A (Hapless) Halfsized Hero

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Memelord
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A (Hapless) Halfsized Hero

Post by Memelord » Wed Apr 11, 2018 3:44 am

Krenalir - a sleepy little city on the southern coast of the Luirenstrand; a place where the air always carried the smell of either seaspray or citrus fruit. It is a Luiric city, a halfling city - that is to say, a happy place, full of content and hardworking people: and on the western edge of the city, on this fine summer day, the top of a tower exploded.

Otherwise busy hin, just trying to go about their daily business, scattered as the streets below were showered with loose tiles and pebbles from far above - others, less preoccupied with their immediate safety, stared in a mixture of wonderment, disbelief and open distrust as whorling plumes of purple smoke billowed from the structure's upmost windows.

The Tower's master, a Strongheart wizard of middling skill and irritable nature by the name of Farthan 'Goodeye' Boughbaker, was being served his traditional afternoon tea by one of his more skilled apprentices when the 'incident' occured; was being the operative word, as the poor wizardling jumped when the entire building shuddered: sending tea, cup and platter spilled all over the floor (and his master, to boot!) Farthan's one good eye twitched.

Damn his eyes!, thought the mage as he stormed past apprentices, stomping his way up and up and upwards through the tower, It's awful enough luck to be saddled with so much useless talent, inheriting the others' apprentices, but it took years to regain the trust of the plebs! Years!; he'd be damned if he allowed one particularly useless apprentice, one who never seemed to learn anything no matter how many times he was taught, set that trust back even an iota - the respectable name of the Watercresses (and their money) be damned!

Yes, Farthan had figured out precisely what rain of verbal hellfire he'd be calling down on this witless fool long before he reached the top of the tower - but when he flung open the chamber's door to reveal a particularly dazed young hin, stained a dozen different hues from a Color Spray spell gone wrong, he just sighed - pinched his nose, and made a mental note:

Sappo Watercress: no appreciable talent for Illusions.

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Re: A (Hapless) Halfsized Hero

Post by Memelord » Thu Apr 12, 2018 4:22 am

Old Farthan sat hunchbacked at a table, going through the tedious motions of preparing yet another arcanabula to be passed out to yet another apprentice - a tedious chore that accompanied the sudden "wealth" of young talent his tower had acquired after Krenalir's other two resident wizards made themselves deceased during the Godswar: one simply vanishing upon attempting a relatively simple spell. The other had been more troublesome, driven insane (like many wizards across the Realms) in the wake of Mystra's death - a good dozen of the local hin had been injured trying to restrain him, before he finally vaporized himself and his would-be captors with an errant spell that almost destroyed the fountain in the town's central plaza - the one bearing the likeness of Chand Strongheart; a statue that still stands crooked to this day - always waiting, with the patience only marble knows, for gnomen stonemasons to come down from Beluir. It had taken years for the locals to trust him enough to just leave him alone in peace to study.

A light flickered out in the corner of the room, and in his peripherals he saw movement - a flash of red hair and quick feet: the talentless Sappo, hurrying to murmur the Light-cantrip needed to restore the candle to "life". Well. Perhaps not talentless, the Wizard thought, as his apprentice timidly approached, He took to simple tricks and cantrips quicker than any of the rest - even if anything more complicated eludes him. Dangerously. But, the Watercresses have plenty of gold, and they're willing to throw it away here - even if the only result of this apprenticeship is just getting the boy out of their burrow for a few years. He was just about to return to his scrawling when the young fool had the gall to speak up.

"Um. S-sir? Perhaps it would be better if we just actually lit-", Sappo begin - but his suggestion was choked off early when Farthan cast an angry glare his way: a glare that made the young hin almost squeak, and sent him scurrying about the rest of his rather tedious duties. Every good apprentice knows never to upset their master - and Farthan had a shorter fuse than most.

With only the faintest satisfaction derived from bullying his underlings back into their place, Farthan returned to his work. There was only one small consolation to find in all of this drudgery: while he might have twelve apprentices, he'd only need to bother writing out simple spellbooks for eleven.

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Re: A (Hapless) Halfsized Hero

Post by Memelord » Fri Apr 13, 2018 6:46 am

Sappo's apprenticeship to Farthan lasted barely more than a year - it didn't take the old mage long to realize why his least skilled apprentice showed absolutely no discernible progress under his undoubtedly expert tutelage: the young Watercress was a sorcerer! He'd half suspected as much when the young hin came to his 'care' already knowing a fair few cantrips and magical party tricks; but, when he sent for a sorcerer from Beluir to hoist the boy off onto, the innatist took but one look at the would-be apprentice and bristled, declaring that there was something different about this boy. Something that reminded him of then.

The word hung in the air, choking out conversation - there was a shared, unspoken understanding of its context, even among the meanest of Farthan's apprentices. Then. The bad times, the mad times, the time when magic broke and the Weave threatened to unwind following Helm's killing of Mystra during the Godswar. Yes, the young Watercress reminded him of then, though precisely how he couldn't even begin to say, and he wanted nothing more to do with him, thankyouverymuchandgooddaysir.

And so, the decision was made to put the boy out: to send him packing, send him home. An easy affair - after all, his family lived just across town. While Sappo had been a voracious reader and learned a great deal about a broad array of topics, Farthan had no use for an apprentice who couldn't be taught by the book, and especially no use for an apprentice whose attempts at using wizardly magic could best be described as "another day, another incident." Sappo had half hoped that some of his fellow apprentices would at least come to see him off, but when it came time to shoulder his pack and step out the door, the foyer was empty and silent as a crypt. His fellow mages had wanted very little to do with him since his rejection by the sorcerer from Beluir.

Different.

The young hin stepped out into the busy streets of Krenalir, with its pleasant noises and warm weather, and where ever he went the otherwise bustling city fell silent - wary eyes watching his passing; even now, nearly half a decade after the Godswar, these hin weren't quite ready to let their guard down around a magic user - and most certainly not around the boy who'd caused Farthan a small fortune in roof shingles. The only person who so much as attempted to speak to him was the gnome that ran the grocer, from whom Sappo had picked up the various goods and sundries needed to keep the tower running. The gnome offered, shuffling in place, a rather uncertain "Good day, lad!" as Sappo passed - a hail that went, much to his relief, completely unanswered.

Different.

Farthan evidently hadn't bothered to write in advance to tell his parents he'd be returning, if the surprised looks on their faces was anything to go by when Sappo thrust the letter explaining his dismissal in detail into their hands. They took turns reading it, wordless, silent. His mother's fingers drummed worriedly on the kitchen table, and his father chewed worriedly at the stem of his pipe as he squinted down at the paper. That suffocating silence hung in the air, palpably awkward, until Sappo pushed past them and broke it - slamming the door to a now spider-occupied bedroom.

Different.

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