Interlude- A Place in this World

The mountains were cold and dry. Nothing like the dense, wet and hot jungles of his birth. The absence of the ever present smell of jasmine and rotting vegetation was a continual irritant. Like waking up and finding that you were missing a toe. Sure he had others, but the absence was noticed.

Despite that, the clear, crisp bite of the wind had its own charm. The seductive scent of brugmansia replaced the jasmine at these heights. Forever beckoning to the unwary, and plain deadly to any foolish enough to cave in. Their sap caused hallucinations and death. Only the night flying bats seemed immune, reveling in the scents and spreading their seeds far and wide.

That was as good an analogy of this place as any. Potent, attractive and deadly, but only to those who don’t know their place.

A shame then, that Garka had no use for ‘place’ or predetermined paths. He’d awakened to a world that was so much bigger and there could be no putting genie back in the bottle. He had no place, nor would he find a new place, but stealing another's for a time was possible. So he waited, though his stomach clawed at his backbone. He waited and he watched.

Watched the massive, long legged, short faced bears devour entire berry bushes at a sitting with a side of anything living they happened upon. Watched the beady eyed culpeo, the foxes, sneak and connive to steal the bear's leavings, even as they preyed on the massive population of rabbits.

Rabbits, such an odd thing. Completely defenseless, prey for anything with a taste for meat yet still it thrived at these heights.

Tasted excellent as well. Saliva threatened to drip from his muzzle. Not yet. The species might thrive, but individual members were downright suicidal. Running off cliffs, inot bears or poisonous plants. And dragging any would be predators down with them.

Perhaps, they are not so defenseless afterall? How odd that suicide was a defense.

There were no bears in sight, no foxes to fight with him over prey, still he waited. The most dangerous predator might still be about. He did not fear the bears. At least no more then common sense dictated. They were kings here, as long as he did not act against their dignity he would remain beneath their notice. Even should he accidentally transgress he had a better than fair chance at survival. They were surprisingly fast on their feet for creatures so large, but that speed came at the expense of maneuverability. While he could change directions at the drop of a leaf and climb whatever trees he chose.

He did not fear the foxes. Though cunning and savage they were not his match, nor did they move in sufficient numbers to threaten him. No, foxes were no threat to anything but his sensitive nose.

The final predator he did fear. It came without warning and left without recourse.

Eagles.

If the bear was king, were they emperors? Or merely kings of the untouchable sky? Either way a royal would have his due. Garka would not allow it to be him. So he waited. Waited for the royal to fill his belly first. Waited despite the pains of hunger and the temptations of the foolish bunnies.

He waited.

But some day, he promised himself. He would dine on those bears and pick his teeth with eagle feathers.

They had their place in this world.

But Garka, he had no such restraints.

Chapter 11

Time flies when you’re having fun, and in this case it went damn near supersonic. Days bled into a week as a sudden moment of inspiration led him to completely strip out the dream subsection and rework it. Frustrating to waste all that effort, but also cathartic. Each change was a result of a better idea and if all his extra work could be for such an excellent reason he would die a happy man.

The honest truth was most reworks were due to him screwing something up. Precision was the target, but he was but mortal and usually missed. He tried not to take it to heart, he only had 12 years worth of training… only. It mostly didn’t work, but the results did fuel his continued growth.

It was like the meeting said, the first step was always: “Hello, my name is X and I am an addict.” Without being willing to admit to mistakes it wasn’t possible to learn from them. Many, with just a wave of their hands, would say something like ‘I did excellent… for my age/experience/condition’.

Utter rubbish!

You either did an excellent job or not. No bull shit excuses or ego saving exceptions. There was only ignorance. Assuming that you did a great job because you didn’t know any way to do it better. That happened to Timothy, all the time in fact. But it still wasn’t an excuse. When he did learn a better way, or had one pointed out to him, then he would go back over his earlier works and rip them to shreds.

It was one reason he had to be so damn careful as a teacher. What worked for him might drive many of them to suicide! They were young yet and most weren’t quite sure what they wanted out of life. While Timothy already had his priorities firmly entrenched. The most important thing was the Magic. Not how people viewed him, not feeling like a big impressive man, not stomping on arrogant young masters in face slapping extravaganzas.

