Since things calmed down in Stonebarrow, life has gradually gotten back to what passes for 'normal' in the town. Oggtons keep fishing. Chalks keep flirting. Amelia retains her position as single most intentionally dangerous resident, with various Wingnuts remaining the most accidentally dangerous residents. There have been some differences, however. For one, the representative from Caroban, the Witchdoctor Qing, has remained at his rented cabin, leasing it for the forseeable future. He has largely stayed out of town, to the relief of most townfolk. While he's lost the disagreeable scent of acids and ash that clung to him, his disagreeable temperment has softened only somewhat, and few people have gotten to know him. He's spent most of his time either at the cabin, or out in the swamp, conducting personal research. Occasionally he's visited the castle. When he hasn't been doing this, he's been training one Morgan Nightshade. Apprenticeship under the mage has been hard work. Classical magecraft is very d
different from the witchcraft practiced in Stonebarrow. It's required thinking in headache-inducing ways, with the use of mnemonics and tools to align, focus, and control these powers. Learning seemingly unrelated skills has been necessary to find ways that magic can work more fluidly with the material world. Morgan's intelligence has let him absorb it at a ready rate, but finding time to adhere to Qing's rigorous academic demands between witchly duties to the town has been tough. It's been paying off, however.
Once nearly omnipresent in the affairs of Stonebarrow, Morgan's training, duties, and personal efforts have made him in to an increasingly rare sight when he's not specifically needed. This would be a problem for the populace, but the influx of experienced mages and Ameilia's training have reduced demand for the young witch, a fact he has remarked upon in quiet moments to his mentor. The old mage, wise and accustomed to the reserve of his people, can detect among his apprentice's candor a line of resentment that the youth seems to try hard to avoid sharing openly. Instead, his absence seems to speak for him, as when he is not with the white Naga, he seems to vanish entirely from the town, for hours at a time.
In truth, Morgan has been taking his studies in to his own hands. The Witches of Sylvania come from a long magical tradition which, in itself, has its origins with the surviving magical powers of teh Necromancer Wars. Ethically and professionally interested in protecting their charges from the baleful touch of the darker magics, the witches has literally squirreled away tomes and other items of lore from those darker times, a resouece Morgan has not forgotten. With his shapeshifting power he has taken these materials to a far off horizon, a plataeu deep in the misty mountains and inaccessible by land. Here, the student has tried to understand what his teachers will not tell him, of the mysteries arcane, the nature of curses, of spirits, and of the magic that once shook the world. He has tried to know himself by knowing spirits, to unravel the answers his mother will not give him. All in the name of knowledge and self-betterment, of course.
For his part, Mage Qing has made no indication of awareness of these 'extracurricular' activities. There've been a few times where a 'leap of insight' has been met with an odd look from Morgan's master, but he's only reacted with guarded praise, or about as close as Qing comes to praise. Care taken by Morgan has kept any further suspicion off him. Learning between Qing's formal training and the rare books and resources that the witches of Stonebarrow have locked away has been like putting together the pieces of a puzzle. Where one thing has been confusing, the other source of knowledge filled in the gap. Understanding even a tenth of what's contained in those books is still beyond the kadie, as his knowledge is still basic, but there have been hints and promises of what may lie within. Could it be close at hand? Perhaps. Today, Qing has been testing Morgan, demanding demonstrations of the magic circles, wards, structures he's been shown, of control and power in what he's learned, of anatomy, history, t
terminology, and everything else Morgan can summon up, both figuratively and literally. Actual ritual magic is still beyond Morgan, but that hasn't stopped Qing from requiring his apprentice go through the motions. The spirit Morgan has had to create currently hovers in front of him, tiny, but continually more detailed. "Good. Focus again. Give it a face. Do it while maintaining the body shape it formed. Don't let that slip out of your mind. You need to be able to think about these two seperate things simultaneously."
"Yes ... master ..," Morgan murmurs out, too distracted to formulate a longer response, let alone a question. The raw energies of the world pour through and from him, but it's like holding water or grasping mist. Not just holding, but spinning the ephemeral in to skiens of the mind in a framework of chant and focus, and from there knitting the refined power through force of will in to the pattern imagined. The young man tries to draw off what he has learned from personal and witchly study, but all to often he lacks the bridge of understanding for proper application. His knowledge is like shattered mirror with pieces missing, each reflecting incomplete possibilities to questions both known, and unknown -- and he has little reserve to ponder them while casting.
