373 days until the Arkon Shield falls

I swung open the door of my cabin and, to my surprise, found something waiting for me on the threshold. It was a crate filled with equipment. Leaning down, I riffled through the contents.

It was stuff I’d ordered from the crafters. That was fast, I thought. I’d not expected the items for a while yet. Frowning, I glanced upwards. Full night had fallen. Damn. I’d lost a few hours binding the familiar.

Ash flickered in my hands, and through our bond, I sensed her uncertainty—and guilt. I ducked my head. “Sorry,” I said contritely. “It’s my fault, not yours. Everything always takes longer than I expect.” I grimaced. “But looks like we’ll have to leave the tour for later. I have to—”

I broke off as the elemental seed rose from my palm to hover before my eyes. “Wow. You can fly.”

Amusement coursed through the bond.

“Alright, I guess that’s obvious now,” I said sheepishly. “How high can you go?”

Ash floated higher and hung in the air at a point far above me. She stayed there, waiting on my word. I stared up at the marble-sized seed. Her crystal housing emitted a constant soft amber light, but every second or so, she pulsed brighter, making her clearly visible in the darkness.

I waved her onwards. “Keep going,” I encouraged. “As high as you can.”

Ash ascended steeply until she was no more than a faint dot in the night sky. In my magesight, I saw the spirit bonds between us uncoil and stretch taut before refusing to expand further.

Ash had reached the limit of the distance she could travel from me. Craning my head backward, I tried to judge exactly how far that was. Three hundred yards? Four hundred? I couldn’t tell.

Ash tugged at me through our bond. My brows drew down, trying to figure out what she wanted. Images flickered through my mind, and my frown deepened. It was almost as if she wanted me to… join her?

She pulled at me again, more insistently this time. I shrugged. I was unsure I understood what the elemental wanted, but following her lead, I let my awareness slip through the weaves of spirit joining us.

My vision swam dizzyingly, and feeling a sudden sense of vertigo, I jerked back my mind from the familiar.

What the—?

For a moment, it’d felt as if I was in two places at once, both looking out at the darkened streets from ground level and staring at the village from above. My eyes widened, belatedly realizing what had happened. Had I really just shared my familiar’s sight?

Squeezing my eyes, I tried again, letting my consciousness seep back into Ash.

A moment later, I was looking down on the village from about three hundred yards above. I exhaled in awe. So this is what the Trials meant by using a familiar as my eyes and ears.

Experimenting with my bond to the familiar, I willed Ash lower. Obligingly, she followed my instructions and skimmed across the village.

I laughed, delighted both by the sensation of flying and the many benefits I could see to Ash’s abilities. I recalled the familiar, and she zipped back to rest on my palm.

I bent my head down to address her. “Well, little one, as small as you are, you will certainly come in useful.”

Ash pulsed happily.

The only problem I could foresee with using the seed to scout was her constant glow. Tentatively, I willed her to darken and in response, the familiar’s inner fire diminished, but only partially.

“No matter,” I murmured. “We’ll find a way to work around it.” I stashed the seed in my pocket. “Rest now, Ash. It’s time I got back to work.”

The familiar pulsed in acquiescence, and in my pocket, I sensed her awareness retract fully into the sliver housing her as she fell asleep. Swinging around, I picked up the crate and headed back into my cabin.

There was still much I had to get done tonight.

✽✽✽

Seated on the rug once more, I stared down at the three sets of items I’d unpacked and arranged on the floor. The first was a new set of leather armor, a near replica of my existing gear. The second was two oak saplings, and the third was a hollowed-out zelium cylinder.

I picked up the zelium piece first for closer inspection. I’d asked Anton to manufacture it, and the smith had followed my instructions to perfection. The object was about five inches long and had a diameter slightly smaller than the saplings. It was my plan to use it as an endcap for the new Focus I was about to craft.

I’d gotten the idea after examining Cedric’s staff. The Veteran enchanter who had crafted the death mage’s Focus had managed to fuse metal endcaps onto the wood in a manner that allowed the staff’s living spirit to traverse both the wood and metal.

