“Ya know, I’m really getting tired of roots and flavorless meat.”  Rygart was eyeing his unappetizing meal as he spoke.  “How much longer are we gonna have to deal with this?”

          “You should be thankful.  These woods are bountiful.  In Draghiem, you’ll have far less appealing meals.  Eating squirrel isn’t the worst you’ll be subjected to”

          “I’m just tired of eating the same thing every morning.”  

          Rygart pokes at his food, daydreaming about the savory dishes that awaited him back in Eisenrahm.  After a moment or two he sighs, realizing it will yet be some time before he gets to indulge in true culinary perfection.  

          “So what are we going to be learning today?  What to do when you stump your toe?”

          Doran remained silent a few moments as he stowed away the food he didn’t eat.

          “Today, we will be taking a break from biology.  We will focus on some concepts that will help you better understand magic and help you create better Scripts.”

          “Scripts?”  Rygart hadn’t heard that term before.

          “That is just the term mages use to describe words used as an incantation.  Since magic requires words, and ‘script’ is what written words are called, that is the term that has become commonplace.”

          “Mages aren’t an overly imaginative bunch when it comes to naming things.  Commands, Scripts, both are rather literal.”  Rygart takes a few more bites of his squirrel stew breakfast.

          The corners of Doran’s mouth pull back into a terse smile.

          “Perhaps.  And it doesn’t end with Scripts and Commands.  There is one more term that you should know.  Methods.  You see,”  Doran sat back, just as he has been when lecturing Rygart about the finer points of biology.   “Some ideas are rooted into a person’s subconscious mind.  By taking advantage of this, we have a greater flexibility in the Commands we can use to create a desired effect.”

          “I’m not sure I follow along.”

          “I’ll try using some examples.  Suppose a mage wants to create flames.  He may try to command the Ruha to create those flames, without first defining what flames are.  By only using the word ‘flame’ in his Script, the mage ensures that nothing will happen.  That is because the nature of a flame is complicated and involves an intricate process.”

          Rygart nods along, somewhat understanding what Doran was getting at.  After all, Rygart couldn’t say how flames were made.  Sure, he knew that you could set a stick on fire but he was certain there was more to it than that.

          “Now, if that same mage were to command the Ruha to create stone, then there would be a reaction.  However, the exact reaction that took place, if using such a simple Script, would be random.  Things like shape, size, and position must also be defined when using a Script.  Otherwise, the reaction can be erratic.”

          “Well, what makes stone so different from flames?”

          “Stone is a far simpler concept.  One which most everyone has a fundamental definition of ingrained in their minds.  Which concepts are ingrained in one’s mind can vary depending upon experience.  For example, it is possible that you possess a fundamental knowledge of iron, due to your extensive background in blacksmithing.”

          Doran paused while he took a swig from his waterskin.

          “An important thing to note.  Even if you were to command the Ruha to generate iron, what would be created is only a close facsimile.  The element would have all the characteristics of iron, at least all the characteristics that you know of, yet there would be some type of fundamental difference.  Just what that difference is, is impossible to say.  Even if you were to examine it, you might not be able to discern any difference at all.  It would look and act just like iron.  This is why anything generated through the use of Ruha is prefixed with ‘mage’.  Mage-stone, Mage-iron, Mage-fire, and so on so forth.”

          Doran pauses, waiting for Rygart’s questions.  After none are asked, he continues.

          “Using this knowledge, it is possible to create a Method.  Continuing with the previous example of iron.  Without using a Method, for a mage to create a blade, he would need to do several things.  First, define shape with precise detail.  Commanding the Ruha into a specific width, height, and thickness.  Then, the Ruha would need to be told where to sharpen.  Things like the degree of the angle, and how many centimeters from the center should the sharpening begin.  The mage would then need to repeat the process for the tip.  Finally, the Ruha would need to Commanded to generate a material with its properties defined.  Hardness, durability, flexibility, all of this, and more, would need to be defined through the use of Commands.”

          Up until now, Doran had been writing in the dirt using a sharp stick, and creating diagrams as some sort of visual aid.

          “Creating a blade this way would take dozens of commands, if not more.  By using a Method, one can ‘store’ that kind of information into a single word.  This would reduce the number of commands, making it faster to finish the Script.”

          Doran then circled a group of words he’d written.  All descriptive words used to define a blade.  Above the circle he wrote the word ‘blade’.

