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Race: Saurian

Bloodline Powers: Improved Strength, Rending, Firebreath

Greater Mysteries: Fire (Noble) 4, Wind (Noble) 2, Sound (Advanced) 1

Lesser Mysteries: Heat 4, Oxygen 4, Embers 4, Pressure 4, Current/Flow 4

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“No.” Tazzaera’s voice slapped Samazzar almost as hard as her hand as she knocked the obsidian rod from his grip. “That’s for brewing potions of detonation and oils of combustion. The Dean had a meeting with the Patrician, and now every alchemist in the Academy has production quotas. Nothing too terrible for most of us, but unfortunately for me I don’t have many students and my skills translate well for warfare.”

“Ow,” Sam responded, shaking his aching hand to remove some of the sting. “The Patrician has Dussok and I working hard in the forge too. If I’m not learning from Master Pothas, I’m usually working a bellows from dawn until sun-down. The government wants a lot of arrows. It sure seems like they’re preparing for an attack, and a major one at that.”

“There’s no question about that,” Tazzaera said grimly. “The three of you weren’t here for the attack, but it was really something else. I’ve always been confident in my abilities, but that was the first time I’ve seen masters go all out. I tossed my share of fireballs into the fray, but it was hardly anything compared to the serious practitioners. I saw giants made of wood fighting back against tornados that threw cobblestones like they were pebbles; hail made of silver spikes raining from the sky only to rust into powder before it could land on the ground; shambling waves of misshapen mutants rotting into goo as their limbs fell off in the streets.”

“Even the warriors were something else, little dragon.” She shook her head, gaze distant. “I didn’t get to see any of the knights in action, but there were cloaked figures amongst the attackers that moved almost faster than the eye could follow. I saw at least one man take a full volley of arrows only to pick them out of his flesh and cast them aside like they were no more of a nuisance than brambles.”

“We were the strongest in the tribe,” the crone finished, “but that doesn’t mean much here. Practitioners are valuable, but the four of us are hardly unique, and I think I’ve seen how this city works. If we make ourselves useful to Vereton, the Patrician won’t sacrifice us without reason, but if he thinks that the City itself is at stake, he absolutely won’t hesitate to let us go. Only by becoming unique can we be sure that we won’t end up as a sacrifice to protect something of ‘vital’ importance.”

Immediately, Samazzar’s mind flashed back to his conversation with Jamise. He had tried to dismiss the man as an extremist, but at the same time, their conversation had stuck with him. A week or so after his return to Vereton, rumors had spread that the Knights had captured a group of five day laborers from Atophel. Allegedly, the workers played some part in the plot to undermine the city’s defenses and help the attackers to escape, but Samazzar still had his doubts.

He honestly didn’t know what would have happened if Pothas didn’t intervene. His status as an Academy student as well as his relationships with Matthus and Henry might have been enough to pull him out of his holding cell, but he’d never be sure. Jamise was intent on finding a scapegoat for the tragedy in order to protect the City, and Samazzar was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“I know,” he finally said, voice so quiet it was barely audible over the crackling fireplace. “I’m strong enough to deal with ordinary bandits, but it isn’t always going to be normal folk that I’m fighting. I need enough power to tangle with practitioners and monsters. Those are the real threats.”

Pain blossomed in Samazzar’s right leg as the Crone rapped her walking stick loudly against his shin.

“None of that elitism,” she chided. “You might be taller than me now, but I remember when you barely came up to my shoulder. Despite that, you killed monsters far deadlier than you. Sometimes by using your head, and sometimes by getting lucky.”

“Remember, little dragon,” Tazzaera continued severely, “a human with a crossbow doesn’t need to be stronger than you to kill you. They just need to be lucky. The fewer times you have to roll the dice, the more likely you are to live to a ripe old age and have dozens of clutches of eggs. I know that arrogance is a part of who you are, but don’t let it lead to you taking unnecessary chances.”

“I’m not arrogant,” Sam replied, a hint of a childish whine to his voice. “I’m a dragon. We just know how strong and important we are. There’s a difference.”

“Fine, dragon,” the Crone said with a snort and a roll of her eyes. “You’ve spent weeks hammering away in that forge. If you’re so strong and important, show me how you’ve learned to play with fire.”

Samazzar’s face lit up into a smile, and he reached with a scaled hand toward the fireplace. A ball of flame separated itself from the crackling hearth and floated across the room like a will-o’-the-wisp, bobbing slightly as it landed in Sam’s outstretched hand.

“No embers,” she remarked approvingly. “Not even any sparks. An admirable demonstration of your control, Samazzar.”