I suspected that it had taken both sorcery and lore to extend the sapling’s spirit weaves into the metal. While I possessed both Disciplines myself, I knew my skills were not nearly sufficient to replicate the enchanter’s feat.

Still, nothing stopped me from adding an inert piece of metal—zelium in this case—to one end of my staff. I would not be able to channel any spells through that end—the metal would have no spirit coursing through it—but that was alright. My intent was simply to improve my staff’s physical damage output.

When I needed to use my staff as a simple bludgeoning instrument, I would attack with the zelium-capped end. To spellcast, I would use the other end.

The first step to creating my new staff, though, was attuning a sapling. Resting one of the living pieces of oak across my knees, I sent threads of my magic into it and cast basic attunement.

It took a while, but eventually, the length of wood beneath my hands smoothened and darkened as the cobalt blue threads of my magic aligned with its spirit.

You have created an oak wizard’s staff. This Focus has no special properties, can only be used by Jameson Sinclair, and has a basic level of attunement.

I was not done yet, though. Cupping the zelium endcap in my bare left hand, I cast restrained flare, heating the object in a controlled manner. When I felt the metal expand, I gently pushed in one end of the staff through the hollowed-out cylinder and quenched the flames in my hand, watching intently as the zelium contracted to fit snugly around the oak.

You have successfully modified your Focus fixed, causing it to inflict greater physical damage.

I smiled. It had worked. Straightening from my bent-over posture, I ran my hands lightly along the new staff, pleased with my efforts. I set it aside, along with the second sapling. That, I would take north with me, in the event that Lance had not crafted his own Focus.

There was only one more chore I had remaining for the night: spellcrafting new dragon magic spells.

Closing my eyes, I set about it.

✽✽✽

Turning my attention inwards, I considered my dragon magic. My knowledge and skill in the Discipline far exceeded that of the other magic schools now. I could weave nearly double the number of dragon magic threads I could previously, allowing me to cast faster and manifest more complex spells. All of which opened up a whole plethora of exciting possibilities for spellcasting.

I began by addressing my most urgent need: improving my defensive capabilities. Drawing threads of mana into my mind, I started constructing a spell shield. Since entering the Trials, I had encountered two versions of the spell: Kagan’s fire shield and the murluk chieftain’s water shield. The wiki had described them at length, too, and I felt confident in my ability to replicate a dragon magic variant.

Using magma buckler’s spellform as a template, I expanded the weave in my mind’s eye until it fully encapsulated me. Then I tinkered further, hardening and reinforcing the imaginary mesh of gold. Crafting the spell went easier than I expected. My magic responded eagerly and wove itself into the form I desired, until eventually, a luminous spell construct coalesced in my mind.

I studied the shining spellform from all angles. It’ll do, I thought in satisfaction and infused it with lifeblood and mana. In response, thin amber filaments spun out of my hands to form a shimmering dome around me that was invisible to the naked eye.

You have spellcrafted a caster-only spell shield from the Discipline of dragon magic. The name assigned to this casting is sanctum of fire. Sanctum is a persistent spell that encases the player in a bubble of dragonfire that stops incoming ranged and magical projectiles only; melee attacks are unaffected. While active, the shield will drain the caster’s lifeblood and mana. Its casting time is fast, and its rank is common.

Lore note: Sanctum is a deceptively simple spell shield that all dragons learn early. Given the casting’s persistent nature, it can be maintained almost indefinitely and for that reason, even elder dragons favor it over more complex castings. In combat, wily dragons use sanctum to force their foes into range of tooth and claw or to attack enemy casters from afar with impunity.

A pleased grin stole onto my face as I beheld the flickering dome of light about me in my magesight. Sanctum was nowhere near a replacement for invincible, of course. It would stop all forms of ranged attacks but would do nothing against melee attacks. I had another idea for countering those sorts of assaults, though. Letting the spell shield around me dissipate, I closed my eyes and began spellcrafting anew.

This time, creating the casting I had in mind took longer, and I got the sense that it was both more intricate and larger. But finally, I succeeded.

You have spellcrafted a caster-only spell from the Discipline of dragon magic. The name assigned to this casting is guarding flames. Guarding flames is a single-cast spell that manifests three dragonfire orbs. The fiery spheres keep watch on the caster from above and will intercept melee attacks. Its casting time is fast, and its rank is uncommon.