If you could make that decision and, even harder, stick to it, then the ego damage from acknowledging how bad your earlier works were was a welcome sacrifice in exchange for growth. A painful sacrifice, the ego was no small thing to spite, but worth it.

Still, it was early yet for magic. Even moments of brilliance and coupled with months of planning could only delay the construction so much. Perhaps in a hundred years he might have spells that would take years to prepare… but it sounded pretty damn far fetched from his current perspective. Two and a half weeks was already a record breaker. Even if that ignored the planning time.

All the prep work was done and the post prep-work checks, days of going over every enchantment, timing rune, filter and linkage was complete. Even the rather extravagant backup plans in case of backlash, miscast and/or interruptions were prepared and ready. No less than 6 of them, for every conceivable problem he could wargame out. Then a few more generic protections that might work for things he hadn’t thought of.

Maybe.

“Murphy proofed.” He muttered under his breath. It had taken him a significant chunk of time, but it wasn’t wasted. Both form the survival standpoint and from the simple fact that the newly carved runes still needed time to fully charge. But that was then, this was now. And it was as ready as it was going to be.

“Why do you insist on invoking me even when you know better?” A soft voice inquired from beside him.

Timothy’s heart nearly leaped up his throat even as his body instinctively turned towards the source of the voice. An ill fated turn that had him tripping over his own feet and falling towards his oh so neatly prepared enchantments.

Fuck! Instinct, that stupid beast, would have had him scrambling and carelessly touching delicate things that shouldn’t be touched. And like any other animal, squirm he did. Instinct saw fit to his hard work but prior planning saved it. A simple motion ward placed to prevent any dropped tools or spilled coffee from causing problems stopped his fall with a brutal rudeness about 8 inches from the floor.

The enchantment was unharmed...And he was thinking again instead of pointlessly reacting. A simple sweep of a motion enchantment collected the droplets of blood from a nose that didn’t feel broken even as two other defensive enchantments ballooned out protectively. He spun against the floor's protective layer even as he lined up several particularly nasty offensive enchantments and the offensive wards built into this part of the tower.

Fighting a wizard in his own tower? Whoever was here was in for a rude awakening… Although his ability to sneak up on Timothy might dispute that assumption.

It may have taken a second or two, outrageously, perhaps fatally long in most situations, but he was at last turned and prepared… for nothing. Nothing visible at least. Nothing visible with normal sight… Duh. He popped his visual level up a level to look at lurked behind, or below or on top for all the sense directions made, the physical.

Ahh. Shit.

Floating indistinctly in the mass of background chaos lurked an ever changing form. One moment cloven hoofed, horned and red skinned (optional goatee, monocle and top hat included) the next Solid black with three glowing vertical lines for eyes then slipping through a dizzying collage of mythical creatures, not all of them the apex of evil, but all having that certain flavor of punishment.

“Ahh, and how might I call you?”

“Hmph, at least you know better than to ask my name. My last contact was less… wise. But I don’t have the habit of answering questions that the asker already knows. You called me.”

It took him several seconds, he was ashamed to admit. The obvious was right in front of him, but the sudden shock had disrupted his thought processes. So much for no excuses.

“Murphy.” Well, he had been expecting something of the sort to happen… Just not yet and most fucking certanly not IN HIS FUCKING TOWER! Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Anger is the Timothy killer. The little stupid that inspires total idiocy. Or something like that.

“Indeed. That said, I likely would have shown up anyway. The intricacies of your work call out to me across the worlds. I’m here to see if you passed the test of precision, or in failing that test at least prepared for failure.”

“...That doesn’t sound like you are here to sabotage me?” That was… unexpected but pleasantly so.

“Sabotage? No, no, no. Why would I spend effort to sabotage you? You humans are quite sufficiently talented at doing that on your own. I’m merely the arbiter of your fears. Your fears… They are quite interesting. I expect a certain amount of dread from an appearance. You started that way, but it’s bled into.. Simple curiosity? I wonder if one of your nicknames has to do with cats?

No one had mentioned it, but he wasn’t exactly wrong. “Saying satisfaction brought it back would be cliche, no?”

“Quite.”

