Zeroth Moment: My Cheat Skill Is Stupid, So I'll Just Ignore It

"You are not concentrating, Master Bailey," said Varissian, while Topher's blood boiled in his veins. "You must visualize a linden tree specifically, not a birch or an elm."

By mutual agreement, they met in the forest; Topher didn't want to accidentally burn down the inn, and Varissian didn't want to be seen with Topher. "Pal, I don't have the slightest idea what a linden tree is or what it looks like," Topher shot back. "Maybe if you could describe it better than 'any idiot knows what a linden tree is' or draw a picture that didn't look like you were having a stroke, I could at least know if I was getting close. Might as well ask you to visualize what my butt looks like."

"I imagine it looks much like any other human's rear end, Master Bailey," retorted the mage icily. "If it were required of me to cast a spell, I doubt I would have nearly this much difficulty."

The lesson had not been going well; Topher had been disappointed, but not surprised, to learn that Varissian's knowledge of magic was limited to about three spells, all of which he'd learned entirely by rote from another elf as part of an apprenticeship that had been about ninety percent manual labor and verbal abuse. Worse, the elf had learned from a completely different tradition of magic -- probably made up by someone with the Druid Class -- and none of his methods for visualizing constructs or creating runic sequences remotely matched anything Topher had learned from either his highly abbreviated Mage magic instruction or his almost-as-cursory Priest magic studies. Worse still, Topher had discovered to his tremendous disgust that he really liked Varissian -- the elf was almost as big of a cantankerous jerkface as Topher himself was, and that made their inability to communicate that much more frustrating. The only thing that was giving him any hope at all was that the runic lexicon the elf used was the same as those both the Mage and Priest texts had used, so he was pretty sure this was at least theoretically possible; they just had to get past the roadblock of their utterly dichotomous cultural contexts.

Topher pinched the bridge of his nose, adjusted his glasses, and took a deep breath. "Let's take a break and talk about something else. We're both frustrated, and we can argue back at the inn anytime; we should be productive out here."

The elf nodded, and seated himself elegantly on the stump of a tree; Topher suppressed a chuckle at the contrast between the elf's manner and their surroundings. "Let us begin, then, with a discussion of your background, Master Bailey; knowing your Class and community of origin may help me to... tailor the material." The disdain and contempt were nearly palpable in his sentence, but it only made Topher more amused; Varissian was Level 1, almost certainly F-Rank, and had a Class of "Scullion"; the only reason he could cast spells at all was due to his Unique Skill of Swan Sorcery, which made all of his manifestations bird-shaped. Knowing that Varissian's airs and arrogance existed entirely to mask a crippling inferiority complex, especially in the face of a dumbshit like Topher who had accomplished more in two months than he had in more than a century of life, made him a comical figure in Topher's estimation that it was impossible to be offended by.

Topher nodded. "My Class is Clerk, but I don't really know what that means; it's definitely some kind of Priest Class, since I can wear and benefit from a Priest's Robe, but I was able to learn and cast a few Mage spells long before I ever got my hands on any Priest spells. I don't seem to be able to cast Cure Wounds, though. As far as my background, I don't remember very much; I lived in Strathmore before this, but I lost some of my memory in a battle." He wasn't being entirely truthful here, but he didn't want the elf to know he was an Otherworlder.

Varissian nodded. "Such a Class is unknown to me, but there are only a small number of Classes which can cast both Priest and Mage spells; most notably the Sage Class, to which your Clerk Class may be related. There are also others -- the Heretic and Shaman, to name a few -- but they have other aspects to their Class skills that you seem to lack. The comparison is not precise, however -- I have known of Sages who could cast Healing spells, and while Heretics cannot, they have other powers that are... difficult to overlook." The mage sniffed. "What is your Aspect?"

"My what?" Topher had no idea what the elf was talking about.

Varissian rolled his eyes. "Your Aspect, Master Bailey -- the element by which you express yourself magically. Mine is Fire; as a result, all my manifestations bear the likeness of flames." He cast a Mage Light spell by way of demonstration, and a tiny sunlight-colored swan appeared above his palm, hovering with graceful beats of its flaming wings. "I assume your spells do something similar."

"Hmm. Well, not all of them, but..." Topher cast his own Conjure Light spell, summoning an orb of staticky gray light. "My Light and Shield spells do have the same color. I've never known what it meant."

