# No title yet, just an ongoing story



## MadMickyG (Apr 28, 2017)

I started this story in a board game forum Gold Bearer and I are members of. It came about due to a character class I created.  With the need to develop the class, showing others that it could have some merit, I started writing this. Plus the fact I love to write!   No title yet, but I have quite a bit written already.  All comments welcome.

It was a bright clear day in the great city of Nuln, the sun high in the  sky as people passed by the large doors to the Mage Tower.  There were  a few people waiting idly at the base of the steps, looking anxiously at  the enormous double wooden doors.  They were waiting for something, or  possibly someone inside. They talked with each other every now and then,  before looking back at the large doors.  The intricate carvings that  covered both the doors and the surrounding archways let anyone who  looked know it was magically protected.  Glyphs and wards of differing  power covered the enormous tower from top to bottom.  They were  practical, but intricately beautiful to look at also.  Some felt like they drew your  interest, then sucked you in so you might only feel like you were  staring for a few moments.  When people stopped staring, or they were  snapped out of their 'trance', they would realise they'd been watching the magical symbols for thirty minutes or more. 

The doors burst  open.  Those that did not know and had been pulled in, were snapped out of their zombie-like state as a large group of young men and women, all dressed in elegant robes, poured out the doors like a wave.  Most were smiling and laughing. In  a mass of bodies, they flowed down the stairs.  Some were met by  those waiting, others headed home with news. As the last few trickled out, there was one young  man shuffling slowly down the stairs in his scruffy, make-shift robes.  He was the last to exit the tower, as though he didn't  want to leave.  He kept looking over his shoulder, a longing in his eyes  as he watched the large ornate doors slowly close. There was nobody there to meet him.  Nobody talked to him.   Some cast him a cursory glance before looking away, smiling as they kept  talking to their family or friends.  His young face showed deep sadness, a  disappointment that affected his entire body.  He shuffled forward like an  old man, his shoulders drooped, his eyes never leaving the ground, as he made his way toward the main city exit.  He passed through the gates to the  outer edges, where the majority of Nuln lived.  His family was on a  farm on the outer edge of the settlement that surrounded the inner city, next to the forest.  Despite his slouched frame, he  appeared in great physical shape.  His shoulders were broad, from  constant lifting.  His arms, although not huge like a barbarian or soldier, were very well toned  from the hard work farmers do day in and day out.  The sadness in his  composure and his slouch, clearly showed that he hadn't receive good  news at the end of the Wizarding Entry test.  As he turned left, on to  the road that would take him to his family's farm, he glanced back one  more time at the outer walls of the great city.  He heaved a huge sigh,  his shoulders dropping a little lower as he exhaled.  He looked at his  hands for a moment.  He turned them over, seeing the scars from his  years of farm-work.  He paid no attention to the scars, as they were as normal  to him as the hairs on his arm.  He looked at his fingers, flexing them  slightly.  The blank look on his face changed to one of puzzlement. 

"Why?"  he thought to himself, as he dropped his hands by his side and  continued shuffling forward along the road towards the farm.  He had known he was meant  to be a Wizard since he was old enough to understand what a Wizard was.   He had developed power as he got older, constantly causing accidents  on the farm.  Nothing serious, but he knew his father was annoyed. It  cost them money to repair the damage, money they didn't really have.   The farm was barely surviving.  His parents had paid for him each time  to take the test.  He knew it was more for getting him away from the  farm for a time, because he knew they didn't want him to become a Wizard. The first two tests he had  been told to try again next year, as he wasn't ready.  This year, he  had received the worst news ever. It was his third try. Because he failed again, he could not  take the test anymore.  The results had not been good, and he  knew it.  He thought of how he was going to tell his parents that all  the money they had saved to have him take the test, was wasted.  That he  would never become a Wizard.  His dream today, what he truly felt was his  destiny, had been crushed.  He put his hand in his pocket, pulling out the piece of paper he had been given by one of the Magi after the  test.  It was for a position in the Great Tower.  But it was not as an  apprentice or acolyte, it was for a scribe.  His future, his destiny  was to copy down magic spells, transcribe them on to parchment, to be  sold to adventurers.  It was good work, paid work. Plus he would be in the Great Tower.  But it was  not his destiny. At least not the destiny he wanted, the one he felt was waiting for him.  He put the piece  of paper back in to his pocket as he continued his slow shuffle toward  home.


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## MadMickyG (Apr 29, 2017)

"Reezart!" a voice called out as the young man walked the last few steps  down the long road to his family's farm. The young man looked up from  the road, seeing his mother over by the barn, waving as she called to  him.  He sighed again, realising he was moments away from having to tell  his parents he had failed in his final attempt to become a Wizard.  She  dropped a bucket she was holding and walked quickly over to him, her  smile wide as she got closer. Reezart wasn't sure if she was smiling  because she could see how depressed he was, or just that he had returned  and she was happy to see him.  Her question told him exactly why she  was smiling.

"From your happy posture, take it you didn't make it?"  she asked, toning down her smile as she waited for the unhappy news she  knew was coming.  She was glad he did not make it again, as this meant  he would stay on the farm and would never become a Wizard, or  adventurer, like her brother had done.  He would never go off and get  himself killed like her brother had done either.  This was why she was  smiling.  Reezart, however, thought she was smiling because they knew he  would fail and were happy that he did so they could keep him on the  farm, working.  He'd thought about lying to them, telling them he got  accepted and needed to leave the next day.  But both his parents were  far too clever to fall for that, especially since Reezart could never  hide disappointment very well.  He was about to say something when his  mother held up her hand.

"Don't say anything yet," she said. "Wait  till your father and brothers get back.  They should be home in a little  while."  Great.  More ribbing from his older brothers too.  They made  fun of him for wanting to be a Wizard.  But never too much.  He couldn't  control his apparently 'limited' power when he was angry.  Limited.   That's what the Wizard test had shown.  He had strong magical ability,  but it was limited.  It could be focused of course, harnessed and  developed.  But he would never be a Wizard.  There were other areas he  could work in other than scribing scrolls to parchment.  He could work  with the blacksmiths, or even the few Dwarven blacksmiths that  frequented the town, using his magic to enhance the weapons and armour  they crafted.  Or aid in the creation of clothing.  Making boots and  cloaks with extra features for the heroes and soldiers that fought the  Chaos hordes for the Empire.  But he would never be one of those heroes.   Something he had dreamed of doing as a Wizard.  Fighting with friends  by his side.  Slaying Orcs and Goblins.  Rescuing damsels.  Reezart  could see the destiny he craved so desperately, turning to smoke in  front of him.

"Sure Mom," he said as he headed to the house, wanting nothing more than to collapse on his bed.

"Hold  up Reez," his mother said, putting her hand on his shoulder. He turned  and looked at her, a sudden rush of emotion about to explode within him.   She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him.

"Dont worry," she  said, hugging him as only a mother can do, silently glad he would  always be safe on the farm now. "You will find your path." She meant it  in regards to him staying on the farm, but Reezart heard it differently.   He smiled a little, realising she was right.  She let him go, taking a  step back.

