Brian Pratt - The unsuspecting mage

Horror takes hold of James as his gaze falls upon what’s left of the poor guy’s jacket. The letters H-A-V-E-S… are still discernable across the remaining portion of the jacket’s back. It looked very much like a letterman’s jacket from his high school. Using the end of his walking stick he turns the torso over. Stitched in gold lettering is the name “Randle.”

His legs give out and he drops to his knees. “Oh, Seth.” Shrieking, he cries, “There was nothing I could do! ” Guilt and shame at his weakness last night leave leaves him shaking and wracked with sobs. I should have done something! Would the knowledge that it was Seth being pursued by wolves have made any difference? Ashamedly, he realizes it wouldn’t. Coward!

“Though there was nothing I could do for you last night, there is something I can do for you now.” With that, James grabs a rock and begins digging a hole, a grave for his former classmate. It takes him some time since the ground is firmly packed, but he manages to excavate a cavity large enough. He then sets about gathering the grisly task of gathering the scattered remains of Seth and lays them in the grave. When the job is complete, James covers Seth with dirt then makes a cairn of stones. Tying two sticks together with vines for a makeshift cross, he hammers it into the ground with his stone at the head of the cairn.

Taking a moment, he says a few parting words before picking up his backpack and walking stick. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to settle his shaky nerves, he sets out once more westward. Hopefully, he’ll come across this Trendle before the wolves pick up his scent. The woods no longer bring him peace as they had yesterday. Wariness and dread fill him today.

As he forges through the at times unyielding brush, James thinks about what it means that Seth had been in this world too. Could he have gone to the interview just as James had? And if so, there could be others. Thinking back to the newscast the night before taking that fateful trip to Commercial Ave, he realizes there could be at least one other person that had passed through the door marked “Private;” a girl. Could there be more?

After jumping for a third time at the loud cry of a nearby bird, James comes to the conclusion that he is going to need more than a walking stick should the wolves return. Judging by his slow rate of progress through the forest, it’s unlikely that he will break free before night comes again, and he may not remain unmolested.

Thinking about his walking stick, and how it is in many ways like a spear, he gets an idea. Pausing for a moment, he opens the book on magic and makes sure he understands what he must do. First, he forms a visualization of his desired outcome, then puts together the words. He leans his walking stick against the side of a tree, takes three steps back and says:

As straight and true as a spear can be,

Filled with the strength of an old oak tree.

Make it sharp, to penetrate steel,

And perfectly balanced for user to feel.

With the last word comes the surge of power from deep within him. He watches as the walking stick slowly changes, becoming the mirror image of his visualization. Its surface smoothes, the end on the ground rounds off while the other comes to a very fine point. When the spell runs its course, where the walking stick once stood, now stands a dark brown spear.

James waits a moment to ensure nothing else may happen, such as the spear exploding or something equally unpleasant. When nothing does, he steps forward and tests the sharpened tip with his finger. He jerks his hand back and a drop of blood wells out. Sharp, I hardly even gave it any pressure. Feeling somewhat better for having a weapon, he takes the spear and once again sets off toward the west.

What about armor, magical shields, spells of protection? As handy as having those would be, James simply didn’t wish to push his luck as far as magic goes. I’m new at this. Keep it “Simple Stupid.” Besides, he hadn’t the faintest idea how to create something like that. He didn’t know enough about how to make a suit of armor, so how could he create one with magic?

As a Dungeon Master, he had forever stymied his players when they had attempted to use wish rings. They wish for a million gold pieces, they would receive a million gold pieces fused together, usually in a very remote locale. They wish for a suit of +100 plate armor, they would receive it. But when the armor is two feet thick and weighs a ton, it doesn’t do much good.

No, he figures to come at this magic business slowly, gradually growing in proficiency over time. He only hopes this world will allow him such a luxury.

Late in the morning, he comes upon a small clearing. He pauses at the edge upon spying several rabbits. His stomach has been grumbling for the past hour, those berries hadn’t done much to satiate his hunger. As he gazes upon the rabbits, a memory of when his father had once caught and cooked a rabbit during one of their camping trips makes it even worse.

Knowing that his skill rating with a spear was probably somewhere near zero, he comes up with a spell to help his aim. Holding his spear and preparing to throw, he quietly says:

Spear of mine please strike true,

Strike the rabbit and go right through.

As the last syllable is spoken, he takes aim at the nearest rabbit, draws back his arm and throws. When the spear leaves his hand, he again feels the surge of power. The spear flies unerringly through the air to impale the rabbit. True to the words of the spell, the tip of the spear passes completely through the rabbit and embeds itself deep within the ground. The attack causes rabbits to scatter in all directions. In no time, the clearing was deserted save for the lone, dead rabbit.

Yeah, Baby! Excited, James runs over to the rabbit, watching as it kicks in its death throes. It took some doing to pull his spear from the ground. Next time, he may have to alter his wording so as to only have the spear only kill the rabbit, not pass all the way through. But what’s the difference, he had done it!

Once the spear came free, he turns his attention to the rabbit. Gazing at it, he suddenly realizes he hasn’t a clue what to do now. His only experience with this sort of thing was during the one camping trip in which his dad had caught and skinned one. Didn’t dad use his knife to remove the skin? James wishes he had spent more time watching and less time skipping rocks on the water.

The only thing he has that could be considered sharp is the spear which will be little use in skinning a rabbit. Looking around the clearing, he spies a hand-sized stone. Striking it against a larger one, the smaller stone splits in two. One half has a semi-sharp edge; it should work.

Very carefully he uses the rock to slice off the head and feet. Feeling slightly nauseated, James takes the rock and slowly peels off the skin. The rock is definitely not the best tool for the job but he eventually has a rabbit ready for the spit.

His blood soaked hands remind him of Seth, and a shudder runs through him, his gorge rising. Steady boy, don’t let the past rattle you. You did the best you could for him.

Placing the carcass on a layer of leaves, James uses dirt to rid his hands of much of the blood before gathering kindling. After clearing a site for the fire, he stacks the wood together then places bits of dried moss beneath.

Moss I placed under the wood

Ignite so I can cook my food

Hokey though his wording may be, they prove effective. The moss begins to smoke, then bursts into flame. He kneels and gently blows on the flickering flame, coaxing it higher until the kindling catches. Satisfied that the fire will continue on its own, he gathers several sticks to create a makeshift spit.

Once it’s set and the fat from the rabbit begins dripping into the fire, he relaxes against a tree trunk. Every once in a while, the far off cry of a wolf echoes through the trees. His fear of being discovered spikes each time. He definitely does not wish to spend another night in the trees, but what choice does he have?