Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

"Ssstalwart Kandor."

The title still felt like a lie landing on Russel's ear, though the pride that sang in Captain Yssera Kolt's voice as she affixed bronze chains to the wrists of his coat did more than enough to combat the doubt bubbling in the back of the youth's mind. His captain and he stood alone in her office; a messy, cluttered space filled with trophies and loose papers scattered every which way. Chaos, barely reigned in by a semblance of military order.

Russel thought it a fitting space for his Captain. He did wish she had put a little effort in cleaning it up for his promotion, however.

There would be a more official ceremony later, followed swiftly by an unofficial tavern tour sponsored by his unit, but Yssera wanted to set his chains as soon as Russel was fully recovered from his encounter with the Magma Beast. The bronze chains added a new weight to his wrists, and a further reminder of his loyalty and dedication to the Empire. After cycles of injury and recovery, Russel finally felt like he was earning his place in the Imperial Army.

"Ssergeant Bradon told me of your ssskill in hunting down the beasst," Yssera smiled at him, leaning back on her desk while he stared down at the new chains. There was a knowing lilt to her voice, like that of a schoolmate in on a secret.

"I im-m-magine he t-told you about m-me getting dragged off by a smaller w-worm too?" Russel sighed, still to wrapt in pride to let the embarrassing memory shake him.

Yssera simply laughed in response, which was all the confirmation that Russel needed. He felt warmth tinge his cheeks, no doubt pink in the low candlelight of the morning. Still, for the first time in what felt like forever, Russel wasn't keeled over by the guilt of his mistakes. The anxiety and embarrassment was still there, but somehow more distant than before. He could see it, wave at it even, but keep it far enough away from the current moment so that it did not control him.

"N-no advancement without error, I s-s-suposse," he offered, eyes leaving the shining chains to meet Yssera's smiling eyes. He smirked in response, a motion which quickly shifted to a grimace as his curse coiled under his skin. New blooms sprouted at his wrists, cutting through his flesh and snagging on his jacket. Ashan's anger seemed to resent the saplings of joy that had sprouted under Yssera's tutelage. "And n-n-no v-victory without c-cost."

"No, I sssuposse not," his captain responded, voice slightly sad at her student's struggle. She considered him from her perch on her desk for a moment. He could feel her eyes rake over him up and down, examining him, probing him for something Russel was sure he didn't even know he had. His captain had a talent for that, for knowing the youth better than he knew himself.

"It isss time," she declared, before marching towards the door and locking it shut. Russel raised an eyebrow, but did not make a motion to interrupt. He had learned by now that Captain Yssera Kolt had a habit of deciding without discussion, and it was best to follow the mad ithecal's lead no matter how insane the destination seemed. "Your growth over the lasst ssseason made me sssuspect, but your victory over the Beasst proved it."

There was a pause after she locked the door. She offered no more explanation as she went about the room, clearing a space in the center for two chairs which she pulled out from the corners of her office. Russel took the silence as a sign that his mentor was being dramatic, and wanted him to ask questions.

"Time f-for what?"

As if on cue, Yssera's head snapped up and a serpentine grin split her face. She took to one of the chairs, and motioned for Russel to do the same. As soon as he sat, she gripped his hands tight. Her slitted gaze was equal parts excited and terrified.

"It isss time for you to take the next step. Time to initiate you. Time for you to choossse your Magic."

The air was sucked out of Russel's lungs at the mention of the word. The vines which choked his veins seemed to curl tighter around his wrists as its meaning landed on his ears. Spikes of pain shook him from his initial shock, but surprise was still plain in his pale eyes.

"Y-you th-think so?" Russel was sure that even without the tendrils of Ashan's agony constantly shaking his voice, he would have still stuttered at the mention of his inclusion into the Arcane. He always knew it was a possibility. He was, after all, in the Mage Corps. An association with ether was bound to take place eventually if he was to remain in his division. Still, the thought of inviting another presence to reside in his soul, already crowded with the seed of an Immortal's wrath, overwhelmed any expectation and placed him firmly within the realm of fear.

Soothing circles rubbed over his hands by soft scales stilled the terror, however, even for a moment. Yssera was always quick to pick up on Russel's anxieties, a fact that served her well now that he was verging closer to panic. He hadn't even noticed his breath becoming ragged and sharp as the briars that slithered under his skin.

"I know ssso Russsel." She didn't offer more reasons why he was deserving, as it was not in her nature to coddle. She simply sat across from him, synching her breathing to his in a steady pace, and firmly believing in him to such an extent Russel started to believe in himself too.

For a moment, a warm silence fell between the pair. There was no pressure, no prodding, and no pleading from his mentor as Russel considered the offer. It was clear that this was his decision and his alone to make. He searched himself, closing his eyes and letting his instinct guide him. This did not feel like a decision he could make with his head. It felt like one that must be led by his soul.

"Alright, I'll d-do it."

Yssera's hands clasped tighter around Russel's, squeezing them reassuringly. When he opened his eyes to meet hers, he still saw fear mingling with her excitement. While she seemed glad for his decision, the youth could tell that it would not be an easy path forward.

