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DIFTW Chapter 2
🕑 Added 2024-01-06 01:33:19 +0000 UTCWaking up to darkness, Mick groaned in annoyance. He remembered that he had left the candles burning. As his cell didn’t have any windows, he was completely in the dark. He hated waking up like this.
Carving a simple light spell, an orb of pale white light appeared above his hand. Absently throwing it at the chandelier, he watched it stick to the cross-brace and set the entire thing swinging. The ceiling of his cell was only 10 feet, and if he stretched, he could replace the burned out candles in the chandelier without even needing a stool.
Rolling out of bed, he came to his feet with a groan. Leaning back, he stretched his back and thrust out his belly. His joints were sore, and his age always made mornings difficult. He shuffled over to his dresser, on which a large washing bowl was sitting alongside a small shaving mirror.
He looked down to see the bowl filled with dirty water. Next to it were some old towels and a dull razor. Grimacing, he stared at his reflection. The poorly kept beard and messy gray hair made him look as bad as he felt. But, the look in his eyes was new.
Normally, he would see defeat looking back at him, but today he saw a hint of long forgotten steel. Furrowing his brow, he grabbed onto that feeling with everything he had. “Let’s do this, old man,” he told his reflection.
Using a household spell for summoning water, he cleaned out his washing bowl. Another simple spell cleaned the towel. Even though he didn’t have any soap, he washed himself as best as he could. When he was done, he looked back to his reflection. The determined man in the mirror still looked haggard.
Looking around, he found an old brush. After getting his hair under control, he tied it back into a tail with a strip of cloth he had been using as a bookmark. Mick looked down at the book of poems describing the different types of sunrises and scoffed at the memory of reading this drivel. He tossed the book off into a corner and returned to his grooming.
He held up the dull razor, examining the rust spots and the faded edge. He had commissioned this razor years ago. As elves were damn near hairless apart from their head, the had no reason to make razors. Reaching back into his memory, he tried to recall the spell for sharpening a blade. It had been ages since he had cast that spell.
Cautiously, he carved what he could remember. His mana moved through the air, slowly creating the spell-form. The glowing symbol completed, but stayed a dull gray. His will had weakened over the years, and he had to fight to hold the incomplete spell-form in place. Narrowing his eyes, he examined the spell. Distant memories of a time when he was an actual mage rose up from his past. His will firmed, and he delicately altered the spell, fixing the errors one by one.
The spell-form snapped into place, and the golden glow of an active spell shown bright in the dark room. Mick smiled, and reveled in the feeling of a successful cast. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he had actually USED his magic.
Targeting his razor, he funneled the world’s mana into his spell-form. He watched as the edge sharpened, and the rust flaked off the blade. Releasing the spell, he examined the shining blade. The sense of accomplishment was like a double edged sword. As nice as it felt to succeed, it reminded him of how much he had let himself go. Was he actually feeling proud of casting a sharpening spell? It’s like feeling pride when you manage to buckle your boots.
Pushing away the dark thoughts, he returned to his mirror. After wetting his shaggy beard, he didn’t bother to try and comb it out. He just started sliding the razor across his chin. Carefully, he removed chunks of matted hair, watching it fall from his face in the mirror. Before long, he was staring at his dark brown eyes that were looking back at him with a face he didn’t recognize.
How long had it been since he had seen his face without a beard. He reached up and cleaned up his eyebrows. Finally, he used some water to pat down any stray hairs on his head.
He stood up tall, and went to check himself out in the tall scrying mirror on the wall. He put on his cleanest robes, and cast a simple cleaning spell to remove any dirt or grime that was clinging to them. Even though the man in the mirror wasn’t one he recognized, he had to admit it was much better than the maniac he had seen when he had woken up.
“Right then. Let’s try and convince those useless bastards to do something useful for once,” he said to his reflection with some steel in his tone.
Mick put on his backpack and satchel, then turned to take one last look at his room. He walked over to the dresser, and picked up his freshly sharpened razor. With a smile, he flooded it with his mana. It took almost two full minutes before he felt a connection. Once he was sure it was truly ‘his’, he pulled it into his personal space. Perhaps he was being sentimental, but it felt like the right thing to do.