          “The same can be said of more than just defining the material.  Shape can defined through the use of Methods as well.  However, the more complicated the shape, the more difficult it would be to create a Method for it.  Square is simple enough, with well defined sides and  angles.  Creating a Method for something more complicated, like an arrow, would be far more difficult, and take several years.  You would need a universal idea of what an arrow is.  Things like length, width, thickness, edges, and point would need to be clearly defined within your mind.”

         A few moments passed as Doran let Rygart study the diagrams and mull over their conversation.

         “How do you create a Method?  I understand that some Methods exist naturally, like stone, but how does one go about altering their own mind?”

         “It is a complicated process.  One that takes years of reinforcing the same image.  If I ask you to imagine an arrow, the first image that comes to your mind is what matters.  The clearer the image, the higher your rate of success when trying to use it as a Method.”

          Rygart nods along.  I think I get the gist of it.  When Doran sees that Rygart isn’t going to ask another question, he continues.

          “The concept of Methods can be taken much further than generating a blade from thin air.  It can also be used to create Methods for healing, or attacking.”

          This time Rygart did ask a question.

          “So, I could even heal a friend that has been injured in combat?  With just a simple word, like ‘heal’?”

          “Using Life magic on another person is possible, but incredibly difficult.  Things like distance, clothing, physique, injury, and even gender must all be taken into account and adjusted for.  Creating such a simple Method for healing is nigh impossible, as the Script must be tailored to the specific incident, in most cases.”

         There is another pause, and Rygart begins to understand just how much of an advantage it would be to have a collection of Methods.

         “So,” Rygart began, thinking aloud.  “This would allow you to create ice from Water Ruha in one or two words, as opposed to generating water, and then lowering the temperature of that water to freezing.”

         Doran nods, pleased at his young friends understanding.

         “Exactly.  I’m glad you’re getting it.  The more Methods one possess, the quicker he can finish his Scripts.  The faster you can finish your Script, the less time your enemy has to react.”

         Rygart and Doran both sit in silence as Rygart contemplates how this will impact his own actions.  

          “You know what, I think it might be a good time for you to try your hand at some real magic.”

          Rygart’s eyes shot upward, looking his teacher in the eye.  He had been dying to practice with magic.

          “Do you think I’m ready?  Be honest.”

          “I do.  You’ve been a good student...for the most part.  Let’s start with something simple.  Command the Ruha to gather, take shape, and form a basic material.  Like water or stone.  And remember, don’t forget that only certain colors can be used depending on the material you wish to create.  You draw in all the Ruha in can, and then you filter out what you don’t need.”

         Rygart’s brow furrows, and he casts his eyes down at his hands.

         “Alright.  I think I got it.”

         Rygart closes his eyes and concentrates, clearing his mind.  He feels the ever present sensation of the Ruha around him.  Rygart’s breath slows as he reaches out with his mind.

         “Gather.”  Upon uttering the Command, Rygart can sense the Ruha shift.  

         Doran also feels the Ruha change as it draws closer to Rygart.

         “Don’t forget, you must Command the Ruha into a shape, and a material.”  

         Rygart nods, as he decides what he wants to do.  

         “Form a rod.”  Again the Ruha began to shift.  

         “Location as well.”

         Rygart holds his hand to be parallel with the ground, palm up.  

         “Above my hand.”

         Rygart could feel the Ruha condense above his hand.

         “Materialize stone.”

         Just as the final word rang out, a thin, meter long, stone rod appeared just centimeters above Rygart’s hand.  Rygart had expected the rod to be horizontal, yet much to his surprise, the opposite was true.  He had to act quickly to ensure it didn’t fall to the ground.

         “Weren’t expecting it to be vertical, huh?  You forgot that location also includes orientation.”

         Rygart inspects his handiwork as he holds it in his hand and swings it about.

         “It feels just as I had imagined it would.”

         “That would be because of the nature of intent and Methods.  Mind if I take a look?”

         Rygart looks up and sees Doran holding out his hand.  Rygart relinquishes the stone rod and awaits Doran’s assessment.  

         “All in all, not bad.  You showed good control, and you even used a Method.  Probably without realizing it.”

         “I did?”

         “You told the Ruha to form a rod, without defining what that means.  And that is exactly what a Method is.”

         Rygart looked down at the stone rod Doran held in his grip.

         “Blacksmiths often shape metal into rods, much like this one, to store for later use.  I suppose that was the image I held in my mind.”

         “And that is the secret to mastering Methods.  Imagination.  Remember Rygart, the Ruha reacts to not only our will, but also our intent.  And using your imagination to further define that intent is what separates the unremarkable from the very best.  A mage with a powerful imagination can do wonderful, awe inspiring things.”  

