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Featuring Lord Rafe & Lord Aidare (NPC)
Spring, Year 751 of the New Age
Glenmore, The Glenwood
Magic as a Weapon: Lesson One

The morning was brisk and chilly, and a light fog lay draped over the glen about the Great Oak. The young Lord had been awoken not long ago by his father’s deep voice, calling for him to awake and prepare for his training. Sleep still filled Rafe’s eyes, and he blinked rapidly to clear them of the last traces of night’s warm embrace, focussing on the form of the tree before him. It was quite a sight to see, with the uppermost branches poking through the top of the fluffy white mist, stretching towards the sky as if to reach and touch Oganach himself. Wonder held the young buck there, his brown gaze lingering on the magnificent tree, a wonder that captivated most small fawns. The tail of it’s magical creation played over in his young mind, and excitement raced through his veins. Today was the day!

Rafe was going to learn how to use magic!

At a tender age of three, the stagling had still not yet produced magic, but his mother had told him not to worry, it was common in Glenmore to take longer to find magic. She had said it was because of the decline of society, or something along that line. Frankly, Rafe hadn’t paid much attention to her after she began to speak of the politics of the kingdom. He didn’t really care about those. All he wanted was to finally use his magic! Before long, his potential would show, he just knew it!

A call from the dappled black and golden stag before him brought the younger buck from his thoughts, and he eagerly jumped forward, falling in line behind his father as he walked towards the edge of the trees. Energy pulsed through his body, and Rafe could not help buck kick up his young heels, which immediately earned a scowl of reproach from Aidare. ”Silence! Act your age and your rank,” he was scolded. The fawn quieted, walking now behind in a more Lordly manner, though his muscles still itched to jump and celebrate. Forcing himself to calm should his father take more direct disciplinary action, Rafe tried to focus on where his mother said his magic was supposed to be hidden. Apparently it was in his mind somewhere, though he didn’t quite understand how that was supposed to work. Just concentrate and it will happen? Well, he’d been concentrating pretty darn hard and nothing had happened yet. Perhaps his father would offer a more direct approach, one that would actually work.

The pair continued into the trees until Aidare was satisfied with their distance from civilization, whereupon he turned and looked down at his young son. Rafe stood straight, his still baby-large ears perked and held alert in the dappled stag’s direction. Seemingly pleased with his son’s attention, Aidare began to pace a circle about the mud-colored colt. ”Why do we have magic, Rafe?” he questioned.

”So that we can take care of the land and grow food to keep the herd strong,” Rafe recited immediately, feeling proud of himself for knowing an answer.

”Wrong!” The bark from Aidare caused Rafe to jump back, unexpected of his being corrected. ”Don’t listen to what those ridiculous commoners tell you,” the elder snarled, drawing closer to his boy. ”Yes, they may use what little magic they have to green the grass and fatten their worthless bodies, but not us, no not the royals.” His surprise gone, Rafe leaned forward, eager to hear more about the different magic royals must be allowed to possess. What could it be? Where the royals secretly still able to move the earth, like in the legends?! Could he do that!? ”Pay attention!” His wandering mind hadn’t gone unnoticed.

”S-sorry, father, I will-” Rafe sputtered in apology.

”Silence!” Aidare spat before continuing his lecture. ”Royals have magic more powerful than that of mere commoners, Rafe. Oganach blessed us to be better, gave us the ability to control those beneath us. Why do we have magic? We have magic because it is a weapon. A weapon of fear, control, of power, should you learn how to use it correctly. ” Rafe was about to ask how such a power could be obtained, how that kind of magic could still exist, but the ground about his hooves began to crumble. ”Defend yourself!” Before he could move, vines burst from the ground, thorns covering their sides, weaving their way towards him like snakes through water. The colt yelped and tried to move, but found himself stuck in place, held by more of the tentacle-like vines. His heart hammered against his tiny chest, and he tried to pull away, but could not. All the while, Aidare stood watching, waiting, as if expecting his child to be able to control what was happening. His eyes were narrowed in concentration, the only sign of movement from him the twitch of a muscle on his shoulders.

Rafe struggled against his bindings, and to no avail. He was stuck, and they were moving. ”Fight them, Rafe! Use your magic you worthless child!” he heard the voice of his father from what seemed miles away, so immersed was he in his fear. But he tried, oh, he tried desperately to fight them, to find that corner of himself where the magic was supposed to be hidden. He pleaded silently with the gods to help him, to let him free of this terror, the terror of his father’s grasp. The colt hardly noticed when they stopped moving. ”USE YOUR MAGIC, RAFE!” buggled Aidare, his fury at the child’s failure evident in each resounding syllable.

”I’m trying!” Rafe cried back, tears beginning to fall from his baby-soft fur. ”I’m trying, father, I am!” Still he struggled against the plants encasing his legs, and still nothing happened. Sobs began to rock his sides, and finally he gave up, turning to look at his father, his eyes begging him to help. ”Please, father, I- I can’t do it! I can’t!”

”Yes you can. You’re not trying hard enough.” Aidare’s voice was cold. There was no remorse, no pity. No sign that he cared the pain he was causing his only son. Desperation gnawed at Rafe’s stomach like a hungry wolf. He was going to die here, it told him. He’d never live past this. Even if he was freed, Aidare would never let him forget this. ”Try harder.” The simple but impossible command rang out.

And so he did, Rafe tried. He struggled against the vines until a trickle of red dripped from between the dark green of the plants. Through his pain, through all of his anguish, still nothing. Nothing. He had no magic, he couldn’t use it.

Finally he stopped moving. Tears continued to run down his cheeks. ”Father, please,” he pleaded softly. ”Please help me. I can’t do it! I can’t!”

And he was free, the pain was gone, but the fear remained. The buck collapsed to the ground at his father’s feet, sides rocking as he continued to cry. ”Worthless.” The only word of acknowledgement his father gave his pain. ”You dare speak of this to anyone, you know what will happen. . .”

And Aidare walked away, wiping the ground of any sign of magic, leaving Rafe alone, quivering and spluttering to catch his breath. The threat had been well placed, and Rafe doubted he could speak of what happened to him to anyone. . . no one would even believe him. All he knew was this:

Whatever this magic was, he didn’t want any part of it.