A mage's pain

[AelrynBloodmoon]

Behind the imperturbably calm, peaceful mask that Aniril wore over his spell book- a mask it had taken him decades to perfect- thoughts and memories filtered through his consciousness, every detail vividly clear.
Then he turned the page to a scrawl of unintelligible symbols to most... in the language of the arcane, those symbols were the instructions to a chain lightning spell... and one very vivid memory flashed through his mind as he began committing the spell to memory for the day.



Aniril didn't really understand what had just happened immediately. One moment, he was laughing, twirling through the grass and trees with Saerali, four brightly colored orbs of light weaving patterns around them filling the air with her laughter, and his brow knitted in concentration, and the next moment a crossbow bolt whizzed over his head... one that very much lacked the qualities of the illusion he was manipulating...as evidenced by the thud of the armored elf hitting the ground behind them in a pool of his own blood.

Saerali's laughter turned to a scream as the two children stood staring at the fallen guard, and another crossbow bolt soared overheard, taking Aniril's mother Trenia through the throat as she ushered the children back to a safer position. Aniril stared at her in shock as her blood dripped onto his face and hands, a sad but loving look on her features as she shoved the two children with the last of her strength to stand within the ring of Silver Knights.

Then the Hells loosed themselves in an otherwise peaceful little clearing near Silverymoon...

Aniril stared at his hands, covered in his mother's blood where he had tried, instinctively, to stop the blood from pouring out of her throat, vainly. He was young still... but he understood death. Saerali's sobs beside him, the way she clung to him, didn't quite pierce the numbness he felt beginning to envelop him. The sounds of blades being drawn, of orders being shouted, it all went unnoticed as he stared at his mother's body, laying face down in the dirt like some discarded piece of trash. A sob started to rise in his chest...

And then his ear-tip twitched, at a familiar sound. His father's voice, chanting a spell... and behind that sound, another voice, chanting a spell too... from behind everything- A man, wearing dark purple robes with black trim... a Sharran. His father was busy weaving his next spell, and unaware of the threat behind them all... Saerali had followed Aniril's gaze, and shrieked. Pushing her away, down and towards the wagon for shelter, the sob left him, and he leapt forward, pointing his finger and uttering a single harsh syllable, a jolt of electricity leaping from his fingertip and singing the man's cheek.... it was nothing, just a cantrip... but it served its purpose, interrupting the man's spell as a blue pearl of energy had begun to form in the air in front of him.

The man turned to him, surprise replacing the sneer of disdain on his features. "Insolent whelp! If you are so eager to die, so be it!"

The mage lifted his hand and pointed a wand at Aniril, speaking a command word. Two opalescent bolts of force sprang from the wands tip and slammed into Aniril's chest, the first knocking the wind out of him, and the second knocking him back into the wagon, his head cracking against wagon, before everything went white...

White....the soft white glow that filtered through the blankness of his senses, revealing a pretty face clouded with worry and tears... Saerali... what...

The events flooded back to him. He jolted upright, and hit his head on the underside of the wagon, stunning himself for a moment. As he shook off the effects of the thump, Saerali clung to his arm.

"She must've healed me," he thought to himself... she'd healed him of so many cuts and scrapes. He had a habit of standing up to bullies bigger than him. For a brief moment, Aniril was amused by the similarity between what had just happened and those instances, and then his eyes fell to his mother, still laying there in the dirt. The humor left him, and he searched, his gaze seeking out his father.

There, fifty or so paces out south of them, near the tree line, his father and the purple-robed mage traded spell after counterspell. Balls of electricity crackled into life in the air to be dismissed, then so too did the air begin to shimmer with the image of an inferno appear around his father, before the image was waved away, a shadow illusion dispelled. His father was isolated from the others by a line of purple-robed men, all unarmed but fighting as well as any bladedancer he'd ever seen fight with a sword.

It was inevitable, then, one would suppose, that one or the other of the mages had to succumb... and one did. The purple-robed Sharran spoke arcane words of malice, his face contorting in a savage glee as the spell took hold unobstructed by his father's attempt at dismissing it, running the air around him through with a blast of negative energy that sent his father to his knees. Before Aniril even had time to shout, the mage drew a wickedly curved, bejeweled dagger, and rushed forward, plunging the blade into his father's neck....