Turning around, he briskly walked to the door. Opening it, he stepped into the hall and looked back for one last time. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the light spell he had left hanging on the empty chandelier. “If they want light, they can change the candles themselves,” he muttered.
The dark hallway with its intermittent ghost lights was empty as usual, and Mick was left to his thoughts as he made his way up to the main floors.
Before long, he came up through the basement door into the brightly lit main hallway that encircled the tower. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust, and watched the slowly moving elves attend to whatever boring tasks they were wasting their ridiculously long lives doing.
After making his way out of the tower, he turned around to take a final look at the place he had spent the last thirty years waiting for something to happen.
It was a solid stone pillar that stretched far into the sky, reaching past the canopy of the massive trees that made up the elven community where he had been placed. The aged stone was covered in ivy, and Mick could see patches of flowers breaking up the greenery. Open windows ringed the floors, with several balconies poking out of the sides. The wide wooden doors at the base were open, as always. In fact, Mick didn’t think he recalled them ever being closed. Rain or shine, the entryway to the tower was always open.
With a sigh, he turned away. This wasn’t the time to reminisce, it was a time for action.
He made his way along the wide forest path, exchanging polite nods to the elves who were going about their day. Mick was used to walking, as everything here was spread out. It took him almost an hour before he saw his destination.
Located in the base of a tree, the local proctor house was where the community leaders gathered for this district. It was here, years ago, that they had placed him after deciding his fate. This was where he came to host talks, record his life, answer questions, and to be put on display in order to satiate the curiosity of his benefactors.
Stepping through the doors, he was greeted by one of the desk attendants. “Pleasant Morning, Mr. Barclay,” the young elvish woman said with a gentle smile.
Mick saw her waiting patiently for his response, her hands folded in front her. Nodding quickly, he replied, “Hello Ms. Winterspring, pleasant morning and all that. Is Warden Feywind available?”
Speaking slowly, she replied, “Yes, Mr. Barclay. Warden Feywind is currently breaking his fast in one of the community parlors. Would you like me to inquire if he would be amenable to your company this fine morning?”
Keeping his irritation hidden, he said, “Yes. Thank you.”
Rather than leaving, Ms. Winterspring asked, “Have you broken your fast this morning Mr. Barclay, or should I also request something from the kitchens? Today the kitchens have a seared bloot mushroom cap salad with a delightful vinaigrette dressing. I would also recommend the volberry juice. It’s particularly tart today.” She hadn’t moved an inch, and her smile hadn’t faltered a bit.
For Mick, it was the elves endless patience that was slowly driving him mad. They took forever to do anything. If he wasn’t careful, he’d spend all morning talking with this woman about breakfast. It had happened before.
“Thank you very much. Anything will be fine. But, I really would like to speak with Warden Feywind at his earliest convenience. The matter is somewhat urgent,” he said.
Although her smile stayed, he could see the judgment in her eyes. He could almost hear her chastising him for his rude, impatient behavior.
“Is there anything that I can do to address the matter?” she asked.
Gritting his teeth, Mick said, “No, thank you. Could you please just let Warden Feywind know that I’m here.”
She stood there staring at him for a good ten seconds, then said, “Very well, Mr. Barclay. I will let him know that you are here, and that you have requested to join him for his meal. I will also let the kitchens know that you are need of a morning repast. Is there anything else you’d like me to pass on?”
Mick had to remind himself that she wasn’t trying to be difficult. From her perspective, she was actually moving through the conversation quickly. All of the elves were like this. They could stand in one place for hours, talking about nothing, doing nothing, and afterword they would feel like they had accomplished something. Even after all these years, he still found it infuriating.
His voice tight, he said, “No, thank you. That will be fine.”
She waited for a few more seconds, staring at him to see if he had anything more to add. When she was satisfied that their conversation had ended, she gave him a polite nod, then turned slowly before walking off.
Mick watched her glacial progress across the wide room. She was walking at a sedate pace, in no hurry to get where she was going. He could only hope and pray to all the gods in the upper planes that she wouldn’t get distracted on her way to relay his message to Warden Feywind.
Looking around, he saw many elves slowly going about their morning. Everyone was tall, lithe, and beautiful. Even the shortest elf was over 2 meters. Everyone’s long, almost glowing hair was various shades of silver and gold. It wasn’t uncommon to see flowers were braided into their flowing locks. Their long, vertically pointed ears were sometimes appointed with small earrings.