Ruby eyes watch Morgan intently, and the apprentice can sense his work being analyzed, can feel through his spirit the rokuga's supernatural senses probing, pulling, pushing. He seems able to recognize where Morgan falls back on his witchy background, and his hiss intrudes. "No! Push away your habit. This control is yours, and yours alone. This is not a free spirit, not an echo. You have created this through the sheer force of your will. Shape it! FOCUS! You CAN do this."
Morgan sets his jaw, giving him an uncustom air of aggression. Indeed, this is a look that has become increasingly common in the young kadie as he has developed his magical ability and stepped away from the ordinary life of Stonebarrow. As Morgan has learned to use his will to shapethe world, so too has this newfound will reshaped him in turn. The seeds of personal desire, set by Liliana, nutured by Qing, have begun to blossom in to true nightshade. "Yes, yes ... I can. I can. It weave is unstable, but I can hold it with my will if not with my shaping ... It can't resist me ... Not long ... There is a way. Always a way ... " As he shifts mental stances, Morgan touches on his private training, putting forth a trick of spirit. Raw spirits and the spirits of men are similiar, and can be used as a model. If he cannot draw off the spirits for help, he can use his own as framework, a force!
The spirit is a slippery thing. It's like trying to shape wet clay with hands covered in oil. Morgan reacting to its fitful changes is like trying to keep that same piece of wet, oily clay from sliding off a plate while he balances on a tightrope. Focusing his will makes the grip tighter, however, and using that trick makes it easier to keep his hold while he forces the spirit to flow. The body's roughly humanoid shape sharpens a little, looking less like a mandrake and more like a doll, and the blobby head coalesces into a face, a simple one but a realistic one and not some jack-o-lantern leer. The white serpent peers at it for a moment, maybe a beat longer than he might ordinarily. Then he lifts back and settles into his coils. "Enough. You may disappate it."
Morgam steps back, bringing his hands together, then sweeping them wise in that universal gesture of dispersal. "Whew," be breathes, placing his right hand on his chest. "That was quite difficult, I have to admit. I can see the precision but I clearly lack the experience needed to create it."
The rokuga nods slowly, lidless eyes turning away as he goes back to the makeshift desk he's covered in books, papers, and oddments. He sets aside a few jars, one of something he had collected, another couple labeled as specimens he's had Morgan dissect. "It is a challenging discipline, especially to start," he murmurs. His customary hat and glasses stay resting on a nearby chair. Even in places that were dim enough to be comfortable, Qing has worn them while in town, but here he doesn't seem to feel the need to. He clasps his many hands behind his back, looking out one of the cabin windows. "However, you have met it. You sustained that spirit as long as you had to, and altered it to basic specifications. You have demonstrated that you understand the principles, etiquette, systems, institutions, and complementing skills to an adequate degree required of a formal student. I believe you expressed interest in studying abroad?"
For such a simple word, Morgan finds himself momentarily stunned by its appearance in his life. Abroad. In truth, Morgan has never traveled far from home. He was wanted here. Needed. Here he would live, and here he would die, for Stonebarrow. It was, he though, his destiny. The reason he had been born to such a peculiar life, apart from the others. It was a burden he was glad to shoulder, until fate decided otherwise.
"I, ... I ... I have, yes, that is ... I've considered it and ... " The Kadie stumbles as he tries to sort his emotions, chief among them a fear he has tried to keep buried. He is afraid to leave; afaid to change. Yet, life has already changed, himself included; he is no longer needed as he once was. His desires have broadened, and he has begun to have the forbidden urge of selfishness. Running a hand back through his hair, he turns his gaze downward, and asks, "You're asking if I want to leave? Where would I go? To Caroban, your mage-city in the sky? Is ... Is that really acceptable? Should I leave? I want to go, but ... but ... " He takes a breath, his hair falling from his hand as he loks up to admit, "I suppose ... I'm scared."