((To be continued, maybe, if I ever get over my nasty writer's block))

[Chyelle]

*sends the cure for writer's block in the form of encouragement*

[AelrynBloodmoon]

His father hit the dirt hard, hand clutching at his collar where the blade was imbedded into his shoulder. Even Aniril understood, from his vantage point, that the spurt of blood the blade made as it sank in was a bad sign. Something precious and fragile inside of him- it felt like it was crumpling.

His world shrank, and it was if he was viewing things from overhead. His sister wailing, his father desperately waving to nullify the next spell thrown at him without a chance for respite. The Silver Knights held at bay by a line of purple-robed monks.

'Mystra- I know those colors. The Sharrans. Father spends much of his time foiling them, protecting others from their schemes. Why? How is this fair? I was to learn from him, follow in his footsteps... what is this that I'm seeing before me? Must I watch my dreams be crushed? I would rather fight! Help me fight them!'

Aniril was ripped out of his reverie with a great start of surprise, as a voice not his own filtered through his consciousness.

'Those are bold words, child- and just how do you propose I help you? There are rules about just how far we gods may interfere with your lives, you know- you ask no small thing, even with the life your father has led.'

Aniril only let the shock overwhelm him for a moment- perhaps he had lost it? It didn't matter. If that was the case, he was dead. Perhaps it was a trick of the other mage? That didn't matter either, for the same reason. With a sudden clarity of purpose, Aniril responded.

'Power. They are your enemies- if things keep up like this, we will die anyway. Use me as a vessel, just for a moment. If I die, then it will be trying to take them with me. I volunteer...no, I swear to make myself a tool to fight your enemies, to protect others from those who would abuse your Art over those without power - your will shall be my command, my Lady- all I ask in exchange is the power to protect the people here and now- I shall learn to wield such power properly in time, I shall devote myself to my studies. If I cannot survive that power- then so be it.'

The mage across from his father sneered and drew a sword, advancing. For Aniril, it all happened in slow motion.

'Are you sure you wish to swear such a thing, Aniril? I can be a demanding Lady, confusing and whimsical. Your passion is real, your love of the Art true- I can accept your pledge- but think about the risks for a moment- what it is you're saying. Even in the short term, do you understand the risk of wielding such power without proper control? Will you still wish to uphold your oath even if it goes horribly wrong?'

For a brief eternity, it was as if time had stopped- as if Mystra had granted him this one respite to make a decision that would affect him for the rest of his possibly very short life without harassment. Aniril's gaze fell on his father- bleeding badly, and having just waved away another spell assault.

A life in service to opposing Mystra's enemies and stopping abuse of Magic over others... to actively pursue fights of this sort on a regular basis- as a cause. Could he do such a thing?

He saw his mother, laying in the dirt, the warmth having already began fleeing her body.

Could he become strong enough to stop that from happening again?

Then he looked behind him, to his little sister Saerali, her vibrant, beautiful face marred by dirt and tears, by fear and sorrow. He found his resolve in that gaze.

He would be strong enough, or die trying to save what was left of his family.

'I have never been so sure of anything in my short life, My Lady. Please. While I still have time to make the decision mean something- even if it goes horribly wrong, I will only be thankful for the chance to do anything at all.'

Suddenly, a tender, ecstatic feeling of warmth flooded him - and it rapidly turned blazing hot and painful as magic raced through his mind and body- his nerve endings seared raw as a bolt of lightning suddenly shot out from him and struck the purple-robed mage in the chest, sending him hurtling through the air into one of the monks.

'...I will be as gentle as I can be, Aniril... I'm sorry.'

The lightning didn't stop- Aniril hovered in the air, a glowing nimbus of magical power, his lithe form beginning to contort and thrash in agony- as bolt after bolt cascaded from his body across the clearing.

When the first silver knight was struck by a stray bolt that left little more than a smoldering pile of ash, the rest quickly found cover, dragging Aniril's father away from the epicenter, along with a girl who looked at her brother with undisguised terror.