Bother that, pointless discussions were pointless. There were so many more interesting things to dive into. Like what exactly this phantasm was. “I won’t ask any more about who, but can you say ‘what’ you are? I see aspects like punishment, pain and disaster when I look at you… But, I also see a once burnt hand withdrawn from a flame..” Not just that, the 4 cornered hat of education, the rapped knuckles, dunce hat, weighted dice and so much more. None stayed around for long and for every aspect he managed to pick out there were a dozen that slipped by without his recognition. Very like a person, only more… temporary. Human aspects slipped in and out of focus with their emotional state and physical condition, but they didn’t fully dissipate, merely slid into the fore or background as needed. Murphy’s aspects appeared fully formed from nothing, existed for a few moments then dissipated back to whence it came. Chaotic and ever changing, yet following a set of general guidelines… Perhaps?

“Ahem!” A cleared throat brought him out of his focused fugue. The demonic, no Murphy’s, intent briefly pulsed towards his still readied spells. Odd considering they were not physical things that could be pointed to, at least not yet. Yet ‘point’ he did. Fascinating!

“It’s a bit rude to talk with a raised weapon is it not?”

AH, yes. That was what those patterns were prepared for. Right! Deep breaths.

He took several moments to fully disperse the raised energy. Quieting the offensive wards and settling the partially activated spells back into quiescence. Abandoning a half made spell was a good way to spend a day in bed with a massive headache. Backlash was never a joke.

“Ah, there. All better.” Timothy muttered, a bit red faced with embarrassment.

“....” It stared at him, he could almost feel the unspoken really? Impressive considering the current form didn’t have eyes (but it still had the monocle?). Intent was such a useful tool to those who mastered its subtleties… Subtleties, he began to pay attention to that ever loquacious intent.

“Now then, if you're not here for sabotage and you seem to embody, pardon the phrase, something of education, warning and punishment… I got nothing. What are you here for?”

“Why to see if you have thought this through. I will merely watch… and what could go wrong, will. If you’ve been careful enough, planned deep enough then you will receive the just deserts of such precision and forethought. If you haven’t… why then you will also receive the just deserts of such lack of precision and forethought.”

“...I’m not sure what to say to that.” Not that ‘saying’ was required. It was as he suspected. Murphy hadn’t ‘said’ a word since he arrived. Merely pressed his intent against Timothy’s aura and allowed Timothy’s own mind to interpret. What did it say about him that he expected a demon to be snarky and speak with a high class british accent? Nevermind that phsycobabble!

He could think about it later, for now the contents of that message needed to be considered. The just deserts for the care he’d taken, hmm? If he complained wasn’t that just admitting that he lacked confidence in his own work? Humility was one thing, but cowardice was another. He’d spent too much time and effort on this project already to simply back out in fear.

He wasn’t one to trust random entities that appeared out of nowhere either...But! That heinous but. He wasn’t sure it was even possible to lie with intent. Pushing out what you ‘think’ and what you ‘want’ onto the surroundings… Perhaps someone else had found a way to do that, but Timothy certainly hadn’t.

So be it. He flicked a few wards to full activity. Ignoring the amused indifference of his uninvited houseguest… or actually he might have been invited afterall...Dammit! He still activated several defensive wards designed to combat the spirit arts from Paradise. Just because they were friendly now… Ya. He had no idea as to their effectiveness against Murphy, (considering some more mild forms had already been active before this started) but he didn’t have anything else around that was likely to do anything.

That actually made him feel better. If it was beyond his control anyway, and it was far too late to prepare for it, then what was there to worry about? The die had already been cast, and it was time to see if he’d sufficiently rigged the game.

With a few deep fortifying breaths, he stepped over the carefully inked (carved and filled really, but who was counting?) lines to the casters circle. Letting go of his hopes and fears as he did so. They were immaterial to the current task. Distractions that he could ill afford.

Time for action.

All it took was a nudge in the right place, and the dominos started to fall.

From the outermost aspect filters, and the isolation circle around Timothy (and Murphy) to the aspect purge that removed all current influences from the room. Then in carefully timed tiers the altars released their aspects and directed the aspected mana flows forward , sieved and aligned to the cauldrons for mixing. Preparing the paint for his masterpiece. Even if, in later years, he would laugh at the silly bull painting on a cave wall. How dare he presume to make fine art? It would happen, but it didn’t matter. For now he could only give his all.