The elf examined the light critically. "There are aspects of Fire here, Master Bailey, but also of Earth; if I recall the more obscure second-order intersections, that would make your Aspect that of Ash. It would explain the coloration, if nothing else."

Again, Topher experienced that sensation of rightness, of something clicking into place; he nodded. "It sounds right. Ash, huh?" He floated the light around absent-mindedly; it did look like an endlessly-disintegrating ball of flaming ash, now that he noticed it. He felt the urge for a cigarette, and groaned internally. And I'd almost forgotten about it.

Varissian stood up and strode in a circle around Topher, his hands clasped behind his back in a classic ancient-learned-master pose; Topher successfully resisted his desire to giggle and put on his best yes-great-teacher expression. "Perhaps we may establish a working translation between a shared spell; you and I are both capable of casting Mage Light, or a version of it close enough that our runic sequences may be similar. What runes did you use to create this casting?"

"Ehn Ehf Zefekk Zoff," replied Topher easily. Varissian nodded, and drew the runes in the dirt. "And what meanings does your tradition ascribe to those runes?"

"Well, the Mage Array -- at least, that's what I think it's called -- refers to Ehn as the place where Spring, Dawn, and the New Moon meet," Topher hazarded. "The Priest Teachings place it at the junction of Balance, Joy, and Jealousy, but I don't know that that matters."

Varissian nodded again. "In my teachings, Ehn is 'the base of the root of the Earth'; but I do not know if that helps you."

Topher blinked. "Say that again, pal?"

"'The base of the root of the Earth'", Varissian repeated obligingly.

Topher picked up another stick and drew other markings around the rune of Ehn, subdividing it into 'Base', 'Root', and 'Earth'. "That look right?"

The elf cocked his head, then nodded. "I suppose. What are you getting at?"

"One minute." Topher scratched out the rune for Ehf. "What do you call this one?

"Ehf," the mage confirmed. "It is known to me as 'the branch of the root of Earth'."

Topher scratched out the word 'Branch' above the rune, then drew grid lines around it and Ehn such that they were part of an 'Earth' grid. "Still look correct?"

Varissian sniffed. "I suppose."

"Okay. Now, tell me again, what are the runes you use for your fire spell?"

"The spell," drawled the elf, "is not called 'fire spell'. It is called 'Flame Jet', and as you know, its name must match the Skill on your Status if it is to be successfully cast. But, to your question, the runes are Ru, Koreq, and Xym, in that order."

Topher found the appropriate runes in his Ledger from the Priest Teachings; they were all 'Courage' runes, with Ru being at the junction of Jealousy and Joy, a thing he didn't think would ever make sense to him. He didn't quite remember what these mapped to in the Mage Array, but he did remember that Zom, the rune he used to begin his Mage Shield casting, was both a 'Courage' rune and a 'Summer' rune. He drew the Zom rune in the dirt. "What do you call this one?"

"Zom" replied the mage, a little tiredly. "The High Ember."

"Zom", repeated Topher. He held up the stick he was using to draw in the dirt, staring at it; a thought was beginning to percolate through his brain, very slowly and painfully. If Zom is 'the High Ember' in whatever weird element-based tradition Varissian's magic uses, isn't that just 'Middle-Upper-Fire'? And isn't 'Courage' pretty similar to both 'Fire' and 'Summer'? He was dimly aware that his stick starting to glow faintly, but his brain refused to be distracted; looking at nothing in particular, he began to spin it through his fingers. In fact, they're...

His brain turned itself inside out and exploded. Very abruptly, Topher experienced a transcendental vision of Zom, the concept itself; each tradition viewed it from different perspectives, but Zom was Zom, simultaneously singular and yet manifold. Zom in its identity as a Summer rune was different from Zom in its identity as a Fire rune, but both were Zom and could never be anything but Zom. It was like viewing something through a kaleidoscope; the object itself did not change, but your viewpoint upon it did, and that viewpoint was distinct while still remaining the same. And Zom was always related to Zoff in the exact same way, regardless of which version of Zom and Zoff you were casting with; both remained firmly fixed in relation to each other, though the directions in which they were related whirled and shifted depending upon what other concepts were connecting them. It was an N-dimensional game of Apples to Apples; it was philosophical geometry, it was nomic vector circuitry. It was...

