A Beginning

[Peridan]

Andrew Swift brushed the stray bits of hair from his new tunic, rubbing his neatly trimmed beard on a freshly cleaned face. His stash of stags had diminished slightly, but he had enough to live on for another week or so in which he would be under Master Kwai's tutelage.

'Or, more like being his hand servant.' He reflected ruefully.

The Hand of Mundus had hired him during that stormy night, a night of which Andrew was not likely to forget any time soon. His rags that had hung from his skinny frame were gone, replaced by a proper tunic and trousers. His hood which had shielded him from the elements as well as the faces of the people was gone as well. His beard was neatly trimmed, and after a full meal he was feeling better than he had in a very long time. He strapped the staff that he had purchased to his back, its bronze head a comfortable weight between his shoulder blades.

Walking down the street, it was hard to imagine how long he had felt the most like himself until today. The taunting voices of his parents and friends haunted him still, but he had found a new purpose that gave him a strength in his stride in which he had never had. He wasn't a freak anymore, to be burned at the stake by frightened villagers and wizards jealous of the power that came to him so easily.

Nor was he a beggar and a vagabond any longer. He had a purpose, a goal, a power that rested comfortably in his heart. Of course he still had his doubts about this sorcerous power that lay within his breast. He didn't know if he could control it properly, if he could handle the strange things he felt and sensed in the air like so many currents in the ocean.

But he did know that his future was no longer so bleak and gray. Death was not knocking ever so softly at his door any longer every day, when he woke up in a pool of mud and his stomach caved inwards so badly you could count his ribs from twenty yards away.

Whatever these Hands were, he owed them a debt. And if they could teach him to control the weave that permeated his very soul and reacted violently, he'd owe them his very life.

Walking through the city, he started to whistle to himself, handing a stag to a beggar alongside the road.

"Things will get better."

[Peridan]

Weaving

The Weave was like a rhythm, he decided.

Andrew sat in his quarters within the Four Lanterns, listening to it. From what he understood, the Weave was more like a power source for wizards; who use certain incantations and movements to call it forth into the form that was structured by the spell. Master Kwai had explained that most wizards become familiar with the Weave and its workings through their spells, but rarely if ever feel at one with the Weave itself.

For Andrew it was entirely different. When he had been living in the countryside the Weave had been present in a way that nature has a presence. It had its tides and flows. And while he was constantly aware of it, it had presented itself differently than here in the city. Not different in a sense that he was sprouting leaves, but he sometimes unconsciously summoned a wolf, or a badger that sat there and stared at him with an intelligence that unnerved him when he was walking alone in the fields of his home.

Here in the city after meditating with Master Kwai for a time, he felt the rhythm and flow of the Weave far differently. He could sense it in the beats of the footsteps, the pounding of the rain, the music in the sounds of the city. He could sense the swell of life that ran through his body, a sensitivity that surprised even himself.

He sat, his eyes closed and listened. He tried to do as his master told him, to summon a ball of energy when not in battle with his adrenaline running high. Then it was a matter of life and death, and his powers always responded with more surety when he stopped thinking and just acted. But this was something else, something harder.

A bead of sweat dripped down his nose as he murmured the incantation that came to him so easily in a strange tongue. A flicker of light appeared in his hand, the air around it swirling and bobbing steadily. A wind picked up within the room, flattening his new tunic across his chest. His eyes scrunched shut, he continued to try to hold the ball of wind.

Wind, like when his family had gone for a picnic one summer afternoon. His mother, wiping his face while his father smiled at them both.

Wind, like the stormy night that had erupted in violence when the village wizard had declared Andrew a demon changeling, sent to kill them all. His parents face's frightened and angry and his father holding up the great sword that had sat on his wall for so many years, his eyes and mouth contorted in anger and hate telling him to leave.

Gods, why?

With a gasp, Andrew's concentration shattered and the ball of wind erupted around the room. It knocked over a candle and Andrew scurried over to put it out before anyone noticed. After smothering it with a blanket, he leaned against the wall of his room and banged his head on the wall in frustration.

Master Kwai would not be pleased if he didn't figure this out and soon.

[Peridan]

Andrew woke up feeling like shit. His head was ringing and his ears felt like they were huge fuzzy outcroppings on his head. He focused and refocused his eyes, stumbling to the basin to wash his face.

Ugh, that was awful. Never again did he ever want to burn out like that using magic. Only once before had he ever used magic so much that it caused a backlash to this degree, and it was.... He paused. When was it? Why couldn't he remember?

He splashed more cold water on his face and reached for his staff to help him get downstairs, where hopefully there would be something cooking for dinner. He and some adventurers had fought their way up the cartel mountain that day, running a gauntlet that he would have never imagined a few months ago. His powers were increasing at a rapid pace, and it seemed that Master Kwai wished to match that progress with study.

While he did not need to study spells from a spellbook, the other apprentices were also well versed in arcane lore that they had studied since they could cast their first cantrip. Master Kwai wanted to cram that amount of knowledge into his brain in a fraction of the time, so he usually spent most of his days in the Sundren library, absorbing magical theory alongside old lore and arcane know-how. Whenever he fell asleep, Kwai always knew and literally set a fire under his ass to finish his work.

Andrew grabbed a towel and wiped his face. Master Kwai would be displeased that he had blown off studying, but he himself had said that practical application was his strong point rather than theory. There was nothing wrong with strengthening that inclination once in a ten day. Although, he should probably still expect to be punished for his transgression. Andrew could see the fire spell taking form under his ass the moment he sat down in the library once again.

Sighing, Andrew made his way downstairs to eat. Hopefully not his last.