Tazzaera stepped nearer, her cane clicking against the wooden floor as she leaned toward Sam in order to get a closer look at the ball of flames.

“It’s still fluctuating a little,” the Crone noted before pulling her head back. “Not quite perfect, but you’re getting there.”

“But the fire keeps dying,” Sam replied, transforming the ball into a disc above his open hand. “Without fuel it gutters out, and the only way I’m able to keep a constant shape is by amplifying the mystery. If I push too hard-”

A flare of light and heat burst from his hand, spitting embers and smoke everywhere as the flames reached up into the air before dissipating like a mirage as they ran out of magical energy.

“-so I have to keep a careful balance,” he continued with a shrug. “If I don’t focus my will on making the fire ‘bigger,’ it will just fade away, and outside factors like the wind and how air moisture impact how much magic I need to invest in maintaining the fire. It’s really hard for me to keep the borders of the fire constant while fighting the constant ebb and flow of environmental factors.”

“Oh I remember the struggle, boy,” Tazzaera responded with a chuckle. “The fourth level, being a senior student, of the noble mystery of fire is often when you’re considered halfway to being a magus. You cannot create fire from nothing yet, but you can shape and grow it, meaning that you are actually a threat in magical combat. Because of that, it is one of the first times that there is a formalized training and assessment scale for practitioners.”

She reached out, taking hold of Samazzar’s wrist and rotating it toward her. With a tap of his mind he rotated the disc of flame so that it was now perpendicular to the ground, barely a pace away from the Crone Tazzaera’s muzzle.

“What my master taught me,” she said, nodding as she looked over the flicker of firelight coming from Samazzar’s open palm a second time, “is that there are three stages of control at the senior student level. The first is creating flames that spit live embers, starting nearby objects on fire. Once a practitioner can exert enough mastery to eliminate embers, the next step is making sure that their magic doesn’t create sparks.”

“Finally,” Tazzaera continued, tapping Sam on the wrist before withdrawing her hand. “We have the step you’re on. Controlling your fire well enough that it remains constant without any pulses or fluctuations. Once you can handle that, it’s almost a sure sign that you have enough knowledge of the mystery to move on to another baptism and advance.”

She walked away from Samazzar, groaning slightly as she lifted herself up onto the cushioned stool she taught her classes from. After a moment of adjusting her tail behind her, the Crone spoke up again.

“Each step along the way signifies a major increase in efficiency. The more tightly you can control the fire, the less energy you are wasting on embers and tweaking the magic itself. I’m sure you’ve spent plenty of time studying the mystery with your blacksmith friend, but you shouldn’t neglect improving your control. As you said, at some point you’re going to end up fighting a practitioner or a monster with serious bloodline magic, and at that point the ability to exercise your will quickly and efficiently could save your life.”

“But how do I work on it?” Sam asked. “I can feel myself making gains by working with fire in the forge, but that process is fairly slow. I already know most of the basics about the mystery, and I’m starting to get the feeling that the only way to make serious progress is to push myself. It’s like I need to start working with extreme heat, or maybe exotic fuels if I want to make another breakthrough.”

“You aren’t wrong, little dragon,” Tazzaera said, a half smile on her withered face. “The more you advance, the harder it becomes to take the next step forward. For me, ordinary fire doesn’t do anything at this stage. Instead I need to explore new fuels, accelerants and oxygen mixtures. Lately, I’ve found that distilling hallucinogenic serums infused with the essence of fire will put me in a dream-like state where I’ve been making great strides. Before this silly conflict interrupted my research, I could feel myself approaching the junior journeyman tier.”

“Wow!” Samazzar said excitedly. “That would be a big improvement, I know you’ve been stuck at lesser completion for a long time.”

The Crone winced before smiling at him once again. Her reply was as dry as the fire bleached wood of her desk.

“I forgot how you can cut a woman to the quick with absolutely nothing but the best intentions. It’s true that I was stagnating in the tribe, but that was a bit of a sore spot for me. Duromak didn’t give me access to any resources, and even if he did, I doubt that I would have been able to source the ingredients I would need for the serums. Here in the Vereton, I’ve given up some freedom, but in exchange I have access to the ingredients and library I need to actually set my feet back on the path of advancement.”

“But you’re back where you belong,” Sam responded, his cheerfulness unabated. “That alone deserves celebration. As soon as I get back from this scouting expedition with Adam, we should have a cake. I’m not sure why humans like them so much, but from what I’ve heard they’re apparently the best food to commemorate happy occasions.”