"Before we begin, you mussst decide what Magic callss to your sssoul. The first Ssspark is alwayss an import one. At timess more dominant," she started, pulling back from Russel to center herself for whatever trials lay ahead. "I can teach you to masster your Body and through it massster the bodiess of thossse around you. I can teach you to massster your Mind, and through it masster the world around you. I can teach you to masster Magic, and through it the magic of thossse around you."

Russel smiled slightly as Yssera listed the options. Even now, on the precipice of a great change, his mentor refused to directly give him an answer. All of these magics had names, the youth was sure, but Yssera didn't want to cloud his choice with notions he might have held about each field. Instead, she gave him how the magic would change his authority over aspects of himself, and how that authority would change aspects of the world he interacted with. All that was left to do was choose.

Body. Mind. Or Magic.

His teeth grit together as another bloom budded underneath his skin, interrupting his thought. He could feel the roots of the plant spread through his body; weaving and writing through flowering vines that all snaked just below the surface. For cycles, he had endured the pain of his curse. Endured having his body riddled with pain, parts of himself ripped away from him so that Ashan's growth could take place. For cycles, he did not have a say in what happened to his body.

Now, he'd like a chance to take his body back.

"I've decided."

Russel's throat felt like flame as a scaly bit of black-scaled flesh crawled up from his stomach and was promptly ejected from his mouth. His vision was blurry from the effort, his whole body alight with alarm as he struggled to keep himself upright.

"Again," Yssera commanded, her own voice weak from exhaustion. She was slumped against the wall of her office, lighting sweet-smelling candles to combat the rancid smell of regurgitated flesh that consumed the room. Russel had never seen his Captain so weak, so defeated by her own body. In fairness, Russel had never seen his Captain vomit and reconsume the same bit of self-grown meat five times over. This trial was truly a day of firsts.

His hand shook as he went to grab the slimy, bile-covered morsel. Swallowing it the first time seemed impossible. Swallowing and regurgitating it five more times, as he had been instructed, seemed torturous.

"Russssel, again," Yssera's voice wavered almost as much as the youth's hands shook. But she was right. As much as Russel hated it, she was right. The initiation had started, his mentor's side of the ritual was complete, and to end it now would be more than a refusal of advancement. It would a concession of defeat. It would be Russel admitting that he would never have a right to his body again. That his muscles, his limbs, and his bones would not be his own. They would be Ashan's.

Russel steeled his stomach, forced his shaking muscles to cease, and grabbed the chunk of flesh. He pressed it passed his lips. It tasted of bile and decay. That alone nearly caused the youth to empty his stomach prematurely. His eyes watered as he closed his throat, and then opened it to swallow the flesh again. He could feel his mentor's toxic ether burn his body as it passed through. He threatened to faint from the exertion, but bit his lip bloody to keep his mind alert. He would not concede to sleep.

His body was his to master. It would be mastered by no one else.

His stomach emptied. The flesh mixed with his own bile and his own blood. His hands shook, more violently than before, as he gripped it between his fingers. Again, he consumed it.

His body was his to master. It would be mastered by no one else.

His stomach emptied. His vision swam. Stars danced before his eyes as his palms fell to the ground. The flesh remained before him. The vines under his skin writhed in an almost protest, snagging his skin as they slithered tighter and tighter around his innards. He grasped at the flesh, closing his nose and forcing it down once again.

His body was his to master. It would be mastered by no one else.

Again and again, Russel devoured the toxic, etheric flesh of his mentor. Again and again, his body resisted every step of the way. The cycle continued four more times, each instance of consumption followed by a near immediate repulsion of the black-scaled skin from his body. On every exit, his body threatened to collapse from the strain of rejecting the poison over and over again. It was only by the repetition of his new found mantra and by his mentor's encouragement that Russel found the will to carry on.

Until finally, his body adapted. The flesh was consumed. It settled in the pit of his stomach. The toxic ether became his own, spreading through vine and vein alike. And where the seed of Ashan's wrath, his curse, had sprouted in his soul, a new Spark grew to overtake it.

"My body is mine to master. It will be mastered by no one else." His voice was clear, strong. For the first time in Cycles, for the first time since Ashan marked his soul in anger, Russel's spoke free of a stammer. His voice was his own. His body was finally his own.

And when Russel collapsed into unconsciousness, it was with a smile that felt finally, truly his.

Notes: I like how you combined the promotion to Stalwart and the initiation into his first magic in the same thread. Although magic is a risky proposition on the best of days, I suppose Russel feels as if he's living on borrowed time, cursed as he is. So the whole rationale for taking on the initiation seems sound, as does the mentor's reasons for passing on her spark.

Obviously I'm not surprised that you chose Graft. It seems like the natural choice for one cursed as Russel is, to begin to see how that magic can affect the way that the curse operates. Just bear in mind, the curse abides in spite of the graft magic. It will still have all the other effects (Although you can lose the stutter, that's fine), such as spirits going batty around him, and the painful vines/lowered metabolism during cold weather.

That said, the initiation was fairly straightforward. In my opinion, although Graft is arguably one of the more grotesque initiations, it's also the easiest to survive. All it takes is an iron will, and an iron stomach, whereas with other magics luck is much more of a factor.

That said, enjoy Graft! Good writing!

If you have any questions, comments, or concerns regarding this review, feel free to PM. Enjoy your rewards!