Aftermath

[Strazio Rockwell]

“Come on let’s get going,” Strazio said.
 
The battle-scarred mage tried to sit up in bed and stopped about halfway. His body shuddered and he laid back down. After a few seconds of angry breathing he tried again, and once again he stopped halfway before falling back down. Small globules of blood seeped through the dressing around his gut and he clutched the stained cloth. Under his breath he cursed and tried to move again, this time he didn’t even make it halfway. Beads of sweat trickled down his brow.
 
“It hurts,” Strazio groaned and turned onto his side.
 
“You must rest my vicious young friend,” Valerie said, “you’ve got time, your bloodsport doesn’t begin for a few days, so please rest.”
 
Once again Strazio tried to rise.
 
“Oh my sweet summer child,” Valerie sighed and held his palm in front of Strazio’s face, “go to sleep.”
 
From his palm sprouted a blue and purple flower. Strazio went cross-eyed trying to focus on the yellow center of the plant. It took only a moment before Strazio recognized the flower. He managed to get out the “oh” of “oh, no you fucking don’t” before a puff of golden powder covered his face. He tried not to breath, but the cloud of pollen agitated his nose and he sneezed. His body grew heavy and within seconds he was sound asleep.
 
Valerie sighed and looked over at Gamzee, “what an unfortunate soul.”
 
The troll shrugged and said, “he’s alright.”
 
There was a moment of silence before Val clapped his hands together and stood up.
 
“At any rate it cannot be helped,” he said, “as powerful as he is he must make for a terrible teacher, come along now dear Gamzee, I’d be remiss if I did not offer my tutelage to such a fresh practitioner.”
 
Gamzee stood up and glanced at the sleeping Strazio, “what about him, he gonna be alright?”
 
“Ah, yes, yes, he needs the rest,” Val answered, “he’ll be cognisant in a few hours, the Circadian Rose doesn’t last very long.”
 
---
 
Perhaps it was idle curiosity that entranced the troll or perhaps it was a simple case of boredom; perhaps the troll did not even know why he followed Valerie, but he did. The two wandered beyond the walls of Darkshire and into a nearby grove, or rather the remains of one. As with most things in the moors what was once a prosperous font of life was now a decrepit shade of its former glory. Harsh weeds strangled the life from anything that dared to grow. A smattering of dead and dying trees scratched the grey sky above them and sludge-filled lake bubbled and frothed nearby. Valerie hummed softly, oblivious to the rot around him.
 
“This place is giving me all kinds of nasty vibes,” Gamzee remarked.
 
“Ah yes, it is a wretched place indeed, but we are short on time so it will have to do,” Valerie answered, “shall we begin?”
 
The troll rubbed the back of his neck and replied, “yeah, sure, let’s cast some motherfuckin’ spells and shit.”
 
“Splendid,” Val said and clapped his hands together, “now there are a few things you must know before we begin, and this may be a bit much so please try to listen.”
 
Gamzee nodded.
 
“Firstly, magick is inherently entropic, it requires a catalyst, one that will be damaged or sometimes completely consumed in the process, for Strazio that catalyst is his flesh and blood, for you it may be something as simple as a rock,” Valerie began speaking, his hands performing intricate motions as he continued, “secondly, magick is more of an art than a science, just as an artist’s skill exists within his hands rather than brush, magick is powered by your own fortitude rather than any external force.”
 
The troll looked at his hands, scrunched his face for a moment, and then raised his palm outwards.
 
“S’aight,” he said, shaking his hand, “so how do I go about slinging righteous lightnin’ bolts like my compadre’?”
 
Valerie wagged his finger in the air, “now that is tricky.”
 
He scampered over to a tree and rubbed his hand along the bark. Once he found a suitable spot his dug his nails into the bark and ripped off a chunk. A thorn sprouted from his fingertip and he etched a sigil onto the smooth side of the chunk. Once his engraving was done he walked over to the troll and handed the piece to his student. Gamzee held the bark up to his nose and sniffed it. He wasn’t sure if it smelled like magick, but then again he wasn’t sure what magick smelled like in the first place. 
 
“Magick is channeled through your emotions,” Valerie began again, “a heart filled with rage can only hope to produce destruction, while a more reserved practitioner could conjure something as permanent as a mountain, the heart is your guiding star when it comes to magick, that piece of bark will be your temporary catalyst, close your eyes and imagine that sigil, trace it with your mind’s eye and focus on it, breath and allow your instincts to guide you.”