"Can you go clean out the stables and throw in some hay  for the horses.  Your father and brothers have been out most of the day.   I think the horses will be pretty hungry when they return."

"I'm  sure the horses wont be the only ones," Reezart said, turning toward the  stables.  His mother chuckled slightly, glad she heard a touch of light  in her son's response.  

  Reezart was just loading hay in to  each stall when his father and brothers returned.  His father was  getting grey around his ears, but his eyes were still sharp and alive, his body also strong and muscled, from living most of his life on the farm. Reezart's two older  brothers, Reeshas and Reeman, looked very similar to their father.  They  had their fathers strong jawline, plus his heavy set brow.  They were  not overly intelligent, but they were both clever.  The two would  practice sword fighting with any spare time they had once the farm work  was completed.  Reezart had tried to join in but, despite his muscled  frame, he just didn't like swinging a sword.  In a free hand fight, he  seemed to hold his own against his brothers, even when they teamed up on  him.  He never won the fight, but it was never an easy win against him.   Despite his brothers not holding back on their punches, it was always  the most fun Reezart had with them.  And they showed they respected him,  even if it was only a little.

"Heya squirt," his father said as the  three men walked their horses in to the stalls, "how'd it go today?"   Reezart was about to say how he had missed out again, when his mother's  comment echoed in his ears.

"I'll update you all at dinner," he said,  turning toward the house.  Dinner was still some time away, so Reezart  headed to the house and grabbed a change of clothes.  He went around to  the shower to clean himself up from the days events.  As he headed back  to the house, he could hear and smell the delicious meal his mother was  preparing.  Reezart headed out to his favourite spot just outside the  farm, a place even his brothers did not know about.  It wasn't far from  the edge of the woods, a few large rock outcroppings scattered through  out the area.  Here, with nobody to observe him, Reezart would test his  skill, manipulating the magical force within him.  Without any spells to  focus his energy, he could only control the environment around him.  He  would start a small flame on a tree branch, then douse it with summoned  water.  He could make the air move quickly through the tops of the  trees, then circle it back around.  He would repeat this over and over,  making a tiny little tornado.  It had no real power to it, but looked  amazing filled with dirt and leaves within its vortex.  As Reezart  dissipated the min-tornado, he heard movement towards the edge of the  tree line.  He looked to where the noise came from, but couldn't see  anything.  Feeling a little nervous, Reezart turned back toward the  farm.  He kept looking over his shoulder as he started walking, sure  there were eyes on him.  As he turned around to stare ahead, another  noise made him look back.  He could see the figure had dropped low,  using the taller grass to hide.   But if he was not mistaken, he was  sure he saw an ugly green face under a metal helmet.  He kept looking at  the spot the helmet had dropped down.  He was pretty sure the grass was  moving, as though whatever was hiding below the grass moved towards  him.  Reezart stood, transfixed.  He was scared.  Whatever the green  thing was, it was coming to get him.  Him!  How could he defend himself?   He had magic, but it did nothing dangerous.  If the thing wore armour,  then he really had no chance.  The swaying grass got closer, but  Reezart heard nothing.  Just a few feet from him, Reezart heard a grunt.   Suddenly before him, leaping through the air, was a well armoured  Goblin.  It's filthy dagger raised in its fist as it flew at him.   Reezart screamed, throwing his hands up and out.  A gust of wind lifted  the Goblin higher in the air.  Instead of landing on Reezart, it landed  behind him.  He turned and watched as it landed on it's feet and rolled  forward then stood up in one fluid motion.  It turned and looked at him,  it's red eyes appeared to glow with hatred and confusion.  It obviously didn't expected any kind of resistance from Reezart, especially  not magical.  It approached cautiously now, ready for anything.  Reezart  knew he was in trouble, but decided he would not go down without a  fight.  As he had just done, he moved the wind.  The Goblin tensed,  waiting for a magical attack.  When nothing happened, it moved closer.  That's when Reezart circled the air around, calling it back.   The Goblin was standing on one foot when the gust hit him, spinning him  around.  It's confusion turned to slight panic, as another gust turned  it around again.  It looked at Reezart, who was concentrating on calling  the wind and turning it back.  Slowly, gust by gust, a mini tornado  formed under the Goblin.  It realised too late that it's booted feet  were no longer touching the ground.  It spun in the air as Reezart  repeated calling and turning back the wind.  With a small sense of pride,  Reezart knew the Goblin could do nothing, it was suspended helplessly.   But the Goblin's face showed no sign of panic, appearing calm.   Reezart suddenly understood why.  He could feel the sweat forming on his  brow, some trickling down the side of his face.  

"Oh no," he moaned, realising he was tiring.  He  could not keep this up for much longer.  His arms ached.  His legs were like jelly as he continued to call and turn it back.   When he could no longer call the wind, he would not be able to run.   Then the Goblin would have him.  The look on the Goblin's face, as it  spun, showed that it too knew that's would happen.  Reezart  took a deep breath, summoning as much strength as he could, so he could continue  calling and pushing the wind.  His body didn't respond.  He was almost  out of energy.  A hideous smile formed on the Goblin's grotesque face, broken and crooked sharp teeth exposed, as it slowly  sank to the ground.  Reezart dropped to his knees, totally exhausted  and out of breath.  He looked at the Goblin as it took a moment for the Goblin to stop from swaying. It stepped forward  cautiously, ready for any last ditch attacks from the magical creature that had held it aloft.  It was  inches from Reezart, with no other attack coming.  Reezart couldn't even  lift his arms.  He just knelt on the ground as the Goblin raised it's dagger high in the air, knowing there was no defense left in it's  victim.  As the dagger descended, something strange happened.  The  Goblin's face turned sharply to the left, a few teeth flying out passed  Reezart's face.  It took a moment for Reezart to register the object that impacted with the Goblin's head was a staff.  Not a walking staff, but a  fighting staff.  A weapon.  It had material wrapped around the middle,  to aid in gripping.  Reezart, still breathing heavily, looked over at  the Goblin, laying on the ground. It was not moving.  It's jaw clearly  broken.  He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"You were very brave,"  a  man's voice said calmly.  Reezart looked up at the owner of that voice.   He felt a wave of calm wash over him, emanating from the person's hand.   Reezart could not see his face, but the shaved head and the coloured  robes meant it must be a Monk.  

'_That explains the staff_,' Reezart thought. He heard another voice. It was deeper, more primal.

"What was that magic he was doing?" it asked.

"Beginner  elemental magic," a third voice said.  That voice was old and wise.  "Definitely untrained though."  As Reezart was laid down on the ground, his  body devoid of energy, physical or otherwise, a soft hand  touched his forehead.  There was magic in that hand, as he felt energy  washing over his body.

"Oh dear," the old voice said. "Pity.  He has the mark. This poor lad has failed the test three times."

"What test?" came another voice, this one soft and melodic. Reezart knew the sound of an elf speaking. The few he'd heard reminded of him of someone speaking in song. He couldn't tell if it was a male or female though, their voices all sounded the same to him. 

"The Wizard test!" the old voice replied, sounding annoyed he had to explain himself to an elf. "_If ever the test you fail times three, never a Wizard can you be_. So it has always been."

"Really?" the voice of the Monk asked, sounding a little shocked.