          Doran returns the result of Rygart’s first attempt at magic as he spoke.

          Rygart began inspecting the stone object once again, and notices that it has started to disintegrate and flake.  He looks closer at the areas of degradation and sees that the edges of the erosion are glowing red-hot.

          “Ah, so I see you’ve noticed the decomposition.  As I stated earlier, anything constructed by using Ruha crumbles and becomes free floating Ruha once more.”

          “Hm.  So it would be a bad idea to drink Mage-water then?”

          “Oh yes, I’d say so.”

          Rygart looks back at Doran, with a bright smile splitting his face.

          “I think I’ve found the motivation I need to deal with your monotonous lessons old man.”

          “Hm.”

          “And I already have some ideas just how to incorporate this into my fighting."

****

          The sun had long since risen over Rahk Sur, and by the time it had reached its apex, Soren found himself stretching in the bright sunshine.  The ship he was aboard sailed up the Irona River, causing a gentle breeze to sweep across the deck and ruffle his loose robes.

          “You look pleased.”  Soren looked next to him to see his young friend standing beside him, arms crossed and with his typical look of nonchalance.

          “Of course I’m pleased!”  Soren held his hands up, reaching towards the sky.  “We were locked away in that miserable smuggler’s hole for hours.  I am beyond pleased.”

          “Sorry about all that, friend.”  This time it was Grail who spoke.  The portly round man that had met them out by the docks.  He was walking across the ship’s deck, coming up from behind Soren.  “But when doing what we’re doing, being cautious often pays dividends.”

          The two mages had been kept in the smuggler’s hole the remainder of the  night, and all through the morning, only being released once they were a few hours outside of Rahk Sur.

          “Our little voyage has only just begun.  We still have four days of sailing ahead of us.  But, fear not.  We shall reach Dimwell before you know it.”  Grail smiles, showing a mouth full of pearly teeth.  

          “Thanks.”  Soren had turned to face the man as he had walked up.  “We appreciate what this takes.”

          “Just don’t forget your appreciation when it comes time to pay the bill.  Now then, I have other work that deserves my attention.”  Grail waves as he walks away.

         Dorian looks up at his friend and notices his mood had suddenly shifted.

          “What’s got you in the dumps?”

          “The Triumvirate has no doubt noticed our disappearance by now.  Oh man, there’s going to be hell to pay once we return.”

          “I wouldn’t worry about it.  We are no doubt setting in motion events that will leave The Institute no other choice but to excuse our departure.”

          “You have a higher opinion of the Triumvirate’s understanding than I do.  Much higher.”  Soren pushes any further thoughts of the Triumvirate out of his mind.  “So tell me, just how in the hell did you set all of this up?”

          “Ah, I was wondering how long it’d take you to ask.”  

          Soren moved to lean against the ship’s rails, taking in the passing scenery.

          “Well?”

          Dorian lets a small smile loose as he moves to stand beside Soren.

          “Fine.  It’s pretty simple.  Several years ago I was smuggled out of Le’ Lisia.  The Church thought I was possessed by some kind of devil and had me under lock and key.  The Institute learned of my existence and sent people to extradite me.”

         “I thought you just lived there, I didn’t know you were...a prisoner.”

         “Prisoner might be a bit of an exaggeration.”

         “They had you under lock and key?  That sounds like a prisoner to me.”

         “Eh.  Call it what you will.”  Dorian paused as he examined his nails.

         Only Dorian could treat being a child prisoner with such apathy.

         “Well, as you might imagine, traversing such a large distance took several years.  We didn’t have the luxury of boarding a boat and just drifting down the river.  As time went on, I became close with those that I travelled with.  I had been six, when they came for me, and by the time I arrived in Rahk Sur I was approaching my ninth birthday.”

         “Your ninth birthday?  That’s when we met.”

         Dorian looked up and smiled, thinking back on the first time they’d met.

         “As a matter of fact it was.  At that time, the only people I considered my friends were the smugglers that had brought me from Le’ Lisia.  And I had been strictly forbidden from seeing them.  However, as I got older, I found my own ways of meeting with my old friends.  And so, I sent a message to them to set up this little voyage.”

         “You sneaky devil.”

         “Um, excuse me, sirs.”

         Soren turned to see who was speaking to them and was greeted by the sight of a man far younger than the members of the crew he’d seen so far.

         “Yes?”

         “If you will follow me, I’ll show you the way to where you will be sleeping.”