Suddenly, he lost it; his mind tripped, fumbled, and fell out of whatever trance he had been in. He dropped the stick he'd been spinning, which had been glowing like a shard of the sun; it abruptly went out, and he sat down hard and blinked. "What the fuck was that?"

"A question I am currently also greatly concerned with," commented Varissian pointedly, who was peeking out behind a large boulder roughly twenty feet away. "Are you done with whatever arcane seizure you were having, or should I go find you a medicinal herb?"

Topher looked around, managed to stand, and dusted himself off. "I think I'm okay. Jesus, that was trippy." Trying to grasp at the fleeting threads of whatever insight he'd been bludgeoned with, he concentrated and pointed his finger out in front of him, like he'd seen Varissian do, and intoned, "Ru Koreq Xym", with the intention to cast Flame Jet; but instead of trying to visualize a linden tree (which mostly resulted in him imagining a tree with curtains on it, because 'linden' sounded like 'linen'), he instead visualized the shape of the mystic connection between Ru, Koreq, and Zom, wending from the start of the sequence to the end, and then visualized a tree on top of it for good measure, just in case. A flurry of fat, flaky gray sparks shot out from his finger, spraying all across the ground in front of him and catching the hem of his Priest's Robe; he almost broke his neck trying to break the casting and stamp out the smolder before it could become a flame, but the damage was thankfully minimal.

"I infer from the sounds of destruction and mayhem that you have been at least partially successful," came the elf's voice from behind the rock; he had ducked down and was now completely hidden behind it. "You'll forgive me if I don't offer my congratulations from within the line of fire."

Topher groaned and sat down. "Well, it did something, anyway. You can come out; I'm done blowing stuff up." He eyed the singe on his robe with a sigh; he hoped he hadn't damaged the enchantment. Eventually, he checked his Status:

Name:

Christopher Bailey

Level:

6

Class:

Clerk

HP:

18/18

MP:

18/24

SP:

6/6

Strength:

Rank F

Dexterity:

Rank F

Constitution:

Rank D [+1: Rank D]

Intelligence:

Rank D

Wisdom:

Rank D [+1: Rank D]

Charisma:

Rank F

Skills:

Literacy (Rank D)

Mathematics (Rank D)

Cooking (Rank F)

Customer Service (Rank D)

Data Entry and Filing (Rank B)

Packaging and Shipping (Rank D)

Home Appliance Repair (Rank F)

Pen Spinning (Rank A)

[Cold Resistance (Rank F)]

[Heat Resistance (Rank F)]

Special Skills:

Disrupt Illusion

Conjure Shield (Rank F)

Conjure Light (Rank F)

Improved Status

Summon Ledger

Remove Fatigue (Rank F)

Flame Jet (Rank F)

Unique Skill:

Attract Object

Looks like it cost me 2 MP even for a weak jet like that, he thought to himself sourly, and it probably wouldn't even have phased a goblin. Still, progress, was progress; at worst, he could now dig a pit full of wood, drop a goblin into it, and set it on fire. He looked up at Varissian, who was cautiously emerging from behind the rock as though he expected to be incinerated at any moment. "Thanks, pal -- uh, I mean, Master Varissian. I learned a lot today."

The elf sniffed. "The proper nomenclature would be 'Master Leafwind'; 'Varissian' is merely my traveling-name."

"Huh." Topher pursed his lips. "The last elf I met did say elves use names like clothing. And his name was 'Leafwind', too."

"Another of my clan? That's surprising." The elf picked up the stick he'd been using before, grimaced at its smoldering tip, and began using it to scratch out the runes they'd been writing. "Where did you meet him?"

"Strathmore." Topher dusted himself off and began the laborious process of standing up. "He said his name was Cailu."

The elf abruptly whirled and quick-stepped next to Topher; he almost toppled backwards from surprise. Varissian's face was paper-white; his mouth was a hard line, and his hands were balled into fists. "What did you say?"

"Cailu, Cailu Leafwind," stammered Topher, abruptly realizing that he had in some unknown way fucked up. "Why?"

Varissian reached forward and grabbed a handful of Topher's shirt; Topher felt himself being pulled forward roughly, but let it happen. Varissian's face loomed large as he thrust it right up next to Topher's, and the words that tumbled out of his mouth burned with urgency. "You will tell me where you saw my brother."