"Indeed. Once  you have failed three times, you can never begin the journey.  I'm sure  they'll have other duties he is capable of, but being a Wizard won't  be one of them."  Their voices continue, but Reezart lost consciousness  and heard nothing else.


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## NeenaDiHope (Apr 29, 2017)

Great story! Reminds me of an old set up for D&D. I started more than one character out similar to this, not exactly but close. This is a book I would read! <3


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## MadMickyG (Apr 29, 2017)

Reezart opened his eyes.  He looked around the room, unsure of where he  was.  It was a small room.  It contained the bed he was on, with the  blanket covering him.  There was a short cupboard and dresser, with a  large bowl on the dresser, most likely for water to wash in.  A single  chair in the corner near the head of the bed.  Reezart sat up slowly,  looking at the plain walls.  There was no colour in the room at all.  He  was about to get up when he realised he had no clothes on.  Reezart,  holding the blanket around him, shuffled over to the cupboard and pulled  the door open.  He reached in and pulled out the clothes hanging  inside.  It was a dull greyish robe, with an insignia in the upper left  corner of the chest.  It was the symbol for a scribe.  'Heroscribe', as  some people referred to them.  The name came from the scrolls being  mostly sold to Wizard adventurers, or those with magical abilities like  the Elves.  Reezart shuffled back to the dresser and opened each draw.   One contained some soft footwear, the other had undergarments.  Reezart  dressed himself quickly.  It wasn't because it was cold in the room.  It  was quite a nice temperature actually.  Reezart could have quite easily  sat around in the room with nothing on.  But Reezart had always felt  uncomfortable being totally naked, even though he had the blanket half  wrapped around him.  While Reezart was struggling to dress himself  correctly, the robes more complicated than they appeared, there was  a knock at the door.  A tall gangly man, wearing a darker version of  the same robe, opened the door and walked in without waiting for an  answer.  His hair was tied back in a pony tail, but Reezart could see  without that tie, the tall mans' hair would be like a crazy wild shrub.

"Greetings,"  he said curtly.  There was no friendliness or feeling of any kind in  his tone, just simple matter-of-factness.  The man could see Reezart was  struggling with the robe. 

"Allow me," he said, again without  waiting for a reply.  He walked over and helped Reezart tie the robe. He stepped back, nodding in confirmation Reezart was dressed  correctly.

"Follow me please," he said, walking out the door.  Reezart was clearly in some kind of dormitory, as he stood in a corridor  lined with doors exactly like his.  He could see through doors in to other  rooms, all with identical furniture.  

"Quickly now," the man barked,  "we don't have all day to stand around."  Reezart hurried to keep up  with the mans' lengthy stride.  The man pointed to stream of other young  men and woman, similarly dressed, moving along the corridor.  

"Follow  those with the grey robes," the man said.  He watched Reezart walk past  him toward the line of others.  "And, welcome to Tower," the man  laughed softly, turning and walking away.  Reezart fell in line with  everyone else, a few scattered people dressed in the same grey robe as  him.  There were other colours as well, with different symbols.  Reezart  followed those with the same robe as his, as he was instructed.  After  what seemed like forever, as the number of people thinned, until their  was only those in grey, he entered a large room that resembled a huge  library.  Reezart could see people sitting at the stations, working.  A  large book, open on on the left side with the piece of parchment on the  right.   At least half the stations were empty, but slowly being filled  by the people Reezart had been following.

"Can I help you?" someone  asked.  Reezart stopped scanning the room, turning to look at the owner  of the voice.  The man was incredibly tall, his body frame definitely  not built like a scholar or scribe.  His shoulders were wide, his neck  quite thick and muscular.  Reezart suspected he was in great physical  shape, but it was difficult to see under his long, dark-grey robe.  He  looked down at Reezart, one eyebrow raised.

"Well?"

"I, um," Reezart stammered, a little in awe of the man towering over him.

"I don't have all day," the man said impatiently, "spit it out!"  

"Wait, wait," another voice called out.  Reezart turned to see a short, chubby man walking swiftly towards them.

"What?"  the tall man asked, clearly not impressed with being interrupted.  The  short man handed the tall man a note.  He looked at Reezart and smiled,  wiping sweat from his forehead.  The tall man read it quickly, his  eyebrows raising and lowering as he read, as if they were doing pushups.   

"Thank you Tarees," he said when he finished, handing the note  back to the short man.  "Now I know what to do with him."  He grabbed  Reezart by the shoulder, steering him toward the back of the room.  The  short chubby man turned and walked off quickly.

"Hurry up," the tall  man said, "walk faster."  They maneuvered to the back of the stations.   He plonked Reezart down at a workstation, opening the spell book to the front few pages.  Reezart read the spell quietly in his head.

"Think my  brother can tell me what to do in my house, just because he has killed a  few Goblins and Orcs."  The man pointed to a large stack of parchment.

"You  transcribe all those with that spell.  You have till the end of the  day."  Without another word, he turned and walked off.  Reezart looked  around, seeing a few people looking at him.  Some laughed, some  shrugged.  But everyone turned back and started transcribing their  scrolls.  There was no talking, no whispering, not even any laughing.   Just scribbling and scratching, as hundreds of scrolls were recorded on  to parchment.  Reezart shrugged.  He pulled a piece of parchment from  the stack and laid it gently in front of him.  He looked at the spell in  the book.  It was a low level spell, but had quite a bit of writing to  do.  Looking at the stack of parchment, Reezart knew he would have no  spare time.  He also realised as he started transcribing the spell, he  would be lucky if he could move his hand by the time he finished.  As he  touched his quill to the parchment, he felt the magic surrounding his  hand as he began writing the words.  It was not how he wanted to use his  magic, but at least he was going to be using it every day.  Perhaps he  could get stronger, gain some power.  Then he could become a real  Wizard.  Like the one he'd met after the Goblin incident.  Reezart  wondered what had happened to the ones that had saved him.  Perhaps they  had brought him to the tower.  How had they known to do that?  Did his  parents know where he was?  Other questions bounced around in his head  as he thought more on the Goblin attacking him.  After he caught himself  about to write a section wrong, starting to write Goblin, Reezart  stopped.  He looked around, wondering if anyone else had the same  problem concentrating as he had.  They kept on writing.  Reezart felt  the magic in the room as spells were captured on the pieces of paper.   It wasn't using true magic, but it still felt amazing to be surround by  it.  He took a deep breath, clearing his head.  He shook his hand  slightly to loosen his wrist.  He touched the quill to the parchment  gently, then continued on with transcribing the scroll.


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## Jay Greenstein (Apr 29, 2017)

What you're doing is transcribing yourself telling the story aloud, and that can't work. On stage you're alone and have no slides, and no actors, so you must set the scene yourself, plus play all the roles. And since you can't very well play the one shooting and the one being shot, instead, when telling a story, we primarily talk _about_ the story, as if we're an outside observer, noticing, presenting, and explaining. On the page you have actors who will notice what matters to the story, and live it for you.

But of far greater importance, storytelling is a performance art. Think of how boring the story would be if the storyteller stood there, never changing their facial expression, never gesturing, and never using body language. Add to it that they recite the story in a tone, very like what a computer, reading the text, would produce.