         The two are then led to to a small cabin above deck, adjacent to the captain's quarters.  It is a small room, able to fit no more than two men standing side by side.  The beds stick out of the left wall, one slightly raised above the floor, with the other above the first, resting just under the ceiling.  Other than the beds, there are two chairs and a small 'table' that is attached to the wall with a hinge that allows the table to be folded into the wall.

         The young man turned and left the two alone in the room.  Once alone, they set about the cabin, Dorian finding his way to the lower bed, and Soren moving to the table, releasing the latch and lowering it.  Soren settles into one of the chairs and begins to ruffle through his pack and removes some dried fruits and nuts.  Dorian soon joins them, and the two eat in silence.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

         After a few minutes of eating the door there is a knock on the door and Grail enters the little cabin.

         “Ah, so you found your way to your room.  Good.”  A look of surprise comes across Grail’s face.  “Are you two not tired after being crammed in that hole all day?  I half expected to catch you two passed out on your faces.  Certainly you didn’t get much sleep down there.”

         “Well, while we couldn’t get any real sleep, we were able to meditate and use magic to curb the exhaustion.”  Soren responded between bites of his food.

         “Ah, so you two gentlemen would be mages then?"  He asks, his curiosity piqued.  

         "We are.  Mages from the city, on a mission that our betters had no interest in letting us go on."  

         Grail chuckles lightly.  

         "I know how that goes.  I'm glad you two are in high spirits then.  I'll be out on deck if you need anything."  He then nods and turns to leave the room.  

         "Do you think that was such a good idea?  Telling him we're mages and all"  Dorian chimed in, as he tore into a piece of bread.  

         "Oh I don't see the harm in it.  They were certain to notice after all."  

         "Mmm, maybe."  Dorian, still with his emotionless expression, continued chewing as he spoke.  "Le' Lisians are a bit suspicious of mages you know."  

         "I doubt he's Le' Lisian.  He doesn't quite seem the religious type.  I'm rather certain smuggling is still a sin."  

         "Not really."  

         "What do you mean?  Sure it is."  

         "No.  Stealing is.  Murder, of course.  But smuggling?"  

         "It is against the law you know."  

         "Yes, but Le' Lisians have a funny way of not caring about any laws that aren't divine.  Smuggling is an earthly law, not a heavenly one."  

         "Why are you so certain he's Le' Lisian?"  

         "Couldn't you tell?  It's rather clear in his accent and complexion."  

         "Hmm.  Well, I'm not as well travelled as you, I suppose."  

         "I don't know if I'd say I'm well travelled.  I've just seen my share of Le' Lisians."  

         "Yes, I suppose you have.  Perhaps we should keep a sharp eye on our new friend, just in case."  

         The two finished eating their meals and went out on the deck, not having much else to do.  As Dorian and Soren stood to the side, watching the crew go about their work, Grail walks up and greets the two.  

         "Hello there, good sirs.  Enjoying the view?"  

         "Hello, Grail.  Your men do seem to know what they're doing."  

         "Of course they do.  Each one of em is a veteran, through and through."  The man beamed, a prideful smile splitting across his face.  "I've been with these men for years now."

         This time Dorian spoke.  

         "It's good to know we are surrounded by such competent sailors."  

         Grail nodded his head, still smiling away.  

         "Master Grail, do you mind if I ask you a question?"  

         "Oh please son, no need to call me master.  Grail will do just fine.  Or Captain, if ya like."

         "Alright, captain.  Are you at all worried about passing through the Wilderun?  I hear there's been trouble there recently."  

         "Well, it is true that things can often get...exciting passing through the forest, but I wouldn't let your head worry too much about rumor"  

         A knot was forming in Soren’s stomach.  

         "I'm sorry, rumor?"  

         "Well, I wouldn't want to put you gentlemen under any undue stress, but if you're curious, then I'll just repeat what I've heard myself.  It would seem that the last ship to pass through the Wilderun met with some...misfortune."  

         "What kind of misfortune are we talking about?"  

         "The kind that leaves a vessel that left with 16 sailors empty and adrift, without a single passenger onboard.  Dead or alive."  Grail's face had grown grim, but a moment later it sprang back to life.  "But I don't hold stalk in simple rumor, my young friends.  And I don't believe you should either."  

         Now it was Dorian's turn to speak.  

         "And just what are the chances that these aren't simply rumors?"  

         "Well enough that I saw fit to use a bit more...precaution when picking the men for this trip."  