Lore note: Guardian flames is not often used, but its worth is realized when a dragon is beset by multiple foes. In such cases, the dragonfire orbs are nearly as effective as the dragon himself at foiling attacks.

Opening my eyes, I studied my latest creation. Three fist-sized balls of dragonfire revolved three feet above my head. While their spellforms were self-contained, I sensed they were still connected to my mana pool and ready to repel any threat they detected. Though, only time and experience would tell how effective the spell would be in combat.

Banishing the orbs, I moved on to my next experiment: creating a projectile spell. It, too, took longer than I anticipated.

I began by using the design of fire ray as the kernel for the new spell, but time and again, I was forced to revise the spell weaves. Eventually, realizing fire ray was a poor base, I started anew and built the spell from the ground up.

You have spellcrafted a ranged spell from the Discipline of dragon magic. The name assigned to this casting is seeking flame. Seeking flame is a single-cast spell that produces a miniature dragonfire orb that will hunt down the caster’s chosen prey. Its casting time is very fast, and its rank is rare.

Lore note: Dragonfire is the best-known and most feared weapon of dragonkind. Unlike ordinary fire, dragonfire is responsive to the caster’s emotions and wishes. Seeking flame is the simplest dragon spell capable of retaining more than a hint of dragonfire’s sentience and is the first projectile spell that every young dragon learns. It is a bright, condensed ball of flames that contains not only the intense heat of dragonfire but also some of its primal cunning.

I blinked several times as I read the lore note twice over. The spell was better than I could have hoped for, and its capabilities explained the difficulties I’d experienced crafting it.

Holding out my hand, I cast seeking flame. Obediently, an orb of heat and light five inches in diameter mushroomed out of my palm to hover a few inches above, waiting on my instructions. Opening my magesight, I examined the roiling ball of dragonfire.

There was intelligence coded in its heart.

I knew for a certainty that I’d not woven any sentience into the spellform—that was beyond me. It can only have been born from the dragonfire itself, I thought.

“Well, well,” I murmured, studying the orb in fascination. The awareness in it was not like Ash’s; it was not a fully-formed entity. But this particular incarnation of dragonfire wasn’t like the one I summoned with flare either.

I realized the fiery sphere would obey simple commands—much like one of Cedric’s reanimated dead. Let’s find out how well it does that. Fixing my gaze on the closed door, I willed the seeking flame at it.

The tiny orb rocketed off my palm to splash against the door. Wood splintered, cracked, then burst asunder, and hungry flames spread to the remains of the doorway.

“Oops.”

The single word dropped out of my mouth as I stared aghast at the destruction. The small ball of fire had packed a bigger punch than I expected.

Better see to that fire.

Dashing to my feet, I hurried forward to put out the flames. But despite the damage to my cabin, I was smiling.

The spell had turned out exactly as I’d hoped.

✽✽✽

A short time later—doorless and with the stiff evening chill blowing in unopposed—I sat down again to resume my spellcrafting. The door’s destruction had gone unnoticed by Sierra’s residents, but I expected there would be questions in the morning.

I stifled a yawn. It was nearly midnight, and it was past time I got some rest, but there was one more spell I wanted to learn.

The one I’d tried at Woodspire.

I knew the spell construct already and deftly wove the casting. I paused before infusing it, though. The last time I’d attempted the spell, it had drained my lifeforce and left me on the edge of death. I expected matters to go differently this time, but I was still nervous.

Enough stalling, I told myself. Breathing in deeply, I charged the spell.

Threads of mana and lifeblood rushed to fill the spellform. Minutes ticked by, and still more energy flooded the weave. But in stark contrast to my last attempt, I felt no debilitating weakness; my magic and body were strong enough to fuel the spell. The last of my tension fled. This is going to work.

The spell completed.

Opening my eyes, I stared down at my hands. They had changed. Exactly as I’d pictured in my mind, my arms were coated in scales from elbows to fingertips. My nails had been replaced too. In their place were gleaming black talons, each nearly two inches long and curved to sharpened points.

Ah.