You wouldn't sit through a performance like that. But that is precisely what you give the reader when you transcribe yourself telling the story aloud. In your live performance 100% of the emotional component comes from _how_ you present the story. The words only provide the facts. But how much of that makes it to the page? Only your words. More than that, your intent, and knowledge of what's going on in the scene drives your performance. With that missing, too, the reader can't recreate your performance. All they have is what the words suggest to them, _after they've read them_. And then, it's too late to "hear" them as you would speak them.

Bottom line: you're using a set of storytelling skills that are inappropriate to our medium. It's not a matter of talent, or even good/bad writing. It's that with only the nonfiction writing skills we learn in school, and the verbal storytelling skills we use every day, you haven't the necessary tricks of the trade to transfer the story in your head to the mind of the reader, _as you envision it_. And that's simple to fix, though not easy. Simple because all you need do is add the writing techniques our medium imposes on us. And you can find them in your local library system's fiction writing section. 

The not so easy part comes because you're learning an entirely different approach to writing, which, as with any field, takes time and effort, just as did the present skills you own and use. But every field has its specialized knowledge that must be mastered, so it's not a big deal, just something we wish took less time and effort. But on the other hand, if you truly are meant to be a writer, you'll find the learning fun.

So hang in there, and keep on writing.


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## MadMickyG (Apr 30, 2017)

It was late in the day, the other scribes were finishing up the pile of  parchments.  Reezart had just finished his last parchment for the day.   He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head.  As  usual, his writing hand was a little sore.  But it only lasted a few  minutes now.  He rolled his hands around at the wrists, then stretched  his fingers out in front of him.  He stood, arching his back.  He  twisted left then right, hearing a few pops as he did so.  Others  started to repeat the same moves Reezart had just done.  It wasn't an  official thing, but it had been shown to them by some of the more senior  scribes, as it helped to release the tension in the body and the  joints.  More so for the younger scribes.  Despite having worked here  for the last few weeks, Reezart still didn't know anyone very well.  He  waved and nodded to a few of the other scribes, some that had started  the same time he did. He did not know their names, only their faces.   They acknowledged him as he left.  As it was the end of the week,  Reezart hurried as slow as he could, not wanting to draw Master Eremus'  attention.  More than one scribe had been reduced to a blubbering mess  under Eremus' tirades.  Reezart breathed a heavy sigh as he exited the  room safely.  He was heading to the courtyards where the Monk, Sifu Ahan  would be waiting for him.  Ahan had come to visit Reezart at the end of  his first week, to see how he was doing. 

 Reezart learned the  adventuring party had been out on patrol and discovered a group of Orcs  and Goblins skulking around the edges of the forest.  The Goblin that attacked Reezart, escaped during the ensuing melee.  They lost it's  tracks after searching, so decided to head back to the city.   Eremere, the Wizard, also Master Eremus' younger brother, sensed Reezart's magic.  The group saw Reezart holding up the Goblin, when  Eremere informed them of the waning magic.  Ahan had shot ahead,  throwing his staff like a spear, taking out the Goblin just as it attacked.  Ahan and Eremere took Reezart to one of the healing  centres in the city, while Gorun, the deep voiced fighter Reezart heard, took the unconscious Goblin to the City guard for interrogation.   Once Reezart had been deemed okay, Ahan and Eremere determined his  identity and tracked down his family on their farm.  His mother was  overjoyed he was okay, while his father and brothers had been impressed he'd  stood his ground against a Goblin.  They planned to visit him, but  Eremere advised it better for Reezart to have some time to recover.   Reezart's father handed Eremere the note regarding the job as a Scribe.   When the two returned to the city, Eremere organised Reezart to be  transported to one of the boarding rooms in the Mage Tower,  then sorted the Scribe position for when Reezart fully recovered.  He'd slept for three days according to Ahan, which explained why he felt so wonderful when he finally woke up.  Eremere explained it was due to  him using all the magical energy within him.   His body had taken that  long to replenish it.  

 Reezart enjoyed his time with the Monk.   He would enquire about Ahan's adventures, his faith, philosophy and his  martial training.  Ahan liked to downplay his adventures outside of  Nuln, but Reezart enjoyed the stories all the same.  After hearing  Reezart talk about how of some of the older scribes would tease and  bully the newest ones, including Reezart, even though Eremere said it  could never happen, Ahan taught Reezart basic unarmed  fighting skills.  Reezart, with years of practice against his brothers,  proved quite competent in unarmed combat, improving with every  week of training.  Ahan advised it was good to exercise both mind  and body. Reezart spotted a young man, in a robe from the Magic Items section,  run past with his satchel flapping against his leg.  Reezart slapped his forehead, realising he'd  left his satchel at his station.  He sprinted back to the  scribing room, not wanting to be late for his training session with Ahan.  The burst of activity left his heart pounding in his ears, as he approached the Scribe room. He heard voices from within the room.  Like a cat stalking a ball of wool, Reezart slunk up to the doorway, sliding up to the very  edge. He stood silent and listened to the voices in the room. He dared not peek around the corner, in case he  was caught eavesdropping.

"Are you sure this will be enough?" he heard Master Eremus ask.

"It will be more than enough for the next round," replied an unknown voice to the  sound of a coin purse being dropped in to someone's hand. "It is the  last two rounds anyway, so we'll be starting all over again.  We are thankful that there are enough scrolls incorrectly scribed by your charges. Speaking  of, are there potentials in any of the new  workers?  We're always up for new blood."

"Not in my lot," Eremus  snorted.  "They're all too invested in writing.  All brains and magic.   None of them have what it takes to be physical."  Reezart was intrigued at this conversation. Curiosity piqued, causing Reezart to peek around the door frame in to the room. The two men within faced away from the main door.  Reezart could see Master Eremus held a large bag  of gold by a short, stocky man for two big bags of parchment.  Reezart  sensed the magic flowing from the bag, like the smell of a freshly baked pie wafting on the breeze. Reezart sniffed the air, the flavour of magic almost palatable to his keen sense. He could tell these were the reject scrolls, incorrectly recorded. He was shocked when Master Eremus had a new scriber attempt to cast a spell from one of those scrolls. Athough explosion was minor, Reezart knew the young man's face would take ages for his eyebrows to regrow. Eremus held a parchment in one hand, the bag  of gold in the other.  The stocky man tilted his head.

"You could always come down," he smiled.  "Plenty of people would love to see the old champion.  Maybe put on a show?"  

"Don't  think so," Eremus replied, shaking his head. "My body can't sustain the  magic anymore."  Eremus slid the the bag of gold inside his  robe, before grabbing the parchment in his other hand.

"Do it," the  stocky man said, his body tensing, "you know you want to."  Reezart  could see the tension in the Scoll Master's hand as he gripped the magical  parchment.

"I dont know......"

"One more time, just for the sake of it."  Eremus conceded, nodding at the man's encouraging words.