         Soren decided to chime in once he saw that Dorian's curiosity had been sated.  

         "So you don't employ all your men for each voyage?"  Soren knew that it was a common practice to keep a roster of sailors larger than what one would need for any single voyage.  That way captains could rotate the men around, giving some of them much needed shore leave while the rest began the next journey.  "How many did you decide to bring this time?"  

         There was a moment or two of silence before Grail answered.  

         "All of them."

         Soren was sound asleep, lying on the top bed in their little cabin.  Night had fallen several hours ago, and Dorian and Soren had decided to get some real sleep this time.  Using magic to sustain oneself was never as good as a full night's rest.  

         Time passed, and as the moon rose high in the sky, something in the cabin moved.  Soren, being a fairly light sleeper, woke and peered throughout the room.  The small portcullis which lay on the wall opposite the door, let in plenty of moonlight which allowed Soren to see around the cabin.  

         Dorian had crawled out of bed and let down the table.  Soren saw him now, sitting in one of the two small chairs.  Soren moved, trying his best not to hit his head on the ceiling above him, and slid out of bed, before sitting at the other chair across from Dorian.  

         "Couldn't sleep?"  

         Dorian let out a soft sigh before he spoke.  

         "No.  Not a wink."  

         "Have you tried using a Script?  I thought you knew several that could repel Ruha?"

         "Yes, I've tried.  But it's because we're moving.  It's hard enough to account for the Ruha's movement.  Doing the same for the ship is just too difficult.  Perhaps if I had a few months..." Dorian trailed off.  

         Soren nodded after his friend had fallen silent.  He had expected there to be some trouble although he hadn't thought the fact that they were moving would cause this kind of issue.  

         "I had forgotten.  After so long of having the room at The Institute, I suppose I've grown complacent."  Dorian spoke softly as if remembering an almost forgotten dream.

         Soren still remembered what it had been like before they'd found a way to repel and conceal the Ruha.  Without those enchantments, Dorian's eyes wouldn't let him sleep.  Not when he could see...well, everything.  Not just Ruha, but things Soren couldn't hope to understand.  Even when he closed his eyes, Dorian said he could still see the Ruha flowing throughout the world.  Seeing even while your eyes are shut makes it difficult to fall asleep.

         Soren had tried several times to fall asleep while securing his own eyes open.  It might have been foolish, and a far cry from what it was truly like for Dorian, but he had wanted to put himself in Dorian's shoes.  He had wanted to gain a better understanding of what it was like, and that was the best he could come up with at the time.  

         After that, Soren proposed the idea of using Green Ruha to curb the fatigue that came with a lack of sleep.  It took quite some time before they managed to figure it out, but Soren did remember how happy Dorian had been once they found the right Commands and created the Script for it.  

         Dorian's mood had improved after that.  His productivity had just about gone through the roof.  After that the boy just kept pouring out one discovery after the next.  Even discovering an all new color of Ruha!  He'd labeled it Violet Ruha, after the color of Soren's eyes.  It was then that Soren realized even though the two were technically master and slave, Dorian was the closest thing he'd ever had to a family.  

         Not long after its discovery, Dorian discovered that this new color of Ruha, which Dorian said could manipulate 'Gravity', the force that kept all things on the ground, could also be used to repel Ruha.  It could do much more, of course.  Dorian had once used a Script that employed Violet Ruha to cause one of the other members of The Institute to float up into the sky as if he were lighter than air.  The Script wore off over time, of course, which caused the man to float back down to the earth, but not before the wind had carried him several kilometers away.  

         The Triumvirate had not been happy about that.  They'd had some luck, however, as Celia, one member of the Triumvirate and something of a mother figure for Dorian, convinced the others that it was only because Dorian had to interact with the other, lesser, members of The Institute.  She explained that this man was jealous, and would continue to harass Dorian.  She convinced them to give Dorian his own area to live and work, to avoid any future mishaps.  

         This soon became Dorian's study as well as a small bedroom.  The latter was eventually modified to create a room completely devoid of Ruha.  Dorian said he had never known anything akin to darkness until that day.  And now Soren wished there was someway to recreate that room, here on this ship.  

         "Perhaps one day we'll find a way to block that Sight of yours."  

         Dorian smiled weakly, not lifting his eyes from the spot on the table he had been eyeing.

         "But until then, any night that you are awake, I too will remain awake."  

         "Don't be ridiculous.  There is no need for both of us to go without sleep."  Dorian had looked up and met Soren's gaze as he spoke.  