'It's...not stopping. I'm burning up. Hot. It won't stop, I can't stop itohgodsitburns...'

"Brother!"

Perhaps her voice penetrated the darkness encroaching on Aniril's consciousness, or perhaps it was a final boon from Mystra that day, an apology- a balm to the physical agony, for the emotional agony that would follow could have no easy cure.

'...Saerali... it's so... warm.'

With a weary smile, Aniril's screaming stopped. The lightning didn't.

[Chyelle]

Good to see you writing!  Sad ending. 

[AelrynBloodmoon]

((Not quite done yet! ))

Aniril knew something was off when he opened his eyes. He felt warm, as if he were wrapped in a blanket.

That was not what tipped him off, however. What brought him awareness of his... unusual situation, was the fact that as he looked around him, he was enveloped in a soft blue glow, cascading from a sea of endless stars.

The second, more worrying factor, was that as he opened his mouth to speak, no sound came out. A wave of raw pain consumed his throat, before it was washed away by the same gentle warmth that cocooned the rest of him.

'You shouldn't try to speak yet- your throat is still damaged from the screaming, and your voice is not needed here.'

He looked around in confusion- he didn't see anyone- and the voice had been in his head, like when he'd been in the clearing...

He tried to sit up as the events prior came rushing back to him, but a gentle pressure on his chest stopped him, and a glowing, multi-colored orb blinked brightly in front of him, moments ago mistaken for one of the many stars. It was a lantern archon- his father had made contracts with several in the past, and Aniril had been present to witness the occasion once.

"Am..." the question was cut short by a painful spasm in his throat. Berating himself for failing to listen properly, he closed his mouth. No words. He didn't have to finish the question as a thought, though.

'Are you dead? No, not exactly. You came very close, though. For your peace of mind, think of this like a dream that is not.'

The confusion that ensued in his mind was met with soft tinkling bells- the archon's laughter. As pleasant as the sound was, it did not put him at ease. Mindful of his throat this time, he gave a mental voice to his next question.

'My sister... my father... are they okay?'

Aniril did not voice questions about his mother- his father, at least, had still been alive when he'd lost consciousness, although it admittedly hadn't looked like he would live much longer.

At this particular line of questioning however, the archon's vibrant colors dimmed faintly.

'This is not the place where you should worry about such things, young one. You are here so that you may learn what is needed to uphold your oath.'

If the archon had known Aniril, it would have come as no surprise that he did not find such an answer acceptable in the least, but the calm mental voice Aniril replied with carried a sharper edge to it than one might expect for an elf of his age.

'With all due respect, I will not learn a thing until I learn of my family.'

The orb hovered, indecisive and almost apalled at Aniril's audacity- did the child understand the situation he was in? A cursory glance at the surface thoughts of his mind revealed he understood far more than most might at this point- but the answer would not bring the young elf an untainted peace.

The archon's internal debate was cut short as a pair of dark eyes surrounded by a nimbus of seven stars appeared between it and Aniril, gazing down at the elf compassionately.

'Tell him, Aeofriise. His family is a part of his reason for making the oath- he has a right to know.'

Aniril's eyes had widened. Even had she not spoken, had her presence not filled him with a sense of awe and adulation, he knew now what he had not been sure of in the fight back in the clearing- he was not crazy. He had made a pact with a goddess- his goddess.

The urge to right himself and kneel was erased by a wave of fondness that accompanied her next words.

'If I wanted to see you prostrate yourself to me, Aniril, we would be in one of my temples. Rest, listen, heal, and learn. If my word is to be your command, these are the first tasks I charge you with. Learn well, for everything you may do for me after relies heavily on it. Do you understand?'

'...No, I don't. But I will do as you bid me. Thank you, my Lady.'

'Save your thanks for now, Aniril. Shortly, you may think very differently of my boon to you. Please remember, I did warn you,' came the reply from the goddess to his mind once more, with a hint of sadness.

Nodding mutely, a sense of foreboding made his stomach feel as if it were being tied in knots despite the comforting warmth, and he shifted his gaze to Aeofriise expectantly...