05-28-2018, 02:55 AM
(This post was last modified: 05-28-2018, 02:55 AM by Dr. McNinja.)
Dongja gulped as Master Millet painted more arcane runes on the stone floor. Master Millet's basement was cold and uncomfortably damp, and the feeling permeated through Dongja's bones. But it was roomy and sturdy, perfect for the realignment ritual Master Millet planned out. The old wizard himself was on his knees, painting carefully to make sure there were no gaps in the lines.
"Just relax, Dongja. I've done this lots of times. And those other guys are just here to watch."
"And what if I fail?"
"Then you'll make a very big mess out of a very small circle in the room. But you won't fail, right?"
"Right."
"You're gonna hold your ground."
"Right."
"Say it."
"I'm gonna hold my ground."
"Thatta boy," Master Millet grunted, rising to his feet.
Someone knocked gently on the door to the basement. Master Millet waved a hand, a rune manifesting above his head.
Master Millet muttered, "Open: Geh."
The reinforced wooden door swung open, revealing three hooded figures. They held elegant branches with various ornaments, likely their wands, as Master Millet explained. They entered the basement, bowing slightly to Master Millet. A fourth mage followed them, dressed in white robes with red iconography. She smiled warmly at Dongja and Master Millet.
"Is this the young boy you spoke of?" the woman asked.
"This is him," Master Millet responded, "Madame Markovia, Ok Dongja. Dongja, Madame Markovia. The staff is Yeo-Ee-Pil."
Yeo-Ee-Pil floated into the air, bending so that its body was upright while its tip was bending downwards, as if to bow.
"Pleasure is all mine, Madame," the staff said.
The woman bowed to the staff, seemingly unfazed by the floating, talking stick.
"Madame Markovia is one of the higher-up clerics in the Mages' Guild," Master Millet explained, "She's here to make sure that the ritual we're doing fits Dalaran's standards. And, you know, to keep us honest."
Dongja bowed, his right fist pressed against his left palm.
"I'm honored, Madame Markovia."
"No need to be so formal, Dongja. Now, do you mind if I take a quick look in your head?"
Dongja glanced nervously at Master Millet. The old man nodded.
"Okay," the boy sorcerer mumbled.
Madame Markovia closed her eyes. She stuck out her index and middle finger, waving the hand in a circle. In her open palm lay another copper coin.
"Detect Thoughts," the cleric muttered.
Dongja suddenly felt something like a finger poke into his brain. It wasn't a painful experience, but it was certainly uncomfortable. The coin melted into liquid, then dissolved into dust, then into nothing.
"Let's see what you learned in the past few weeks," Madame Markovia said, her eyes gripped shut in concentration.
Dongja nodded. He stepped gingerly over the thin ring of runes that Master Millet painted onto the floor. He knelt in the center, where lines of runes intersected. The sorcerer couldn't help but notice the slight tingling sensation as the model ley lines touched his legs.
"Go ahead," Master Millet nodded.
Dongja inhaled deeply. In his mind, flashing images of the deities he and Ogong had met flickered from one to the other. The concept of immortality, of divinity, of the absolution that defined gods, formed like anthills in his brain. He was trying to grasp an idea that no mortal could comprehend.
"Divine," Dongja mumbled, his hands rotating in a circle, "Yung."
Dongja exhaled deeply. In his mind, flashing images of spirits flickered from one to the other. The idea of a person with no body, where the mind and heart was completely removed from any physical anchor, floating in the universe with nothing to hold onto.
"Spirit," Dongja mumbled, his hands stopping and knuckles pressing together, "Hon."
Master Millet watched with apprehension, fingers fiddling the brush he used to paint the runes.
"Soul," Dongja gasped, the twitching in his legs becoming insufferable, "Yung. Hon."
The ring on the floor flashed, purple light shooting upwards into walls of solid arcane energy. And just on time, as well. Dongja's body was beginning to ripple, branches of electricity reaching out and scratching at the magical cage. Fire swirled around Dongja, blocking sight of him from everyone else. It screamed outwards, pressing against the invisible wall like a child pressing his cheeks against glass. Frost crawled up the air on an unseen surface and the air vibrated inexplicably. Dongja screamed, and his eyes hollowed.
Madame Markovia looked at Maste Millet with concern, but the old dwarf nodded assuringly.