I flexed my muscles and watched in fascination as my fists closed in response. I’d been half-expecting them not to, still unable to believe they were my hands.

Lowering my arms, I ran my hand along the floor. Without even trying, my taloned fingers sliced through the rug and left claw marks in the wood beneath. My eyes widened at the sight.

My hands had become weapons.

I studied the scales covering my forearms. They were all shades of gold. Small, dull, and closely interlocked, the scales could pass for skin at first glance. But any closer inspection would reveal their alien nature.

I unsheathed my knife.

My new skin had the appearance of dragonhide, but I wondered if it had the substance of it too. Only one way to find out, I thought. Tightening my grip on the weapon, I drew it down my left forearm, pressing deeply.

The blade did not so much as scratch the scales.

“Weapons, indeed,” I laughed in breathless delight and turned at last to the waiting Trials messages.

You have spellcrafted a caster-only spell from the Discipline of dragon magic. The name assigned to this casting is taloned hands. Taloned hands is a basic shapeshifting spell that transforms the caster’s forelimbs into humanoid hands. Its casting time is average, and its rank is rare.

Lore note: Dragonkind is as much renowned for their creations as they are for their battle prowess. Yet, in their natural form, dragons are titanic beasts of war without the fine motor skills required for crafting. The secret to dragonkind’s success lies in their ability to shapeshift, allowing them to shift their bodies, or parts thereof, at will.

“Shapeshifting,” I murmured. I had not expected so complete an alteration. The underlying structure of my arms—bone and musculature—remained human, but the outer layer was draconic, complete with dragonhide and talons.

The most remarkable aspect was that the transformation was permanent, requiring neither mana nor lifeblood to maintain.

My gaze dropped to my legs. The success of taloned hands gave me hope that I could cast a similar spell over my feet—my hobbled left foot in particular. Would a shapeshifting spell be enough to overcome a trait-applied effect? I wondered.

I wasn’t sure, but I had to try.

Excited by the prospect of losing my disability, my tiredness vanished. Closing my eyes, I imagined my legs sheathed in the dragon scales and held the image steady while I waited for my magic to react.

My mana did not stir, though.

Intensifying my focus, I added additional layers of detail. Still, my magic did not respond. I clenched my jaw in frustration and began building a spellform in my mind. But no matter how many weaves I drew, no matter how much I tweaked the mental construct I held, my magic did not awaken to guide me.

Sighing in exasperation, I opened my eyes and drummed my fingers in thought. My mana’s lack of response was identical to what I’d experienced when I had attempted to craft dragonhide armor, and I was stymied on how to overcome it.

Did I lack the necessary skill in dragon magic? Or did my magic simply have no conception of what I was trying to achieve?

I had no idea. But I wasn’t about to give up just yet. With or without aid, I was determined to shapeshift my legs. The lure of ridding myself of my disability was too strong.

Closing my eyes, I began anew.

✽✽✽

Hours later, I crafted a spell. It was not the one I’d hoped for, though.

You have spellcrafted a caster-only spell from the Discipline of dragon magic. The name assigned to this casting is dragon leap. Dragon leap is a single-cast spell that multiplies the strength of the caster’s legs for a single action by tenfold. Its casting time is very fast, and its rank is common.

Lore note: Dragon leap is a favored spell of young dragons, allowing them to leap huge distances in a single bound. It is a casting that makes dragons nearly as mobile on land as they are in the air and when used to good effect, is sure to catch foes off guard.

I sighed.

Dragon leap was a great spell in its own right, and it would do much for my own mobility in battle. Still, I was disheartened. I’d almost believed I would rid myself of my hobbled foot.

I yawned again. It was late, or early rather, and I was struggling to keep my eyes open. It can’t be more than a few more hours until dawn, I thought. Tomorrow would be another long day, and I knew it was time I slept. But first, there was one more Trials message I had to attend to.

You are the first player to have spellcrafted the dragon spells: sanctum of fire, guarding flames, seeking flame, taloned hands, and dragon leap. For these achievements, you have been awarded dragon lore and twenty Marks.

I smiled tiredly. Twenty Marks. Not bad for a night’s work. Heeding the call of sleep, I laid down on my bed and closed my eyes.