         "I'm not being ridiculous.  This way, you won't go mad from boredom, and I won't let you forget to find a solution.  We're a team, aren't we?"  

         This time Dorian's smile was genuine, as he looked his friend in the eye.  

         "Thank you."

         The next few days passed, without incident.  Dorian and Soren mingled with the other sailors, hearing stories of grand adventure.  Most truly were seasoned veterans.  All but a few were well past their hundredth voyage.  Those few that weren't, were son's or nephews of those that were.  All in all, they were a tight knit group.  

         Soren and Dorian learned that the captain, Grail, rarely called on all of them for a job.  They also said he was a bit over precautious at times, especially when it comes to passing through the Wilderun.  Those trips always cost the most, yet they often paid the most.  Grail's crew was one of perhaps three in Rahk Sur with a vessel of this size that was willing to make the trip.  

         The Wilderun was massive and surrounded a large portion of the Irona River.  If you wanted to follow the river to go anywhere other than Soreem or Cordia you'd need to pass through the Wilderun.  

         The Irona River was the largest river in all of Auraxia, and if you were willing to pass through the Wilderun, it could take you nearly anywhere.  Within the heart of the Wilderun the river forks, heading east and west, with each branch acting as Durnea's southern border.  The east branch reached all the way to the eastern coast, connecting the southern coast to places like Verdia and even the far north eastern League of Free Cities.  The western branch would take you to Le' Lisia, The Dionysian Republic, and even Buraka and The People's Commonwealth Of Fordia, the furthest north any sane person would live.  Anything beyond that lies in the Frozen Lands.  

         There were a few other rivers, like the Caedican River which ran through the heart of Soreem, the land to the east of Sarket, but it was a tenth the size of the Irona.  Then there was the western river, Ragen' El.  It was perhaps half the size of the Irona, and ran through Areem, far to the west.  Grail's men have been to them all.  These were the epitome of of what it meant to be well travelled men.  

         Soren had asked why so few are willing to venture through the Wilderun if Grail and his crew had done it so many times.  That’s when they’d learned that most Sarketians are terrified of the Wilderun.  Something about an old fable that spoke of Demons springing from the land and taking residence within the forest.  Dorian chastised Soren for not knowing, but Soren had said it wasn’t his fault.  It’s not as if slaves are often told fables.  

         The sailors had then said they believe this played a big role in why Sarket has never moved to recapture Durnea.  Whatever happened there left a scar on the entire culture.  Sarketian children are told horror stories about the Wilderun, and every Emperor since Durnea's founding has avoided the area.  Durnea and Sarket might be on amicable terms, but that probably has more to do with the Wilderun than it does any sort of diplomacy from either side.  

         Soren had also asked whether the sailors have ever come across anything strange in the forest, and the sailors respond by saying that strange is a relative term.  They told the two they shouldn't worry.  With this many veteran sailors, even if they run into any of the forest's inhabitants the sailors could adequately protect the ship.

         Around dusk on the third day, the ship reaches the edge of the forest.  Both Dorian and Soren stand on the deck, watching as the ship sails into the thick forest.  Neither mage notices anything dangerous about the place.  The trees seem normal.  No foul presence can be felt.  Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.  Until around midnight.  

         The pair were, again, out on the deck, playing a popular Sarketian card game, when Soren noticed something.  As they were drifting past the trees Soren looked up from their game and saw a white strand of some kind hanging from a branch that was extended over the water.  The string would pass over the deck, about shoulder height.  Curious, Soren walked up and reached out his hand.  

         Dorian looked up to see his friend fast approaching something.  Dorian focused on the white string and noticed something terrible.

         "No!"  Dorian yells at his friend and jump up from his chair.

         Out of nowhere, one of the sailors tackles Soren to the ground.  

         “Agh!  What the hell!?”  Bellowed angrily.  Upset by his rough treatment.

         The sailor stood, helping Soren up to his feet.

         “Just watch.”

         All those present on the deck watch on  as the strand comes into contact with the wood.  The wood hisses and blackens, and a small wisp of smoke rises from the point of contact.  Soon the ship moves on and the string glides over the ship, leaving a smoking black trail everywhere it touches

         “What the hell was that?”

         Soren hears Grail’s voiced rise from behind him.

         “Misfortune.”

         Soon, there were many strands of white, presumably made of the same substance, strewn all about the forest.

         "Dorian, is it me, or does this look like..."  

         "A spider's web."  Dorian finished.  

         By now several men had appeared on the deck, each with a sword strapped to their hip.  

