F#%$ this. Imma go kill stuff in Skyrim. Yay FIREBALL.Settle down, Errol.
MORE EXPLOSIONS!
Search Posts
I shall resist the urge to purge it all with fire. And lightning.
::::I need positive waves.., now!::sends positive waves:: Darnit, the pally beat me. Then again, she's the nice one. Just tell me what to blow up.
Let it be known now that my culinary skills are less than stellar, and due to some rather unfortunate mishaps and ill-timed miscalculations in the past I have inspired some inexplicable horror from Ashlea and Vashrellehn regarding my capabilities in the kitchen The first time Zhaorae tried to cook was under supervision in the cabal's kitchen. As part of our preparation for our travels, the three of us were taught basic cooking skills. However, Zhaorae's skill has never manifested. With the first (and only) lesson, she managed to make the air within the kitchen so toxic that it had to be evacuated. With the aid of a few Gust of Wind spells, the room was eventually safe to inhabit again. It is still a mystery how she managed this feat, considering we were learning how to cure meat and prepare campfire toast. The second time Zhaorae tried to cook was on our first morning after our arrival at Diamond Lake. She insisted on attempting to cook biscuits. Somehow Vashrellehn and I were poisoned by the food, despite a lack of any ingredient that could normally cause such. There had not been enough biscuits left for Zhaorae to eat, so she was spared her fate. We, however, suffered for several days under the most deplorable conditions. (The mortal body is a frail and fickle thing, succumbing to ills that are irritating at best.) In the subsequent cooking attempts, the kitchen has been set on fire, the food turned green, and her most recent attempt was deemed inedible by even the vermin that normally congregate around the compost pile. For our own safety, Vashrellehn and I have divided up the remaining mealtimes.
What Zhaorae's record has not recorded was what inspired my normally helpful attitude to turn to a less cooperative one. Nobody, least of all myself, likes being told to "finally be useful." The fact that said usefulness was applied to the use of a cantrip was even further degrading. Added to the fact that I was responsible for helping save his hide multiple times prior to the incident (as he ran for cover behind me), I had had enough. What Zhaorae's record also does not state is that his attitude toward my contributions to the group encouraged further degrading comments regarding my helpfulness from the halfling. I will not be ordered around, insulted, and taken for granted. I am the apprentice to our cabal's only warmage, who studied at length within human colleges to attain his level of success. I can do as much damage as any other mage, if not more. I can withstand the rigors of battle, and have dedicated countless hours toward the memorization and theory of magecraft. Unlike sorcerers (who rely on luck and inherent ability) or wizards (who carry around their spells in written form), I rely SOLELY on the spells I have memorized since the first days of my training. This is a feat that only a few mages can achieve. And I am one of them. I will not be ignored.
Lest it go unrecorded, I have taken it upon myself to include the specifics of our small family. The Darktower Cabal is one of the few vengeance cabals that our people have. Were it not for a series of questionable circumstances--none of which are my fault, I assure you--we would likely never have been grouped together. There are many trainees and apprentices within the cabal, and I am considerably younger than my counterparts. Our lives were ones of order, schedules, [partially scratched out is the word boredom] and constant training. A typical day for my younger self would begin with meditation amongst the elders on the nature of our people, followed by working among the few historical tomes we had retrieved from the Gith. I would then proceed to my magical training, and among other mage apprentices learn the basics of the craft. After this training, I would be allowed a small time for lunch. While I enjoyed the chance to socialize with my peers, they often avoided me. (This is, by the way, entirely due to their misconception about some harmless youthful incidents that may or may not have resulted in lowered self-esteem and increased bitterness among them.) written in Zhaorae's hand: The term you are looking for is "prank," Ashlea. The afternoon was spent training amongst the swordsmen of our cabal, being drilled in the art of combat. Those of us who lacked natural martial ability were drilled twice as hard. Failure to learn a technique was due to lack of study and application. Lack of ability was never a proper excuse. Evenings were times meant for contemplation of what we learned through the day. The life of the vengeance cabal is a demanding one, as you can tell. Sadly, this life left little room for the expression of natural curiosity and creativity that I possessed in abundance as a youth. I do not recall what my motivation was, but one morning I decided to practice my arcane casting in a more practical manner than the mage quarter. written in Zhaorae's hand: In common, she decided to bother the martial students. I successfully managed to sneak into the section where the martial students were practicing certain maneuvers on practice dummies. I decided to see if I could hold my concentration well enough amongst the simulated combat to cast Ray of Frost on one of the dummies--the stuffed kind, mind you. While I successfully managed to cast the spell, in my youthful excitement I missed my intended target. Instead, I accidentally hit the blade of one of the martial trainees--Zhaorae. I almost escaped in the ensuing confusion, had not another mage--a warmage--been present that day at the training grounds. I was forced to make amends by practicing casting while Zhaorae attempted (successfully) to thwack me with practice weapons. I was then apprenticed to the warmage, after showing my aptitude for the more chaotic style of arcane casting that he practiced. |