Pointer-left Il_fullxfull.1234221697_msgm_thumb

Posted in Flameweaver
Weighed and Measured
Mitch lay quietly in the wagon's bunk with his eyes closed, listening to the occasional flipping of the reins and feeling each bump and rut in the road beneath them. His left thumb kept running itself idly over the spot on his ring finger that was now without its namesake.

The chicken they had rescued from the giant's bag clucked softly on his chest occasionally, paying no mind to Mitch's sour mood. Every so often she would stir and begin to look about, only to have the mage scratch gently behind her head until the bird saw fit to go back to sleeping.

They would pay. They would suffer the consequences of what they had done to him for all of time. He didn't yet know how to go about it, but it wasn't for lack of ideas.

Such bitterness, you mourn for a little band of metal when the person it was promised to departed long ago... The words crept into the back of his mind like the hissing of a doused flame.

"I am so very not in the mood for your bullshit right now."

He heard the clinking of glassware and the shifting of feet, cracking one eye to see the Dwarf they had taken on looking at Mitch from over his alchemy kit.

"Not you." The eye closed, but not before the Dwarf gave a confused glance from the mage to the chicken on his chest and back again. Shrugging, he returned to his work and paid little more mind.

But it must be right now, little insect. You are so much more... rational when you are in this mood. With his eyes closed he could see two small pinpricks of white looking back at him from the darkness, blinking shut every so often only to reappear somewhere else in his field of vision.

"I don't care. It's not like people need your help to be horrible to each other. I'll manage to figure out something for them without your help." He mumbled this time, trying not do draw undue attention from the Dwarf again.

Without my help? A grim chuckle echoed so loudly in his mind that for a moment Mitch thought it may have been audible in reality as well. You forget yourself.

Black flame crawled down the man's right arm, circling his wrist and affixing itself to the ends of each of his fingers. With one violent and silence shattering snap the limb was broken at the elbow and twisted about to face the man's face. Mitch lurched forward as white hot needles of pain stabbed at his insides, his eyes shooting open in the process. Startled by the sudden movement and noise, the chicken quickly hopped off of his lap and onto the floor.

You forget what makes you valuable to others. It is not you.

The points of black fire at the tips of the fingers began to coalesce in the center of his palm, growing in size and dark intensity.

These men and women do not keep you about and suffer your presence because of who you are or the gift of your sparkling company.

A tiny sphere of searing hot darkness burned at the center of his palm, seeming to stare back at the man with a terrifying intent. Mitch could feel the breath catching in his lungs, caught by both the pain of this new injury and the realization of just what it was.

This. This is why they put up with you. You act as a conduit for MY power.

The orb of black flame and death seemed to flicker and pulse as the presence spoke.

You continue to draw your miserable little breaths because I allow it. You have worth in battle and to these other insects because I deign to let you channel this power.

Mitch gritted his teeth tightly through the pain, attempting to force his fingers down and over the burning sphere.

Without me, they will abandon you in a second. Without me, they will leave you by a roadside alone and unwanted. Without me, you have no power, no worth, nothing.

Without me, you have no hope of ever seeing her ever again.

It took monumental effort, but he was starting to bend the fingers inch by inch downward.

Do you understand now, worm?

He said nothing, putting every ounce of concentration into bending the digits downward over the spell that was being held in his hand. If he could cover it, then maybe he could minimize the damage to the wagon and the others...


With silence shattering snaps and crunches Mitch watched as the fingers were broken backwards and over so thoroughly that his fingernails were touching the back of the hand.


The orb began to glow brighter, churning waves of black and gray flames swirled and danced over and across each other. Around him the power of the building magic began to shake the bunks and boards of the wagon.


Nearby he could hear the renewed shaking of glasses and tools. Mitch forced a quick but pain-filled glance to his side to see the Dwarf hastily packing things back into his alchemist's kit, making frantic glances over his shoulder at the mage every few seconds.


Mitch couldn't stop this. He knew that. Defiance would kill not only him, but all of these other people. They didn't do anything to make this presence angry. They didn't deserve-


Through gritted teeth and tear streaked eyes, the man nodded. When the voice spoke again it had returned to the same pleased condescension it almost always wore.


The orb of violent flame disappeared instantly, leaving only dots of light burned into the mage's vision behind. Trying to blink the colors away, his eyes fell on the Dwarf who was holding his alchemy supplies and looking back at Mitch with wide and fear-stricken eyes. The two stared at each other for a half-second without speaking before the Dwarf simply turned and quickly walked to the front of the wagon with his tools.

After watching him go, Mitch looked down at the hopelessly mangled arm with disdain. He moved to cradle it, wondering if it could be repaired.

Ah, I had nearly forgotten.

"Forgotten wha-"

Before he could so much as finish the sentence Mitch watched as his forearm was wrenched forward back into the correct position with another wet and ear-splitting snap. His fingers were forced back into correct positions with a chorus of pops and crunches. The shock of the sudden wave of pain as well as the stress of events moments before were too much for him.

The mage lurched out of the bed from the shock, slamming to the floor of the wagon. As his eyes and mind shut down, the last thing he could recall was seeing the chicken pecking at some darting insect on the wagon's floorboards.


The word was cut short as he fell unconscious.
Session: Game Session - Saturday, Jan 13 2018 from 12:00 PM to 7:00 PM
Viewable by: Public