"IGNUS!"  he roared, tearing the magical parchment in two.  Reezart saw, and felt, the magic explode from the words inscribed.  It  was not that act that made Reezart gasp, but the fact the magic released was caught on Eremus' hands.  He held it in  front of him, positioning his hands like a fist fighter in battle.  Fire  flowed around, like water, until it surrounded Eremus' hands completely, glowing brightly enough to banish the shadows in the large  room.  Reezart felt the warmth of the flames touch his face. Both men turned their heads at Reezart's gasp, causing Reezart to duck back behind  the door.  He was smart enough to move away from the door, then turn and  start toward the courtyard again.  He needed to tell Ahan what he'd just  seen.  He passed the first corner, when he stopped.

"Damnit," he  muttered, momentarily forgetting about his satchel.  He pondered for a  moment, then turned and headed back to the scribe room.  This time,  he walked slowly, whistling.  By the time he reached the entrance to the room,  the short stocky man was gone.  Master Eremus was at his desk.  He  looked up as Reezart entered the room. 

"What?" he asked in his usual voice.  Reezart pointed to his station at the back of the room.

"Apologies  Master Eremus," he said, bowing slightly as a sign of respect.   Outside, he appeared calm and relaxed.  Inside, Reezart fought the  urge to run.  "I left my satchel at my station. May I please  fetch it?"  Eremus grunted something under his breath.

"Hurry up  then," he said to Reezart.  "Some of us have to keep working when  everyone else gets to leave."  He grumbled this last statement,  returning to writing on a tally sheet as Reezart walked quickly to  his station and collecting his satchel. As he left, he glanced quickly at Eremus'  hands.  There was no indication of any flames, no scorch marks or  blackened skin.  There was no burnt flesh smell either.  This intrigued  Reezart, as he still sensed the remnants of the magic Eremus had released.

"Good night Master Eremus," Reezart bowed respectfully as he  left the room.  Eremus grunted as Reezart disappeared.  As soon as he  was around the corner again, Reezart sprinted toward the  courtyard, to find Ahan and tell the Monk what he'd just witnessed.


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## MadMickyG (May 2, 2017)

As Reezart left the room, heading out to see Ahan, he missed the smile  on Eremus' face.  Eremus had felt someone magical nearby when he was  selling the scrolls to Mayz.  He'd cancelled the flames on his arms  quickly after they heard the gasp.  Mayz had left through a partly  concealed door few people knew about.  When Reezart came walking  in to collect his satchel, Eremus could tell it'd been him outside the  room.  The Scroll Master was excited.  The young man's scribing skills  were exceptional, with him only ever making two  mistakes since he started.  The power locked in the scrolls seemed a little stronger compared to his fellow scribers.  

"There's  money to be made with his assistance," Eremus concluded.  He could get  some extra parchment and pay the young man enough gold to make him want  to work back a few days, getting extra scrolls for Mayz.  Erermus had  also heard the young man had been spending quite some time with his  brother's friend, the Monk.  There were a few that mentioned Ahan was  even training him a little.  Perhaps there was someone physical enough  after all.

"I guess we shall see," Eremus muttered to himself with a grin, returning to his paperwork.

  Reezart found Ahan at the edge of the main courtyard, sitting  cross-legged on a patch of grass.  The Monk's eyes were closed, his chest  barely moving.  He had one hand in front of his chest, fingers together  pointing up.  His other hand was touching the ground, supporting his  entire body on just two fingers.  Reezart was amazed that, in this  position, Ahan could keep his whole body off the ground, his two fingers  the only points to contact the ground.

"You are late," Ahan said,  slowly opening his eyes.  He lowered his body to the grass.  Reezart  looked in awe at Ahan, totally amazed at the physical ability of the man  before him.

"Sorry," Reezart apologised, holding his right fist in his  left palm in front of his chest, in the traditional style salute Ahan  showed him.  "I forgot my satchel.  Plus, I saw something very  interesting just before."

"And what was this interesting thing you  saw?" Ahan asked, one eyebrow raised.  Reezart told the Monk everything  he had seen and heard in the scroll room between Eremus and the short  man buying the scrolls.

"That would be Mayz," Ahan commented, before motioning Reezart to continue.

"Who's Mayz?" Reezart asked.

"He  runs a fighting competition for the less gifted.  Those, such as  yourself, that do not make the grade of Wizard, still have potential for  something greater.  Mayz discovered that entertainment is one of them."   Reezart was curious.

"What kind of fighting competition?"  Reezart  asked, totally intrigued.  Ahan stood slowly in one slow fluid motion,  stretching his body as he did so.

"They are called ScrollFists," Ahan  said, motioning for Reezart to follow him. "It started many years ago.   Some believe your ScrollMaster, Eremus, was the first real champion."

"Master Eremus?" Reezart said, not totally shocked. The short man, Mayz, had called him the old champion.

"Indeed,"  Ahan continued. "They compete in a fighting tournament, using scrolls  to power themselves up before each round.  Then try to beat the other  person unconscious, or into submission if they cannot knock the other  person out.  Each of the elements seems to give the fighter a particular  advantage.  It's knowing how to use the skills in the fight that  determines the winner."  Ahan stopped, his head tipped slightly to the  right.

"In fact, I believe there was a rumour Eremus had developed a  way to double up on scrolls, using two elements at the same time.  But  he only fought in one more competition after his discovery. He retired  at the end that of that tournament, the only fighter to be undefeated."

"I heard him say he can't sustain the magic anymore."

"I  imagine using two elements at the same time would be draining.  He was  not as talented magically as Eremere, but he clearly knew a lot about  scroll magic.  The reason he is the most successful Scroll Master."   Ahan turned and started walking again.  Reezart walked beside him, his  mind full of questions.

"What do they fight for?" Reezart asked. Ahan looked sideways at him.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what is the prize for the winner?"

"Well,  I'm not one hundred percent sure," Ahan said, a look of disappointment  on his face as he continued, "but I believe each round is bet on as to  the winner.  As the rounds get closer to the end, the gold amounts get  higher."  Ahan could see Reezarts' eyes light up at his mention of gold.   He stopped walking, turning toward Reezart.  Reezart, with so many  things running through his head, took three more steps before he  realised Ahan was not beside him.  He stopped and looked back, the look  of disappointment clear on Ahans' face.

"Is something wrong?" Reezart asked, wondering what was upsetting the Monk.  

"Are you asking these questions because you want to win gold?" Ahan asked, an accusing tone in his voice.

"Of course," Reezart said matter-of-factly.  Ahan shook his head.

"I did not teach you some of my art to make you rich!"

"Rich?" Reezart said, sounding confused. 

"You wish to participate in the fighting tournament, to win gold.  To make yourself rich."

"What? No!  I want to fight to make gold, yes.  I don't care about being rich.  I want to make gold to help out Mum and Dad!"  

"To help your parents?" Ahan questioned, his expression changing from disappointment to approval.

"Of  course!  They paid for me to take the test three times, even though  they could barely afford it.  I failed three times.  They invested in me  and I let them down.  They work hard on the farm everyday.  Even more  so now I am here."  Ahan could see tears starting to well up in Reezart's  eyes as he spoke about parents. "They've struggled most of their  lives.  I know they love farming, but sometimes they are so tired.  They  could use some time for just them, not worrying about me, my brothers  or the farm.  If I can win enough gold, I can get them some help.  A few  people to help them on the farm so they don't have to work so hard.   Maybe get my brothers some training so they can learn to fight with real  weapons.  Then they could really protect the farm if they needed to."   Ahan felt proud of the young man before him.  His concern for his  family.  Wanting to put himself through some serious punishment to help  them out. He took a few steps towards Reezart, putting his strong hand  on the young man's shoulder.