         "My friends,”  Grail had turned to speak to both Soren and Dorian.  “I think it might be best if you returned to your cabins."  

         "If it's okay with you, captain, we can be helpful.  We might not look it, be we can handle ourselves in a fight."  

         Grail nervously looked around, unsure of what to decide.

         "I can't make you do anything, just be sure to protect yourselves.  If things get too troublesome, bar yourselves in your cabin."  The captain's eyes had narrowed as he searched the trees for signs of danger.  "With the webbing this thick, we're bound to run into at least a few Arachas."  

         "Arachas?"  

         "Yes.  Devilish things.  Spiders the size of your family dog.  Some bigger.  Their webbing is toxic and they have a nasty habit of biting off limbs."  The captain's face contorted into a scowl.  "Agh, damn!  If only we had better light.  These little lamps aren't doing a damn thing."

         After hearing the captain’s comments, Soren piped up.

         "Perhaps I can help with that."  

         Soren pulled an ornate metal rod from his robes, perhaps a meter long, and began chanting his Script.  Eyes closed in focus, rod held in front of his face, clasped in his hands.  Once he was done chanting, several orbs of light sprouted about the ship, anchored to rails, masts, anything.  Light filled the forest.  

         "Haha!" exclaimed the captain.  "Very well done my friend!  It truly does pay to have a mage around."  Soren smiled, pleased he had been of some assistance.  

         "Captain!  We got incoming!"  

         Just as the sailor finished his sentence, a black mass fell onto the ship's deck.  It had eight giant legs, and thick hairs sprouted across its body.  The creature spun around, all eight legs moving in tandem.  It eyed the sailors, reared its head and screeched.  

         However, before it could even take a single step, Soren finished yet another Script, and a metal spear three meters long and as big around as a fist, fell from the air above the creature, impaling it, through-and-through.  A cheer rose from the sailors as the thing bellowed and died.  A few called out Soren's name, but their jubilation was short lived.  The surrounding trees swayed, and branches flexed.  A sound of rustling leaves and bending wood permeated the air.  And then, they were upon the ship.  Dozens of giant, spider-like creatures rained down from the trees.  

         Sailors roared into the air and charged the foul monstrosities.  Soren looked over to his friend, only to see him nodding, already knowing what to do.  

         "I'll monitor the sailors' conditions, you provide support as best you can!"  As Dorian spoke, he brandished a long, twisted stick with a large knot upon the top.  So he can be serious, Soren whispered to himself, as he set about chanting Script after Script.  

         Dorian also chanted.  Much longer and more complicated Scripts than Soren's own.  As he finished each Script, the air changed.  Before long the air cooled as a faint mist rolled in.  Soon, thousands of icy scales flew through the air, creating a storm of wind and ice.  Some would find a human target, and swirl about them, coalescing into a single entity to ward off attacks from the vicious Arachas.  Other scales would descend upon the creatures,  fusing together and forming razor thin discs, which would slice into the monster's skin and sever legs.  

         Dorian himself was the eye of this storm of swirling scales.  No creature ventured close without being struck down.  

         "Soren!" he called out, " A group of sailors is too far for me to reach!  Head to the bow of the ship!"

         Dorian had used air magic to make his voice seem as though it was right at Soren's ear, otherwise there was no way he would have heard his friend over the sound of chaos that engulfed the ship.  

         Soren made his way through the carnage, smiting any enemy that dared get to close.  After only a minute or two, he emerged from the icy cloud of Dorian's Script.  He saw three men, standing back to back, surrounded by several giant Arachas.  

         Soren chanted, as quickly as possible.  If there was more time, Soren could have used a Script that would kill the creatures, but as it was, Soren could only conjure a violent wind, which swept around round the sailors, keeping the deadly monsters at bay.  Once the sailors were removed from immediate harm, Soren altered his Script, adding Command upon Command as he continued chanting.  

         As he spoke, the wind shifted.  Soon it was doing more than just halting the Arachas’ advance.  It pushed them back, pressing the creatures against the ship's rails.  And on Soren spoke, adding more and more complexity to his Script.  The wind wasn't just wind anymore.  It became a gale of black sand, blowing over the violent monsters as they thrashed, helplessly caught by the force of Soren's Script.  When Soren halted his Script, the Arachas were nothing but piles of putrid flesh.  Only the vague resemblance of spiders remained.  

         Soren sighed, satisfied with his work.  He was making his way to the sailors, when he noticed they looked out of breath, wincing in pain.  

         "Are you alright?"  

