Matter over Mind
The longer Martel thought about it, the better he felt about his decision to stay in Morcaster. As intriguing as it would be to set sail for foreign lands, ultimately, it was a step too far to trust this mysterious fellow, whom he had only t once before, and whose real na he had not learned. Going to his class on Tyrian runes, sitting down with Maximilian and Eleanor on either side, Martel felt reassured he had chosen wisely.
As the previous Mandays, Master Fenrick had another rune to teach them. Martel felt a little overwheld at the pace with which they went through the symbols, considering he had yet to make any of them work; and if he had trouble doing so, he could only imagine how the rest of the class felt. But either the teacher knew what he was doing, or he did not care. In either case, he held up a parchnt to show them yet another strange symbol with twisting lines interlocking.
"The rune of preservation, we call it, as its purpose is to create cold. You may think that nature provides this in abundance in the lands of Tyria, but even there, sumr can be hot and quickly turn food spoiled. This rune, which they might inscribe straight upon the at or bread, keeps it cold. While obviously our own enchantnts can achieve the sa effect, only those gifted in elental magic can do this." The teacher glanced at his students, all of the mageknights except one. "That ans even you have hope of learning how to keep your ale cold on a hot day."
"Finally, sothing useful," Maximilian muttered, which made Martel smile.
"The activating word is this. Frjósa." Master Fenrick almost breathed rather than spoke the phrase, but they all saw the shimr of magic around his hand. From the distance, Martel could not tell of any effect, so he let his ability to sense heat extend forward. A cold pocket t him where the rune stood inscribed on the parchnt. "Get to work," their teacher commanded. He spent the remainder of the lesson moving up and down the classroom, issuing corrections wherever needed.
***
Martel stood, eyes closed and with complete focus on his magical sense. "Water. Earth. Water. Air. Fire. Earth." Each utterance ca in response to feeling a burst of magic from his teacher. As he no longer felt any spell work being done, he opened his eyes to look at Master Alastair.
"Correct on all. And speedily done too. You've co far learning how to sense and identify magic. But that's just the first part of learning how to counterspell."
Martel nodded, knowing he still had ways to go; even so, he felt a thrill at how good he had beco. He hoped that by increasing his sensitivity to magic in this way, it would affect his ability to identify in general. Recognising spells was one thing; if he could add potions and artefacts to that, he would feel like an expert. Perhaps even like a Master of Lore.
"The hardest part cos now," his teacher warned him. "Sensing the elent at play, the spell attacking you, is only the first step. You must react with the opposite elent to counter, and you must do so imdiately, or it will be too late. Now, it's not intuitive for our minds to think water when we feel fire, earth when we feel air, and so on. But that is what we must train. Close your eyes and focus once again. When you feel and identify my spell, draw the opposite elent into your hand."
"Yes, master." Martel readied himself, eyes closed and hands in front of him. He waited until he felt fire; eager to react, his mind and instinct both went to what seed most obvious and conjured a strong fla into his own hand. It took him a mont to realise what he had done; he opened his eyes to look at his teacher with a sheepish expression.
As for Master Alastair, he gave a wry smile. "I may have been a little unfair to you with this first attempt. For our kind, fire is always the first choice when it cos to magic. But now you understand what you are up against. And perhaps we should make this a little less difficult for you until you get the hang of it. For now, I'll only use water spells. So all you have to do is follow your instinct and conjure fire the mont you sense it. Understood?"
Martel nodded quickly and prepared himself once more.
***
Ready to give the elixir of fortitude another try, Martel stood once more in Mistress Rana's laboratory. He had brought his note with him, written down after last ti so that he might rember the different steps. Unlike previous potions, this recipe required the ingredients added at different tis with different heat. Adjusting the intensity of the fire was no issue for Martel, but he found it difficult to know when it was the right ti to add the next reagent.
He was supposed to know this by examining his brew as he went along, checking colour, viscosity, and even sll; all of these signs and others would tell him when it was ready to move to the next step. Assuming he was a skilled alchemist who could correctly determine all of this, naturally. He had failed to do so last ti, forcing Mistress Rana to step in and do it for him in order to save the potion. But he would learn it eventually; if that required so failures along the way, he would just have to accept that and keep trying.
"Let see what you wrote down." Mistress Rana took his notes and let her eyes glance over it. "You rembered everything, at least, though your handwriting leaves much to be desired. Still, no use having a skilled hand if your mind is empty." She handed it back. "Very well, let us try it again. This ti, rember to use all your senses. Even sothing like how the potion simrs can tell you whether you're progressing correctly or not."
"Yes, mistress." Taking his notes back, Martel put them aside and began awakening the magic in the ingredients.
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