle.

“O’ Undines,” I piece together a quick incantation that sounds pleasant to the ears. My years as a failed writer finally pay off; “You that dwell within the rain and the seas; flow through me.”

A single drop of water drips from my wand. So small that one might consider it a bead of condensation. But the way my stomach swells, I could tell. I managed to create a spell without using the skill page.

+2 magic scrolls across the bracelet, and I feel the core of my stomach burn. As the burning fades, I press my head against the center of the backpack and let the weariness haranguing me, take me off to sleep.