He watched carefully, following the mixing flows with every drop of mental strength he had, not to look for failures, though he would notice them if they appeared, but to attempt to learn. Every major spell was an opportunity. To see how the world actually worked compared to how he expected it to. Small deviations would constantly occur. Well under the level that would cause errors or issues, but still something to consider. Proof that his current models and assumptions were only that. Models and assumptions. Approximations of reality that worked as guidelines for now, but would likely need to be refined as he pressed deeper into the depths of magic.

A valve like linkage failed with little fanfare and the backup filter took over limiting the aspect flow with even less. He noticed and made a note to find out why later, but didn’t stress it. Things would happen, in life or with spells. That's why there were backups.

The mixing was progressing well, and the cauldrons began to pass on their burden to the finale. The pain in the head 6 linked finale. A synchronized spark occurred in each carefully worked brazier, then the flames leapt into existence, pouring scented smoke into the air even as the now well mixed and intent laden flows were applied with a careful, exacting precision at great speed. Precision and speed that Timothy himself was not capable of. That’s why he made an enchantment for it. Weeks working out a design, days spent casting (and recovering from the casting) and yet more days going over it to make sure the results were flawless. All crammed into 2 minutes of casting.

Preparation was king!

Nearly a thousand small pre carved runes on the fans frame began to fill themselves with multicolored mana flows. Here a bit of blue shading all the way to violet, there a epileptics nightmare of red, green, red, green. This was it, mana and intent were present, with a nearly audible *crack* the mana crystallized. Like gems grown precisely to those symbolic shapes the resulting massive fan no longer appeared like a ‘created’ object. Joints had grown together even as the feather melded to the frame in one cohesive whole. A whole that appeared like it grew from a plant to look that way, like some exotic leaf rather than anything that came from the hands of man.

God I love my work!

His head fell back on his neck and he let out a long, shuddering sigh. The euphoria flooded him as it always did when difficult projects finally made their way to a successful conclusion.

It wasn’t fully complete. He still had to test it. Magic, even successfully cast magic, didn’t always result in the exact results you planned. It was too organic, two wish dependent for that. The random inner voice, often unheard, could completely derail a project. But that was for later, for now he gloried in the feel of the fundamental force of the universe dancing to his will.

Nirvana.

“Ahem, do I need to leave you for some private time?”

Annoyance fought to corrupt his euphoric mood. Oh ya, the visitor. “...Yes. Yes you should.”

Soft laughter echoed in his ears.

He sighed, the moment was ruined anyway. “Do you have something for me then? Because I just made this enchantment my bitch.”

Sarcasm tingled in goosebumps down his back. “Congratulations, I give you a completed fan, just dripping with magic.”

“...No, I gave me that.”

“True. Congratulations, you didn’t fail?”

“That’s it?”

“Almost.”

“After all that BS about just deserts, that’s it?”

More seriously, “Come now, don’t be like that. I gave you two fantastic gifts. You are just too busy feeling self pity to recognize them.“

“But..”

His intent surged forward, interrupting Timothy’s half formed complaint.

“I give you the certainty that you completed your spell on your own. No luck was involved. Or at least no good luck. I also guarantee that your precision and skill were both at an adequate level. Just think of what would happen years from now when you attempt something much more complicated. Where small, seemingly unimportant mistakes might backlash and take your life. This is my task, I punish the small survivable mistakes now. If you learn from them, then you won’t repeat those mistakes when it’s no longer survivable.”

“A bit condescending don’t you think?” Yes little Timmy, the nasty tasting fish oil I said was a treat really is. You will thank me when you grow up for the nasty taste I made you deal with today! Asshole!

“I came from the minds of you humans, if I’m a condescending asshole, who’s fault is that?”

Timothy sighed, closing his eyes in an effort to push away his annoyance. Didn’t he just think about how having his mistakes pointed out was a good thing? That he wouldn’t allow his ego to interfere with good advice and learning? He should be grateful. Laziness should be punished and precision rewarded. Despite the source.

“Thank you then.” It physically hurt to say it, his jaw muscles were tight enough to bounce a coin off of. But it hurt even more inside to force himself to believe it. No one likes things being done ‘for their own good.’ Even more so when it actually is for their own good.

The hurt doubled when he looked up and realized the entity was no longer there. His moment of maturity, wasted.

He would be an adult, calm and reserved about this… Eventually.

Curses and vile invitives echoed about the rooms of the tower for quite some time.