Here in the proctor house, everyone was dressed in robes. Although the colors varied, they were always bright, and reminiscent of nature. Jewelry was tastefully worn, along with a belt knife adorned with a familial sigil. Etiquette demanded that they displayed their ancestry in public.
Mick had spent hours reading about their cultural rules, and had come to the conclusion that they all had too much time on their hands.
When he had first arrived, he had been invited to attend a wedding. The event had taken a week, with each day having a performance and readings he was forced to attend. At night, the guests had all slept in a meadow with patches of grass for their beds. By the end of the week, he had felt like he was losing his mind. And while he looked haggard and probably smelled like day old fish, all of the elves seemed to remain as impeccably dressed and fresh as when they had first arrived.
As he stood in the entryway, waiting for the attendant to return, he couldn’t help but remember all the times that reinforced just how different elves were from humans. ‘No matter how similar we look, we are definitely a different species,’he thought ruefully.
Realizing that there was no point in standing around, he walked off to the side of the large room to take a seat on the provided benches. As he was waiting for someone, it would be considered very rude for him to read a book, or do anything other than wait patiently. So, without any other options, he pushed down his irritation, and did his best to project an air of solemnity.
It took almost an hour before the attendant returned. She walked slowly through the room, stopping a few feet in front of Mick. He knew that she would stand there quietly until he addressed her. As a test, he had once waited ten minutes before addressing someone, and the elf he had been ignoring acted like nothing had happened.
Mick stood up and approached the attendant, saying, “Thank you for relaying my message, Ms. Winterspring. Is he available?”
That infuriating smile of hers was back as she said, “Yes. Warden Feywind was happy to hear that you were interested in breaking your fast with him. He ordered some eggs added to your meal. From your past interactions, he has learned that you prefer them to vegetables. Is that alright?”
“Yes, that’s fine. Can you please lead me to him?” he asked, trying to move the conversation along.
Nodding, she replied, “Of course. If you would please follow me, I’ll take you to the parlor he is currently using. Would you like to leave your bags at the desk?”
Shaking his head, Mick said, “No, thank you. As I said, this matter is rather urgent.”
“Or course, Mr. Barclay. Right this way,” she said, then turned slowly before walking off.
Mick had to hold himself back, as he wanted to scream at the woman to hurry up. But his better nature prevailed, and he followed her at the sedate pace he had gotten used to. But, he made sure not to engage her in conversation, as his past experiences had taught him that an elf barely needed a reason to stop and start talking.
Several minutes later, he was led into a beautifully adorned sitting room. The morning light bounced off the polished floors from the tall windows, and the lovingly carved furniture seemed to glow with an inner light. Bright, colored linens and tapestries hung throughout the room, adding a feeling of whimsy to the surroundings.
Warden Feywind was sitting comfortably at a small table, looking out into the courtyard through the wide glass doors. Mick had known the man for the entire time he had been in ‘Valericorn’, named for the first king of the elves. He hadn’t been surprised to learn that the original king still ruled from Valerin, the aptly named capital of Valericorn.
The warden lazily looked over his shoulder to see Mick approach. With a smile on his face, he said, “Mick, you’ve removed your facial hair. You should know that you don’t need to mimic us. We aren’t offended by your differences.”
Mick took his seat, ignoring the patient Ms. Winterspring, who now stood watch over their conversation.
Mick replied, “Neelan, I didn’t shave to look like an elf. I just needed a change.”
Years ago, Mick had been transported to this small community from the northern edge of their kingdom. He didn’t know why this place was chosen, but he had definitely lucked out with Neelan. The man was the one elf he could stand to have a conversation with.
The Warden, Neelan Feywind, was a typical elf in most respects. His light golden hair, and impeccable robes, along with his ever-present smile made him hard to find in a crowd. However, he had an unusual personality for an elf. The man could actually tell when he was being obnoxious. Very quickly, he learned that Mick didn’t like to waste time with idle chatter, and he adapted accordingly. For Mick, that was a godsend.
After taking a sip of his tea, Neelan asked, “So, how did it go with the academic approval committee?”