More magic burst from the boy in the middle of the glyphs, filling the space with elemental forces tearing at each other for room. The arcane energy was threatening to break the wall swelling the cylinder with its force. Master Millet, noticing this, waved his hands in a circular motion, creating an airborne glyph upon which he etched his next spell.
"Strength: Ryuk."
Clanking noises emanated throughout the room as the swirling column of unbound arcane forces straightened out, the force field holding tighter. Madame Markovia blinked in confusion.
"I... I can hear so many of them," the cleric muttered in confusion.
"It's working then," Master Millet snarled, "which one's louder?"
"All of them," Madame Markovia gasped, tears forming in her eyes as she clutched her temple, "They're all screaming, and the boy... is so lost..."
Master Millet snarled. He slammed on the arcane wall.
"Dongja!" the old man hollered, "Hold your ground!"
The arcane fury roared louder, swirling faster. Under any other circumstance, it would have been safe to assume the body would have been annihilated.
"Hold your ground!"
The storm dimmed lightly, as the magic made way for thousands of spectral faces to spin furiously. Sun Ogong's body lay in the middle, very dead.
"Hold your ground!" Master Millet roared,
"Hold your ground," the spirits replied, almost mockingly. It was impossible to see which one was Dongja's.
The magical rage flared up again, consuming the air. Master Millet scowled.
"He's... He's falling!" Madame Markovia screamed.
"I know," Master Millet snarled, four glyphs and sweat appearing on his brow, "Reply Dae, Prevent Hahng, Pour Ju, Words Moon!"
As he said each word, a new character etched itself hurriedly on each glyph. The four symbols crashed together, then separated themselves barely as the old man attempted to hold the spell.
"Counterspell! Daehang Joomoon!"
The spell was not quite right, and seemed to split a little into two different spells. The latter spell shot forward, lighting the cylinder with a very bright light. The former spell shot forward and shattered the wall, wrapping around the spell as if trying to smother it. In a mighty contest of magical wills, the master tried to embrace the student in a calming embrace, as violent as it was.
With an anticlimactic "beep", the magic vanished. A boy's body was in the middle, heaving. Master Millet, whose vision was blurry, sighed contentedly. The boy had done it after all.
Wait a minute.
Instead of the blue hoodied monkey that was there before, now rested a human boy in green robes. One orange feather stuck out of the boy's headband.
"This," Master Millet sighed, "isn't what I ordered."
***
Dongja scratched at his head. He was pretty sure that he didn't have fleas, since his body and Ogong's body would never have made contact, but he was itchy regardless. Next to him, Yeo-Ee-Pil was squirming back and forth like a child in a tantrum. They were sitting on a bench outside of the doors to the High Council of Dalaran.
"I'm boooooored Dongja let's go fight somethiiiiiiiing"
"Stop saying that," the boy grumbled, itching more.
Suddenly, the High Council's gate slammed open somehow gently. Dumbledore and Master Millet were walking out the door, murmuring something. Dumbledore smiled warmly at Dongja before turning back into the room. Master Millet smiled briefly, before correcting himself. He strolled up to Dongja.
"So you can stay in Dalaran now," Master Millet sighed, "If you want."
"I'm sorry?"
"You're not considered a liability anymore, just a student of a Master of Dalaran and a member of the Mages' Guild."
"I-"
"I mean, you're still an apprentice, since that's the lowest level. But frankly, you clearly had a lot more potential than I expe-"
"Master, I wanna go home."
Master Millet blinked, shocked. His expression briefly turned sad.
"Kid," the old man sighed, "There is no going back. I've never heard of someone transpositioning someone else like you did, and I highly doubt Ogong is back home, wondering what happened. Hell, even the biggest Primes around haven't been able to go back."
Dongja blinked.
"So," the boy stammered, "S-So I'm stuck here?"
His face crumpled. "Why? WHY? Ogong was the one who got dragged here! I didn't do anything! He just cast too many spells in his little playground and now I'm paying for it! Why do I have to stay in this fucking nightmare? Why do I-"
Dongja paused, tears fully streaming down his face. He collapsed onto the bench behind him, eyes distant. Master Millet sighed.
"After all this time," Master Millet grumbled, "You keep forgetting what I taught you."
The old man left, Yeo-Ee-Pil following behind him wordlessly (for once). The boy stayed on the bench for a while, thinking about what to do next.