"If you would like, we can see about  getting you registered for the next tournament.  I believe the current  one is almost over." 

"Really?" Reezart asked, his face lighting up in delight. "You'd help me get in?"

"I  can try," Ahan said.  "Although, I think you might be better asking  your Scroll Master.  He clearly still has contact with the establishment  that runs it." 

"Awesome!" Reezart shouted, barely able to contain his excitement.

"Calm  yourself Reezart.  There is a lot to do before you get accepted, _if_  your accepted."  Ahan emphasized the last part.  Reezart understood.   There was no guarantee he would get in to the competition.  But the  thought of being able to help his parents, or at least paying back the  money they had spent on his Magic exams, had him quite excited.

"Let's  skip training for today then," Ahan said.  "I believe I may know  someone who can test you for suitability for the competition."  He  started walking away from Reezart, heading in a different direction to their normal  training place.  Reezart rushed over, catching up to the Monk.  As the  two headed to Ahan's friend, they began discussing the training required _if_ Reezart was accepted.


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## MadMickyG (May 3, 2017)

The building was small compared to the others around it, almost as  though it was squeezed in as an afterthought.  Something to fill a gap  between two more luxurious establishments.  The sign on the front  confirmed it was an Apothecary, a shop that sold all kinds of  ingredients, magical and non-magical alike.  Anything that could be used  to manufacture potions for adventurers, create ink for writing or  painting on parchment, plus many other ingredients.  Ahan and Reezart  stood out the front of the shop now, looking through the windows at the  multitude of herbs growing within.

"You're fighting expert is in here?" Reezart asked, totally puzzled at why any kind of fighting expert would work in a place like this.

"He  should be," Ahan said, walking toward the door, Reezart following  behind.  "He does not keep normal hours like most, due to his age."   Reezart followed Ahan inside the shop, his nose assaulted by all the  different smells within.  He coughed a few times, his head swimming  under the aromatic onslaught.  Ahan took a deep breath, his eyes closed.

"It always smells so wonderful in here," the Monk said, smiling as he exhaled.

"Master  Ahan!" a chirpy voice said from behind the counter, the top of someones  head barely discernable above the bottles and jars stacked on the main counter.   As the person moved, a face blurred and twisted as it crossed behind  the coloured bottles and jars of various liquids, changing size, shape  and colour until at last, a young man appeared, his short brown hair  sticking straight up.  Reezart thought it would be sharp too, the way it  did not move as he walked.

"Zeen," Ahan said, stepping forward to  greet the spiky haired youth.  Zeen stooped low and saluted the monk in  the traditional greeting, before stepping forward and shaking his hand  enthusiastically.  Zeen looked over at Reezart as he stood.

"A new disciple?" he asked Ahan, who nodded his head slightly.

"Of  sorts," Ahan replied.  "But it depends.  Is he here today?"  Zeen  nodded, understanding what Ahan meant.  He motioned to the thick blue  curtain that separated the front counter the rear of the shop.

"He is actually.  Please head through.  He said you would be coming today, but I did not believe him."

"Have  you learnt nothing of him in all this time?" Ahan asked, chuckling as  he passed behind the counter, motioning Reezart to follow him.

"I have learnt much," Zeen said happily, "but clearly I have so much more to learn, Master Ahan."

"Indeed,"  Ahan said as he pulled back the curtain, motioning for Reezart to  precede him.  As Ahan stepped in behind Reezart, he let the curtain  drop.  This darkened the area somewhat.  Reezart stood still, not sure  what to expect.  He strained his ears, but heard nothing.  Even though  Ahan was just behind him, the monk made no sound, even his deep, casual  breathing was silent.  Reezart turned back to make sure he was actually  there.  Ahan smiled, motioning for Reezart to keep moving, towards the  back, where there appeared to be a wooden door in the wall.  There were  boxes, crates, jars and bottles scattered all around this room.  Reezart  somehow sensed that even though it looked haphazard and random, there  was a kind of order here.  There was structure.  He could barely make  out anything inside any of the containers he passed, but their scents,  or the way they felt to touch, seemed to make total sense to him.  In a few  moments, they were at the door at the back.  It was solid oak, with a  latch.  Ahan lifted the latch, pushing the door open.  A bright light  shone in to the room as Ahan opened the door, blinding Reezart with it's  intensity.  Ahan pushed Reezart gently forward in to the the light.   Reezart heard the door behind him close, his eyes still hurting from the  brightness.  As his eyes adjusted, he could finally see where he was.   He gasped loudly, unable to contain his shock at what he saw.


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## MadMickyG (May 5, 2017)

Reezart stood next Ahan, looking out a what appeared to be a massive  garden, surrounded on all sides by snow crusted mountains.  Reezart knew  it was magic, but he shivered in the cool breeze coming from the mountains. His nose rejoiced as it was assailed scent flowers, wet earth and a touch of rain.   In the centre of the utopic garden, were two age-wrinkled men. One, his body a tapestry of rune-tattoos decorating any exposed flesh, stood with his body prostrated upside down in the air.  It appeared only two fingers held his entire frame aloft. His face invisible, covered by a section of dark purple robe, the vibrant colours that denoted someone high up in the magical order. Beside him, another elderly man was positioned just as impossible.  Although not completely vertical like his friend, his upper torso was held off the ground by two fingers.  His  legs, however, were at right angles to his torso, running parallel to the ground.

"Master Ahan," the  braided-hair man laughed, curving his body over until he stood normally, "so  great to see you again.  It has been some time." Wrinkled and covered in liver-spots as he was, the man's visual was in contrast to his actual. He lithely, as though still in his prime.  The other  man lowered his legs to bring his feet to the ground, bones crunching like gravel underfoot as he stood up straight.

"Monk," he bowed curtly, in respect.

"Greetings to you both," Ahan replied, saluting each in the traditional monk fashion. "I come seeking words with the Grand Mage."

"Oh  stop it." The braided-hair man chuckled, holding his belly as he laughed. "Only suck-ups and kiss-asses  call me that.  And you my friend, are neither of those."  The other man  turned and nodded his head at the braided-hair man.  He swirled his  hands, producing a large cape out of thin air, continuing in a single fluid motion, to wrap the cape around his shoulders.

"This is to be continued Eromore," he said, a hint of a  smile on his stony features.  Then, with a few magic words, and a click  of his fingers, the man vanished.

"You wouldn't think he's the  greatest advisor to the Emperor," Eromore said, shrugging his shoulders.  "Or mentor to the Emperors elite forces."

"Eromore," Ahan said, bowing slightly, "I present Reezart.  A young man who wishes to enter the Scrollfist arena."

"Oh, really?  Then we must see if he has the right stuff!"  Eromore stomped over exaggeratedly, then proceeded complete a few circles around Reezart.

