[Magic has the convenient reputation of being conjured out of thin air, whether with ease or with great focus, but Stephen knows that isn’t always true. The sorcerers of Kamar-Taj realized there were some spells that required a conduit to focus their energies through: boots that allowed a man to walk on air, a ring that could carve out portals, an amulet to house a stone that could turn back time itself. But there were smaller endeavors, too, that needed lesser objects — herbs or incense or a strand of a man’s hair.
Or the sprig of a plant thriving on a northern mountainside, keen on wilting once the frost subsides.
It’s no different in this world. Mages need resources, ingredients for their craft. Stephen’s own studies are tied to these same resources, provided to him only as generously as they can manage — and the dearth of a select few means stunted progress on his end, a roadblock that he can very rarely abide by. So, as needs must. The promise of a fresh batch of a certain plant—in an admittedly problematic spot—motivates him to gather them himself if he has to, carving sprig from stem and vine and bolstered against the chill by stubbornness alone.
Well, hopefully not all by himself. Stephen recognizes when a two-man job is an at-least-two-man-job, and though he has no one in mind, the first Summoned he comes across that doesn’t look overly busy—or purposefully glancing the other way when a sorcerer on a mission strides towards them—earns the privilege of being volunteered. (Voluntold.)]
Busy? Might have something for us to do.
[Words that are either a curse or a blessing, depending upon who’s hearing them. At least this is a familiar face; Jasper, the ruminating man from the gardens.]
for jasper.
Or the sprig of a plant thriving on a northern mountainside, keen on wilting once the frost subsides.
It’s no different in this world. Mages need resources, ingredients for their craft. Stephen’s own studies are tied to these same resources, provided to him only as generously as they can manage — and the dearth of a select few means stunted progress on his end, a roadblock that he can very rarely abide by. So, as needs must. The promise of a fresh batch of a certain plant—in an admittedly problematic spot—motivates him to gather them himself if he has to, carving sprig from stem and vine and bolstered against the chill by stubbornness alone.
Well, hopefully not all by himself. Stephen recognizes when a two-man job is an at-least-two-man-job, and though he has no one in mind, the first Summoned he comes across that doesn’t look overly busy—or purposefully glancing the other way when a sorcerer on a mission strides towards them—earns the privilege of being volunteered. (Voluntold.)]
Busy? Might have something for us to do.
[Words that are either a curse or a blessing, depending upon who’s hearing them. At least this is a familiar face; Jasper, the ruminating man from the gardens.]