Qing answers without turning his head immediately. "Caroban is one option, yes. Another is the Sylvanian guild hall... I believe they still have their chapter, though it may be somewhat small and limited. In either case, I would sponsor you, as my apprentice. With my endorsement, you would be allowed to enroll and be placed for more advanced studies. I should be able to get the fee waived. Naturally, my assumption is that you would wish to pursue spirit studies, but you are free to see where your education takes you. Our art is an expansive one, and there are magisters to help guide you." Finally, he does turn away from the window, hands still folded behind him, the spirit sigil on his robe stark. "Your obligations to Stonebarrow are your own affair, but your decision does not need to be made in haste. I plan to remain here for a while longer. There are some phenomena I wish to monitor and study in the swamp."
"I see," Morgan says, sounding a little tired from the weight of the offer. He turns, taking a seat and propping his head on a hand. "To be truthful, I want to go, and I can't say how honored I am that you would sponsor me and ..," here he looks up, "taking me in and giving me your time at all. I know you prefer solitude and your studies, so please don't think I'm ungrateful. It's simply that I ... I always thought I would be here. Until very recently, I had never considered being anywhere else, or doing anything else. The world I thought I lived has become strange to me; there may be no better time than now. Certainly, my training pales compared to the masters that have gathered here. I was raised beliving my role and my place in it was irreplaceable, and now ... Now that is not the case." Leaning back, he folds his legs, short muzzle twisting. "I feel selfish. That bothers me, too. Even in the face of the truth, I still feel selfish. It bothers me more, that I think I enjoy it."
The rokuga flicks his tongue thoughtfully. There's no rebuke for the hesitation, nor the usual Imperial superiority. "What is it you give to Stonebarrow? What do you want to give to Stonebarrow? I was merely a scribe, those many years ago, when my scales were still green and my eyes still black. What I give now is very different. Many of us believe that what we become is what reflects on our nation and civilization the most. I would assume that is yours to decide." The snake turns back to his desk to take up his bowl hat and glasses. "It is complicated back home, though, with ministers and marshals and the Emperor. I don't know who has power over you here. Not I, anymore. If you would like to join me while you think it over, I could use your assistance on my expeditions out in the bogs, but I can not demand it."
"I think you understand more than you may know, Master. When I think on your words, I know the answers: my mother, the Witches, the elders of Stonebarrow, they are who guide and direct me. Except, we both know now they do not. Even my training, how I have been raised apart from the otehr children to administer to the town, even that is no longer needed. I cannot blame them, even though I may resent that I am no longer needed -- I question why I was ever needed, but that is just resentment. I think the master I fear is not found in that list, but here, in me." Reaching up to rub his face, Morgan's head shakes. "I resent, but I never questioned. I allowed my mother to direct my life and followed gladly, and now I resent her because she won't tell me what to do or how to live. When Zhanrad approached Ameilia, I stepped aside. The truth is, I'm a coward, and my fear is that I now am faced with it. It is unpleasant to bear, with none to blame but myself."
Hands falling, Morgan shakes his head, pushing his hair from his face. "I can be thankful I was not raised to wallow in guilt, and you won't tolerate it either. Yes, you're right to offer at this moment. Now is the time; you are quite apt in your timing. I ... I will leave Stonebarrow. I will go to Caroban, to see the world. I'll stay long enough to settle my affairs, but I must go soon. I fear I'll lose my will if I remain too long, and if I remain in Sylvania, I may wander home again. If I am to go, then I will go far."
The rokuga dons his hat, fixing the strap under his chin, and then sets his smoked spectacles into place. "Very well. I will prepare the necessary documents for you and place my seal on them. You will present them at Caroban at the office of the Magister, when you are prepared to make your journey. I will help you prepare for it when I return from the swamp. I don't expect to be out long, and I imagine you need time to get things settled. If I manage to drown myself or else untoward, let yourself into the cabin, you already know how to make the wards sleep."
"Yes, thank you Master." There's a pause as Morgan watches Qing prepare to leave, broken as the young mage-to-be suddenly stands up and declares, "I'm going too. We won't have much time left at this rate, and I would like to show my appreciation for your tutelage until the very last. Besides, I don't think I can bear the goodbyes. It's best that I leave when I am ready, and be off." Reaching over to take up his claok, Morgan shrugs in to it and, tilting his head, adds, "And you should take up my offer to atke a needle to your robes, Master. The fit could be better, and I would feel terrible if I left your wardrobe in a sad state of repair."
Qing glances back over his shoulder, and nods. "Very good. Perhaps we'll turn up something of value for you to bring with you when you go. It would make a good impression. Come, then."
"I am with you!" The young witch hurries after, follow his elder out the door.