"Just relax, Dongja. I've done this lots of times. And those other guys are just here to watch."
"And what if I fail?"
"Then you'll make a very big mess out of a very small circle in the room. But you won't fail, right?"
"Right."
"You're gonna hold your ground."
"Right."
"Say it."
"I'm gonna hold my ground."
"Thatta boy," Master Millet grunted, rising to his feet.
Someone knocked gently on the door to the basement. Master Millet waved a hand, a rune manifesting above his head.
Master Millet muttered, "Open: Geh."
The reinforced wooden door swung open, revealing three hooded figures. They held elegant branches with various ornaments, likely their wands, as Master Millet explained. They entered the basement, bowing slightly to Master Millet. A fourth mage followed them, dressed in white robes with red iconography. She smiled warmly at Dongja and Master Millet.
"Is this the young boy you spoke of?" the woman asked.
"This is him," Master Millet responded, "Madame Markovia, Ok Dongja. Dongja, Madame Markovia. The staff is Yeo-Ee-Pil."
Yeo-Ee-Pil floated into the air, bending so that its body was upright while its tip was bending downwards, as if to bow.
"Pleasure is all mine, Madame," the staff said.
The woman bowed to the staff, seemingly unfazed by the floating, talking stick.
"Madame Markovia is one of the higher-up clerics in the Mages' Guild," Master Millet explained, "She's here to make sure that the ritual we're doing fits Dalaran's standards. And, you know, to keep us honest."
Dongja bowed, his right fist pressed against his left palm.
"I'm honored, Madame Markovia."
"No need to be so formal, Dongja. Now, do you mind if I take a quick look in your head?"
Dongja glanced nervously at Master Millet. The old man nodded.
"Okay," the boy sorcerer mumbled.
Madame Markovia closed her eyes. She stuck out her index and middle finger, waving the hand in a circle. In her open palm lay another copper coin.
"Detect Thoughts," the cleric muttered.
Dongja suddenly felt something like a finger poke into his brain. It wasn't a painful experience, but it was certainly uncomfortable. The coin melted into liquid, then dissolved into dust, then into nothing.
"Let's see what you learned in the past few weeks," Madame Markovia said, her eyes gripped shut in concentration.
Dongja nodded. He stepped gingerly over the thin ring of runes that Master Millet painted onto the floor. He knelt in the center, where lines of runes intersected. The sorcerer couldn't help but notice the slight tingling sensation as the model ley lines touched his legs.
"Go ahead," Master Millet nodded.
Dongja inhaled deeply. In his mind, flashing images of the deities he and Ogong had met flickered from one to the other. The concept of immortality, of divinity, of the absolution that defined gods, formed like anthills in his brain. He was trying to grasp an idea that no mortal could comprehend.
"Divine," Dongja mumbled, his hands rotating in a circle, "Yung."
Dongja exhaled deeply. In his mind, flashing images of spirits flickered from one to the other. The idea of a person with no body, where the mind and heart was completely removed from any physical anchor, floating in the universe with nothing to hold onto.
"Spirit," Dongja mumbled, his hands stopping and knuckles pressing together, "Hon."
Master Millet watched with apprehension, fingers fiddling the brush he used to paint the runes.
"Soul," Dongja gasped, the twitching in his legs becoming insufferable, "Yung. Hon."
The ring on the floor flashed, purple light shooting upwards into walls of solid arcane energy. And just on time, as well. Dongja's body was beginning to ripple, branches of electricity reaching out and scratching at the magical cage. Fire swirled around Dongja, blocking sight of him from everyone else. It screamed outwards, pressing against the invisible wall like a child pressing his cheeks against glass. Frost crawled up the air on an unseen surface and the air vibrated inexplicably. Dongja screamed, and his eyes hollowed.
Madame Markovia looked at Maste Millet with concern, but the old dwarf nodded assuringly.
More magic burst from the boy in the middle of the glyphs, filling the space with elemental forces tearing at each other for room. The arcane energy was threatening to break the wall swelling the cylinder with its force. Master Millet, noticing this, waved his hands in a circular motion, creating an airborne glyph upon which he etched his next spell.
"Strength: Ryuk."
Clanking noises emanated throughout the room as the swirling column of unbound arcane forces straightened out, the force field holding tighter. Madame Markovia blinked in confusion.
"I... I can hear so many of them," the cleric muttered in confusion.