Grimacing, Mick poured himself some tea, and said, “You were right. They wouldn’t even consider it.”
Shrugging lightly, Neelan looked out onto the courtyard and said, “I’m not surprised. You have to understand their perspective. For them, the idea of using a body for study is revolting.”
Mick frowned and said, “I get it. I really do. But, I’m running out of time.”
Neelan turned his head to look at his aging human friend, and sighed. Over his shoulder he said, “Ms. Winterspring, thank you for your service. If you wouldn’t mind, could you please give us some privacy, and ensure that we aren’t disturbed.”
Ms. Winterspring offered a polite, shallow bow, and said, “Of course Warden Feywind. I’ll wait outside the parlor door, and make sure that no one intrudes on your conversation. Please let me know if you require anything else.”
Neelan replied, “Of course. Thank you once again for your service.”
Mick watched as both elves waited a few seconds to ensure that their conversation had actually ended. Predictably, at some unseen signal, they both offered each other a nod, then went about their business. Neelan turned back to his breakfast, and Ms. Winterspring walked toward the door. Even after all these years, Mick still found their actions creepy.
After the door closed, Neelan broke the silence by asking, “Mick, what do you really want a body for?”
Mick had been eating while the elves had been performing their cultural dance. But when he heard Neelan’s question, he paused with his fork half-way to his mouth. He looked across the small table, seeing Neelan calmly sipping his tea and looking out onto the courtyard.
Setting down his fork, Mick asked, “Does it matter? If they wouldn’t give me a body for study, they definitely wouldn’t approve of me performing my experiment.”
Neelan nodded slowly, then said, “Judging by your appearance, along with your bags, I’m guessing you’re planning on leaving.”
Mick stared hard at his friend and said, “Look Neelan. I need to get to the western edge of the kingdom. I’m sure there will be opportunities to find a body there.”
Neelan turned his head to stare Mick in the eye, and he said, “Why do you want a body Mick? You have my word that I won’t repeat what you tell me. But if I’m to help you, I need to know.”
Mick’s shoulders slumped. Without Neelan’s help, the chances of him crossing the entire kingdom were non-existent. He NEEDED a portal mage familiar with the area. Without one, he was screwed.
Without any other options, he said, “My body is dying Neelan. I need a new one.”
Neelan frowned in confusion, and said, “I don’t understand.”
Mick smirked and said, “I’m relatively confident that I figured out how to transfer my soul into an unused body. With a fresh corpse, my chances of success should be around 70%.”
The ancient elf’s eyes widened in surprise, then he returned to looking out onto the courtyard. Mick couldn’t tell if Neelan was horrified, impressed, or just surprised. But, after spending years among them, Mick had learned to be patient. So, he kept silent and just watched Neelan work through his feelings.
After a long 5 minutes, Neelan turned his head back to Mick and said, “So you want a new body. That’s necromancy Mick. Known to the masses as ‘dark magic’.”
Mick nodded, and took a sip of his tea. “Yup,” he said.
“And you have no moral objections to the practice?” asked Neelan.
Mick offered the elf a rueful smile, and replied, “I have a moral objection to dying in the middle of this boring kingdom.”
Neelan held Mick’s gaze, but said nothing, nor did he bother to look offended.
Mick set down his cup, and leaned forward. His voice was firm, and full of life as he said, “I want to see the world. Travel. Fight monsters. Fly on the back of a wyvern. I want to live the legends I read about as a young man. My soul is young, and…. And I’m not done yet.”
Neelan cracked a smile, and said, “So it’s not the lure of immortality that drew you. It’s life.” He paused to take a sip of his tea, then said, “I don’t think you’ll enjoy being a lich as much as you think you will.”
Mick leaned back in shock, and said, “Who in the hells said anything about being a lich?”
Neelan cocked his head in confusion and said, “You did. You can’t just take over a dead body and expect it to come back to life. You’ll have to re-animate it. Flood it with necromatic energy, and fight it for control. You’re life will be a constant struggle.”
Mick shook his head and said, “No, that’s for amateurs. I’m perfectly capable of actual animation. I know what I’m doing.”
Neelan looked at his human friend, and offered him a mocking smile, then said, “Well, Mr. Barclay. Let me tell you a story...”