“Thank you for the thought,” Tazzaera said, “but it is a bit premature. Unfortunately, all essential resources are being redirected toward the defense effort. If you want to help me out, you could look into getting me autumn maple sap and sun lotus petals. The two of them have small amounts of fire and light energy, and I can combine them with more common ingredients to create the serums.”

“Of course,” Samazzar agreed. “I already talked with Adam and we were going to be gathering alchemical resources anyway. I can add your two ingredients to the list.”

“Perfect,” the Crone replied. “When you get back, I’ll walk you through the process for making the serum. It probably won’t be perfect for you. After all, at the higher levels almost every practitioner uses some level of alchemy to enhance their ability to sense the mysteries. Unfortunately the process is often very personal. Low level magi can share notes and tips, but you will almost certainly need to tweak the recipe. Once you finally surpass me, I’d be surprised if you didn’t have your own set of supplements that barely resemble anything that I’ve given to you.”

“I’ll make sure to keep using the serum for nostalgia, if not utility then,” Sam responded with a quick wink, dismissing the flames atop his hand with a snap of his fingers. “Anyway, Adam wanted us to leave on the scouting mission at first light. Unless there’s anything else, I should get back to my room to pack. I don’t want to run out of food on the trip. The last time that happened, Dussok made me hunt to feed the entire group for two whole days.”

“Wait,” Tazzaera called out, holding up a single clawed hand. “Before you leave the city, I wanted to pass an exercise on to you. You’re close to being ready for a baptism Samazzar. It’s just out of your grasp. If you train hard over the next week or so, you’ll probably be ready.”

“You know how it is, little dragon.” The Crone held up a hand, fire springing to life from nothing in her scaled palm. “It’s impossible to know when the circumstances might align to allow for a baptism. Sometimes, it’s impossible to carry a wonder of nature home to utilize it in a controlled environment and you have no choice but to consume it then and there in order to fuel your breakthrough. It’s always better to be ready before you wander the wilderness. It is much better to put the work in now than to be forced to pass by an opportunity later.”

Samazzar nodded, eyes bright as he stared at the sphere of flame in Tazzaera’s hand. It was perfectly round, unblemished and without a hint of flickering. She hadn’t been lying, her control over the mystery was smooth and impeccable.

She smirked at him, causing the flame to stretch into a thread that wove its way around her claws, dancing and flowing until it returned to its original position in a fist-sized ball above her palm.

“Still got it,” Tazzaera said smugly. “Now watch closely.”

Under Sam’s attentive gaze, the flames flattened from a sphere into a disc. Gradually the surface thinned until it was about as thick as Samazzar’s smallest finger, all without a single flicker. Then, the center of the circle dissipated, leaving a ring of flames hovering over Tazzaera’s hand.

With a flick of her wrist, the wheel began to spin, its light even and without blemish. It picked up speed until Samazzar was pretty sure it was moving as fast as a horse at full gallop.

She closed her claw, making a fist and dismissing the flames. In an instant, Samazzar went from almost hypnotized by the tight spiral of her magic to blinking as he tried to acclimate himself to the suddenly darkened room.

“That’s it,” the Crone continued, rubbing her hands together. “Increase the surface area of your magic as much as possible and rotate it, all while keeping as tight of control as possible. Quickest way to master fine control over the mystery that I’ve ever been able to discover.”

Samazzar nodded slowly, his eyes thoughtful as he stared past Tazzaera and at the crackling fireplace. He reached out a hand, summoning another ball of fire to himself.

“This is much harder than it looked,” he said absently as the sphere flattened, flickering noticeably before turning into a lumpy ring. “There’s resistance everywhere that the fire touches the air. It feels like I’m fighting the entire natural world to try and keep the circle consistent.”

“That’s because you are,” Tazzaera replied with a chuckle. “Increasing the surface area on its own would cause the difficulty to blossom. By spinning the circle as well, the exercise is almost too difficult for your current skill level. That said, it’s compact and doesn’t use much energy, meaning that you can keep trying until you figure it out or give yourself a migraine.”

The ring hovering above Samazzar’s hand spun once, a noticeable wobble marring its orbit. In its second rotation it tipped sideways, breaking cohesion and melting into a blob of flame as Sam lost control of it.

He let the fire fade as he looked back up to the Crone, a massive grin on his face.

“Thanks, Crone Tazzaera,” Sam gushed happily. “I haven’t tried anything this hard in months. I could practically feel myself getting better as I spun the fire. I think you’re right, a couple days of this and-

“Oh hush,” she cut him off with a smile. “I had the same reaction when my master taught it to me. But for now, don’t you have some packing to do? I’d hate for you to get stuck hunting for the entire expedition again.”