"It's working then," Master Millet snarled, "which one's louder?"
"All of them," Madame Markovia gasped, tears forming in her eyes as she clutched her temple, "They're all screaming, and the boy... is so lost..."
Master Millet snarled. He slammed on the arcane wall.
"Dongja!" the old man hollered, "Hold your ground!"
The arcane fury roared louder, swirling faster. Under any other circumstance, it would have been safe to assume the body would have been annihilated.
"Hold your ground!"
The storm dimmed lightly, as the magic made way for thousands of spectral faces to spin furiously. Sun Ogong's body lay in the middle, very dead.
"Hold your ground!" Master Millet roared,
"Hold your ground," the spirits replied, almost mockingly. It was impossible to see which one was Dongja's.
The magical rage flared up again, consuming the air. Master Millet scowled.
"He's... He's falling!" Madame Markovia screamed.
"I know," Master Millet snarled, four glyphs and sweat appearing on his brow, "Reply Dae, Prevent Hahng, Pour Ju, Words Moon!"
As he said each word, a new character etched itself hurriedly on each glyph. The four symbols crashed together, then separated themselves barely as the old man attempted to hold the spell.
"Counterspell! Daehang Joomoon!"
The spell was not quite right, and seemed to split a little into two different spells. The latter spell shot forward, lighting the cylinder with a very bright light. The former spell shot forward and shattered the wall, wrapping around the spell as if trying to smother it. In a mighty contest of magical wills, the master tried to embrace the student in a calming embrace, as violent as it was.
With an anticlimactic "beep", the magic vanished. A boy's body was in the middle, heaving. Master Millet, whose vision was blurry, sighed contentedly. The boy had done it after all.
Wait a minute.
Instead of the blue hoodied monkey that was there before, now rested a human boy in green robes. One orange feather stuck out of the boy's headband.
"This," Master Millet sighed, "isn't what I ordered."
***
Dongja scratched at his head. He was pretty sure that he didn't have fleas, since his body and Ogong's body would never have made contact, but he was itchy regardless. Next to him, Yeo-Ee-Pil was squirming back and forth like a child in a tantrum. They were sitting on a bench outside of the doors to the High Council of Dalaran.
"I'm boooooored Dongja let's go fight somethiiiiiiiing"
"Stop saying that," the boy grumbled, itching more.
Suddenly, the High Council's gate slammed open somehow gently. Dumbledore and Master Millet were walking out the door, murmuring something. Dumbledore smiled warmly at Dongja before turning back into the room. Master Millet smiled briefly, before correcting himself. He strolled up to Dongja.
"So you can stay in Dalaran now," Master Millet sighed, "If you want."
"I'm sorry?"
"You're not considered a liability anymore, just a student of a Master of Dalaran and a member of the Mages' Guild."
"I-"
"I mean, you're still an apprentice, since that's the lowest level. But frankly, you clearly had a lot more potential than I expe-"
"Master, I wanna go home."
Master Millet blinked, shocked. His expression briefly turned sad.
"Kid," the old man sighed, "There is no going back. I've never heard of someone transpositioning someone else like you did, and I highly doubt Ogong is back home, wondering what happened. Hell, even the biggest Primes around haven't been able to go back."
Dongja blinked.
"So," the boy stammered, "S-So I'm stuck here?"
His face crumpled. "Why? WHY? Ogong was the one who got dragged here! I didn't do anything! He just cast too many spells in his little playground and now I'm paying for it! Why do I have to stay in this fucking nightmare? Why do I-"
Dongja paused, tears fully streaming down his face. He collapsed onto the bench behind him, eyes distant. Master Millet sighed.
"After all this time," Master Millet grumbled, "You keep forgetting what I taught you."
The old man left, Yeo-Ee-Pil following behind him wordlessly (for once). The boy stayed on the bench for a while, thinking about what to do next.
Quote:COMPLETE
10273/7500 words (MS Word).
- Meet the Council of Dalaran
- Be assigned a Master
- Train
- Train some more
- Train even more
- Earn respect of superiors
- Be admitted into Mages' Guild
![[Image: 665000_mcninja_by_cavenglok-dch0qt5.jpg]](https://orig00.deviantart.net/3590/f/2018/193/c/8/665000_mcninja_by_cavenglok-dch0qt5.jpg)
Odd hours. Call for appointment.