"Hmmm....uh-huh.....interesting."

"Excuse  me," Reezart blurted indignantly, feeling like an animal at an auction, "may I ask how  he will know if I have the 'stuff' for the arena?"

"Well," Eromore  laughed once more, stepping back with his hands on his hips, "I believe you  already met both my boys."  Reezart was confused. He took a better look at Eromore. Those bright blue eyes, full of wisdom and knowledge. The bulbous nose. The wide, mischievous grin, warning you that before you stood a trickster. But  Reezart couldn't figure out why the face was so familiar.

"Reezart," Ahan said,  "may I formerly introduce you to Eromore,  Grand High Mage of the Empire  and first magical advisor to the Emperor.  And father to both Eremus  and Eremere!"


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## Theglasshouse (May 5, 2017)

I'll be honest I like the what I read so far but it would work better if you link the scene with the latest events in the story, for example, what is the goblin incident? You can depict that in a small dialogue without saying specifically everything and then nail down what that storyline or subplot that hints it. Then links the scenes as you would a cliffhanger. It continues where you left off. I've seen writers write standalone stories that could be short stories as chapters. But somewhere the goblin incident, for example, must reappear like in a novel. A novel needs continuous chapters where you left off. Try to link them and you probably will have a rewarding read. It has potential. Try to maintain a few characters if possible to or introduce or foreshadow them in a way that they meet for example on the road, by chance, luck, fate, etc. I think this is what they call a crucible. When one character is stuck traveling with another character. A school is a crucible, so is a university. The stories can be modified a bit and you can maintain your ideas is what I will claim. (I read a book on how to plan scenes and this seems useful for this.)


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## MadMickyG (May 6, 2017)

I understand what you mean TGH. There is going to be a link regarding previous characters.  The goblin incident happens in the second post, but with so much going on, it's understandable people may have forgotten. I already have a way of bringing it back up (doesn't that sound a little gross )

I have one more excerpt previously written, although it's quite long. Plenty of dialogue, so it's not one of my infamous blocks of text.  I may do a little editing, to try have a bit more Show and a bit less Tell.

I have somewhere it's going, but didn't have a clear cut ending just yet. I believe I'm a bit of a pantser when it comes to writing. (Read that somewhere, which describes my writing quite well.)


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## MadMickyG (May 12, 2017)

"Oh," Reezart said shocked.  But looking at the ancient mage, he could  see both the adventuring wizard and his Scroll Master in the wizened  face.

"What do you know about the ScrollFist fighting?" Eromore asked.

"Only that which Master Ahan as told me," Reezart replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"Good enough to start with.  I can see you are not new to hard work either."

"Master Ahan has been training me.  But I have worked on our farm since I was little."

"He  has a gift for unarmed fighting," Ahan added, "not to mention he feels  the need to protect those that cannot protect themselves.'

"A  protector!" Eromore said excitedly.  "Excellent.  Good qualities for any  person to have.  But they're not needed in the arena."

"Excuse me," Reezart interrupted, "but how are you going to test me for the arena?"

"By fighting my dear boy," Eromore laughed.  "How else does one test worthiness.  Do you need time to prepare yourself?"

"A  moment to stretch," Reezart said, a little shocked this old man was  planning to fight him.  He took a few steps back, beginning the warm up  exercises Ahan did with him before every training session.

"Are you sure this is wise?" Ahan asked.

"Trial  by fire, of sorts," Eromore said, nodding his head.  "He will be fine. I  am only testing the natural ability you said he had."  Ahan was about  to say something, but Eromore held up his hand to stop the Monk.
"I  do not doubt your judgment, I just wish to see it for myself."  Eromore  smiled as he too started to limber up.  When the two were ready, Ahan  stepped in to the middle between them.

"Go easy," Ahan said.

"I will," Reezart promised, bowing his head to the Monk.

"I  wasn't talking to you," Ahan smiled.  Eromore nodded.  Reezart  looked at the old man across from him.  He certainly looked more like a  mage than a fighter.  But he was covered in magic runes.  Reezart could sense  the power that pulsed from them.

"BEGIN!"  The two combatants  circled for a moment, judging each others movements.  Eromore charged  first, surprisingly quick for his age.  He launched punch after punch,  attacking from multiple angles.  Reezart was able to block them easily  enough to start with.  Eromore, getting a feel for Reezart's skill,  picked up his pace.  Reezart kept up his blocking, barely keeping  Eromore's hands off him.  The attack angles changed, as did their  intensity.  Hits started getting through, not enough to damage Reezart,  but enough for him to know he was hit.  As hard as he tried, Reezart  couldn't get an attack in.  All his energy was taken up defending  himself. Eromore kept up his onslaught, circling around the garden,  moving Reezart all over.  In an instant, Reezart saw his chance.  He  sidestepped, twisting his hips to draw Eromore forward.  Eromore saw  what he was going to do.  Curious, he let himself be drawn in.  In an  instant, Eromore was on the defensive.  Reezart had shifted his weight,  changing his position so he could attack from his centre.  Eromore was  impressed.  He could've easily turned it around again, but wanted to see  how good Reezart could attack.  They were fast, but not as quick as  they would need to be in the arena.  But there was potential.  Some hits  almost got through, even though Eromore was actually trying to stop  them.  The boy learned quickly. He was indeed a natural.  He would be  even better once he tapped in to the magic Eromore felt oozing from him during their fight. Eromore jumped back, way out of attack range.

"STOP!"  he said, holding his hand up.  "I have indeed seen what you can do.  I  am impressed.  I have one more thing to check."  Eromore reached in to  the robe he wore, pulling out a couple of scrolls from a hidden pocket.   He walked over to Reezart, who stood with hands on hips,  breathing heavily.

"Take this," Eromore said, handing a scroll to  Reezart.  He took the scroll, feeling the magic contained within.   Eromore opened the scroll he held, winding it around his hands.  He  motioned for Reezart to do the same.  Once Reezart's hands were wrapped in the  scroll, he looked over at the High Mage.

"Very good.  Can you feel the power within the scroll?"  

"Yes."

"Excellent.   Now, I want you to touch the magic, if you can.  Reach out and grasp  it firmly.  Can you do that?"  Reezarts eyes closed as he reached out  with his own magic, until he felt the scroll within his own magical  grip. He could feel the earthen tint to the energy he held. He smiled as  he realised he didn't even know you could do this with a scroll.

"Impressive lad," Eromore said. "Let's see if you can rip it open and hold it."  Eromore took a deep breath, relaxing his body.

"How?"

"You can feel what type of energy is within the scroll, yes?"

"Earth energy.  It's an earthen spell."

"Exactly.   So, while holding the magic, call it forth.  Watch me first."  Eromore  calmed and centered himself, taking a deep breath.

"TERRA!" he  yelled, tearing the scroll open as he forced his hands apart.  Reezart  felt the magic leap out from the torn parchment.  His mouth gaped in awe, watching as the earthen energy absorbed into Eromore's hands, changing his skin to a more stone-like quality.  When Eromore smashed fist in to  palm, it was the sounded of two boulders crashing together.