         "I don't...feel..." The sailor that spoke collapsed to the ground.  Soren ran to his side, wondering what could have caused it, when he too began to feel its effects.  A tingling sensation in his arms and legs, a slight knot in his stomach.  Ruha Sickness!  The realization hit him as another sailor loosed the contents of his stomach upon the deck.  

         "Dorian!  You're using too much Ruha!  The sailors are collapsing!  Switch to a simpler Script!"  Dammit Soren.  How could you have forgotten?  Agh, Dorian and his damnable tolerance.  

         The gale of icy scales ceased, almost as if it had never existed.  Those scales that remained, fell to the ground, gliding as if they were snowflakes.  Arachas corpses lined the deck.  Sickly blue-green blood oozed from the dead creatures.  A few of the sailors were bent over, retching what was left in their stomachs.  

         Soren looked over at Dorian, no longer surrounded by the whirling icy death.  Soren could see his friend's mouth move, forming but one word.  ‘Whoops’.  Soren rubbed his brows with his free hand, exasperated by his friends attitude.  

         The Arachas' attack had faltered, that is until Dorian's Script had ceased.  Now the creatures dropped from the branches once again.  Both Soren and Dorian ran to meet each other, standing in the middle of the ship.  

         "Keep it simple this time.  Don't expose the others to any more concentrated Ruha."

         "Soren, that was simple."  

         Soren rolls his eyes, fed up with his friend.  

         "Fine.  Just stay behind me."  

         Soren had backed himself to the center mast, with Dorian between.  Soren again chanted, this time keen on where he was drawing in the Ruha.  As he chanted, metal spears formed, floating in the air, creating a circle around the mast facing outward.  Soren finished his Script with an exclamation, and the metal spears flew through the air.  By this time several of the sailors had regained their wits and were locked in battle with the Arachas once again.  

         Soren's spears impaled the creatures, killing some as they hit, others were pinned, unable to move.  The sailors quickly dispatched those that remained and no more descended upon the ship.  Soren looked into the trees, searching for enemies.  None could be seen, and neither could he see anymore webbing strewn about the branches.  

         "I think it has passed."  Soren said, turning his head to the side as he spoke, never taking his eyes off the tree-line.  

         A voice rang out, breaking the relative silence.  

         "Well, that was something else!"  

         Soren and Dorian turned to see the captain walking over, covered in the blue-green blood from the Arachas.  

         "Yes, it really was." Replied Soren, giving Dorian a harsh look as he did.  

         His friend shrugged his shoulders as if he had forgotten to tie his shoes.  

         "I about tossed my dinner all over the ship's deck!  I take it you two gentlemen forgot that we don't have quite the tolerance to Ruha as you."  

         "That is one way of putting it.  Sorry captain.  If any of your men need medical attention, I assure you we can take care of it, without making things worse."   

         "Hahaha!  Don't you worry about it.  I'm sure this isn't the first time they've lost their stomachs.  Most of these men probably spent the better part of their nights, head firmly stuck in a toilet!"  The captain laughed again as he rubbed his stomach and swept his eyes across the deck.  "You two sure know how to throw a party though, that's for sure."  

         The ship's deck was coated in the Arachas' blood, and corpses of all shapes and sizes littered the floor.  Sailors were moving about.  Some were kicking the corpses, ensuring they stayed corpses.  Others were already cleaning up, pushing the dead Arachas over the rails and into the water below.  

         "Your men don't waste time."  

         "And you don't want them to, trust me.  If these things smell up the place, you'll long for the days when a few giant spiders were your biggest problem."  The man shuddered, rubbing his arms.  "How long does this damn Ruha Sickness last?  I still can't feel my fingers and toes."  

         "It will take a while.  Some recover faster than others.  If you have any bread or crackers that will help settle your stomach."  

         "Well, I'll worry about getting this place free of these damned corpses first.  I'll pass the word along to the rest of my crew."  Grail fell silent as his gaze fell on a pile of deformed Arachas corpses.  "Thanks for the help.  I'm sure we'd have had worse than an upset stomach or two if you two hadn't jumped in."  He smiled, as he walked away.  

         Soren and Dorian both took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly, unwinding from the battle.  As he was walking away Grail turned back just before he spoke.  

         "Try to keep the magic to a minimum from now on.  I like my meals to stay right where I put em."  He laughed again as he continued to walk off.  

         "See."  Said Dorian.  "It was nothing."  Soren rolled his eyes and shook his head as he walked away, leaving Dorian standing alone.  "What?"