"Your  turn," Eromore motioned to Reezart. The High Mage watched as Reezart replicated his moves, calming and centering himself.  Reezart could not tear the  scroll however.  His face turned red with the effort, but he could not  rip the magical parchment in two.

"Allow me," Ahan stepped in, having  stood quietly by as the two fought.  He walked over to Reezart, placing  his hands on Reezart's scroll-covered hands.

"You are trying to use  muscle alone," Ahan said. "Even Eromore could not do this with just  muscle. From what I felt, and saw, this is a double attack, from  without and within. Focus your magic, like I focus my qi, to squeeze the  scroll, making it weak.  The magical pressure will build, making the  scroll ready to break.  Then, focusing your external energy, spread your  hands out, as if attacking with your fingers. This should split the  scroll as you need."

"Well done Ahan," Eromore said, "you do your  masters proud.  He is correct.  Squeeze from within, separate from  without. Don't forget to grab the energy and call out the element you  grasp. Now try again." Reezart looked at them both, taking in everything  they had just said.  He nodded, taking a few deep breaths to relax.  He felt for the scroll again, grasping the energy.  It took  effort, but he could feel the pressure within the scroll increasing as  he squeezed.  He did not get it first go.  But after the fourth try, the  scroll split, releasing the magical energy within.  Reezart was so  focused on splitting the scroll, he forgot to call out the element.  But  he still held it within his hands firmly.

"Impressive," Eromore said. "Now call it quickly, before you lose it."

"TERRA!"  Reezart called out, feeling the energy absorbed in to his hands.  The  sensation of his hands shifting to stone was the weirdest feeling he'd  ever experienced, like millions of ants biting his skin, but lacking the pain.  But the smile on his face as he stared at his  stoney hands, was something he knew would not go away anytime soon.

"Bravo  boy," Eromore said, "bravo.  I think with some practice, you might make  a decent ScrollFist.  In time for the next tournament at least."  He  walked over to where Reezart still stood, grinning broadly.  

"Allow  me to show you one more thing before I go.  A demonstration of where you  can get to with practice, hard work and focus."  Eromore produced another  scroll.  Shaking his hands for a moment, the  stone-like covering disappeared.

"With the right amount of focus, plus a  good quality scroll, you can improve your chances in combat."  Eromore  opened the scroll and wrapped it around his hands. 

"TERRA BACCILLUM!"  he cried out, tearing the scroll.  Once again, Reezart felt the earthen  energy burst forth.  This time, Eromore spread his hands out wide, the  energy caught within, stretching between his hands.  The energy  solidified in to a long staff, made entirely of stone.

"If you would please Master Ahan,"  Eromore indicated for the Monk to grab a long pole on the ground  not far from where they stood.

"Of course," Ahan said, walking over to  collect the pole.  Flicking his foot, he launched the pole in the air,  catching it in his hand.  He spun it around his body for a moment,  finishing with it held behind him, angling up his back and across his  shoulder.  His other hand, extended out in front of him, denoting an  attack stance.

"Please," Eromore said, motioning him forward.   Reezart had never seen Ahan in a fight before.  He and the Monk trained  often, but it was for practice, for learning.  Reezart stood, mouth  agape, as Ahan was a blur of movement as he attacked Eromore.  Any hit  that would connect stopped just short, Ahan a master of control.  After a  few moments, Ahan's pole broke, the end snapping off as his attack was  blocked by the stone staff Eromore held defensively.

"Wow," was all Reezart could say.  Ahan spun the staff again, bringing it to rest in a neutral position.  He bowed to Eromore.

"You have been practicing," Ahan said, smiling. Eromore turned to Reezart, shaking the staff a little.

"Nothing  beats good training," the High Mage said, suddenly shaking the staff so  hard, it appeared to evaporate in to nothingness, "as shown by Master  Ahan here.  But with good focus, you can make any weapon from any  element. _If_ you can last in the  arena, there are weapon rounds that really test your abilities.  There  aren't too many that get that good though, so don't be disappointed if  you can't do it."

"Could Master Eremus summon weapons?" Reezart curiously asked.

"Before  he combined the energies, he could.  But once he went double on  scrolls, he couldn't maintain weapons after that.  He was my best  student."  Reezart held a newfound respect for his Scroll Master.   Having felt what it took to do it with a single scroll, the Scroll  Master must have incredible focus.

"Well," Eromore said, taking a  deep breath, "I thank you for this lovely distraction.  But I feel I am  needed by the Emperor."  Eromore bowed to Reezart and Ahan.  He motioned  for Ahan to walk with him far enough away from Reezart so they could  not be overheard.

"What do you know of the boys' parents?"

"They run a  farm on the outskirts.  Good farming folk too.  They lost a child in  the last war, which is why they didn't want him to become a mage.  Why  do you ask?"  Eromore thought for a moment.

"There is something in  the boy.  An energy.  It feels off, wrong.  It's buried quite deep, so I  doubt the boy even knows it's there.  Find out what you can of the boys  lineage.  Get me the family name, or the name of the boy that died."   Ahan looked over at Reezart curiously.

"Is it something to worry about?" he asked, concerned.

"No,"  Eromore replied quietly, "not yet anyway.  It could be a good thing in  the long run.  But let me know as soon as you have found what I've  asked."

"Of course," Ahan said.  Eromore nodded, stepping back and  saluting Ahan in the traditional Monk fashion.  Ahan returned the  salute.

"Farewall Reezart," Eromore called out. "I look forward to  hearing of your exploits in the arena.  And remember, keep practicing."   Eromore took a few extra steps back.  He muttered a few magic words,  clapping his hands above his head.  There was a ripple of sound, a wave spreading out quickly. In the instant the wave passed over Ahan and Reezart, leaving their ears thrumming from the sound,  Eromore vanished.

"Come Reezart, we have much to  prepare for.  It seems you will be competing in the next ScrollFist  tournament."  Reezart couldn't help but clap his hands excitedly, his infectious enthusiasm making Ahan smile as  the pair headed toward the door standing in the middle of the garden.  Reezart detected the waning magic, now that Eromore was no longer around to  maintain the spell. Reezart tasted the stale air, the scenic garden melting like a coloured ice sculpture, the room returning to it's original state.  By the time Ahan and Reezart walked out the  door, the room returned to it's plain storage cupboard appearance, with a few scattered broken boxes.   Ahan pulled the door closed behind him. Reezart stared back, still remembering the room he'd walked in to. Eromore had to be powerful to create such a strong, yet realistic illusion. Ahan yanked on his arm, pulling him toward the front of the shop. Shaking his head, his mind doing somersaults trying to comprehend the kind of magic it took to create, Reezart followed Ahan through the curtain, back to the real world.

Ahan bid farewell to Zeen, with Reezart in tow, as the pair left the shop.  Ahan advised Reezart to go home and rest, as competition training 'starts tomorrow'. He continued to watch Reezart, as the young man headed towards the Tower. Once Reezart was out of sight, Ahan headed toward the city library. He'd find out all he could about Reezart's family history, by scouring through the city's records.  Although this would be the best place for Ahan to start looking, he did not relish the task.  He  could plan Reezart's training while he read. The Monk knew it would be  early morning before he went to bed, if he went to bed at all.


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