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LANNIS
Wyn D’Endee had his feet up by the fire, thumbing through a thin wellworn book, the night cries of the katydids and cicadas acting as song to the adventurers’ camp. He glanced up as Lannis took out a much thicker tome from his pack and proceeded to flip through it. The swamp elf chuckled, causing Lannis to glance over at him. “Something funny?” he asked.
The elf shook his head, motioning to Lannis’ book with his chin. “Some light readin’ you dun picked out for tonight, non?”
Abraxas reached over, looking at the book upside down and poked it with a greasy finger, the leg bone of the partridge Lyra had knocked out earlier and cooked wrapped in the rest of his hand. “What kind of book is that?” he asked, “There’s no pictures at all!”
Lannis harrumphed. “It happens to be my spellbook. My grimoire. My repository of magic and formula of the arcane.” He wiped some imaginary dirt from the corner of the page. “And keep your mitts out of it.”
“Relax, Senor,” Abraxas replied, stifling a belch and then resumed eating his dinner. “I have no need to read your spelling book. I have my own back at mi casa.”
“Spellbook. Spellbook. Dimwit.”
Wyn chuckled again. “From the thickness of it, I would ‘magine you are Kom-Pen-Say-Ting for something, amirite?” He waved his own book in the air. “Both of my spells that I need to know are right here.”
The Magic User tilted his head back and laughed. “That?! That’s it!? What are they, how to sharpen your ears and how to pick a good wine with fish? Please! My grimoire is thick because it will hold the full sum of the eldritch world breaking powers I am destined to have. To date it is already bursting forth with a number of enchantments that to a lesser mind would drive them insane.”
Kovid sucked the meat off of part of the bird carcass he was eating from and raised a bushy eyebrow. “Really?” he asked, voice heavy with sarcasm.
“Absolutely,” Lannis replied. “A wizard’s spellbook is established by the Mages’ Academy based upon the potential skills and innate intelligence of the neophyte magic users who go through the process. Given my natural skill, my unmatched genius, and the respect of my peers and fellow arcanists, the book that was assigned to me upon my graduation was of course the thickest, best, and most desired tome in the entire graduating class."
”So you graduated from the Mage’s Academy,” Brendon asked. The scout had his body turned partially away from the fire, eyes watching the surrounding darkness for any threats. “I knew a few hedge wizards who tried to get into the Academy but the process is difficult and very choosy.”
“Oui,” Wyn replied, “Ev’ry ten years the masters do look for a new ‘pprentice to join.” He rolled up his own book and pointed at Lannis’. “I ‘ad ta wait almos’ 6 years ‘afore I got my chance.” He tilted his head back, thinking. “Bit over 13 years ago now, but I had a good ‘pprenticeship wit’ Master Doogan afore he let me free ta go back to th’ outside world.”
“Wow,” Lannis said with a sneer. “Doogan. That’s real nice.”
“Well, when there be 5 wizards lookin’ for ‘pprentices every decade, you take what you kin take. I was ‘appy jus’ to be a part of it, non?”
“So after 13 years, 11 on your own, why aren’t you running adventuring groups to take down dragons or clear out barrowights?”
“Nah,” Wyn replied, “Elves live a much longer time’n you humans do. We look at the passage o’ decades as a milestone to note. I’m content wit’ wot I dun learned so far and it’s only recently that I been takin’ a more in’nerest in getting’ more learnin’.” He shrugged. “Of the Five Masters, who did you get to ‘pprentice wit’ then?”
Lannis smirked and replied, “Master Rooder.”
Wyn whistled. “Oh my, I din’t know ye were lucky ‘nuff ta git ‘im.” He nodded his head, “I’m sorry ifn’t I was Diss-Par-Ring-Ger-In ta ya.”
The Magic User nodded in thanks. “It’s alright. I remember plainly that day, bit over 3 years ago. The four Masters who came spent some time arguing before it was Master Rooder, the highest ranked mage at the academy, took me as his apprentice.”
“Four?” Lyra asked from the other side of the fire. “I thought there were 5?”
“Yeah, a Fifth Master was supposed to come that day but died on his way over.”
“Oh my,” she said. “How sad.”
Lannis tilted his head, shoulders shrugged. “It happens. Seems he slipped on one of the many dirty alembics in his lab and was killed in the fall. The Academy didn’t really investigate or publicize it since he was seen to be undesirable and no one actually cared.”
“Well,” Abraxas said, “be that as it may, Senor, I am glad for one to have the best ‘pprentice from the best wizard with the grandest cajone book of spelling in our familia.”
“Here, here.”
Blushing, Lannis nodded his head in due. “Thanks. I do what I can. It was everything I expected it to be; high marks in all my studies, graduating early, staying on to help teach the next class of apprentices. But my love is in spreading myself out there and finding what secrets have been lost in time. Using my skills and intellect to help those that need it.” He looked at the party and smiled. “You are lucky to have me. But I am happy to be here.”
The party settled down and one by one fell asleep, Brendon taking first watch.
With the conversation fresh on his mind, Lannis’ thoughts went back three years to that fateful day and he revisited his first days with the Academy in his dreams.
The time had finally come. Once every ten years, The Mage’s Academy would open its doors and send their wizards in search of new apprentices. He KNEW that he had the spark of magic within him, and when it was his turn to be tested and a wave of Master Rooder’s rod proved him correct.
Lannis talked to the other four apprentices about his skills and capabilities as well as the relative importance and power of the Four Master’s present. “Four?” asked the boy next to him, a dopish looking one with an overbite and bad skin. “I thought there were Five?”
Lannis chuckled. “As if it matters, dumbass. But that is Master Rooder, the brightest and most respected of the Masters. The other wizards: Master Pipen, Master Hennish, and Master Doogan, are learned mages of respectively decreasing power. The Fifth Master isn’t here, thank the gods. He’s a walking abortion. Master Brooklyr. Be thankful he’s not coming.”
At this point the Four Masters had finished discussing amongst themselves and stepped forward to announce which of the boys would go to learn under them. Master Rooder came first and with his halo of lights and commanding presence, intoned, “My choice will be…" Lannis, knowing it would be him, stepped forward. Master Rooter’s eyes flashed over the young Magic User and then the elder wizard finished, "That boy!" Pointing to the ugly boy with the dishwater hair on the end of the line.
Stepping back Lannis mumbled, "All for the best. Who wants to be a Water Mage anyway?"
As the morning wound on though, these acts repeated themselves as Masters Pipen, Hennish, and Doogan all picked potential apprentices who were CLEARLY inferior to him. They took their new charges and turn back to the Academy, leaving Lannis standing there, watching them go. Lannis was aghast, trying to explain to the crowd still gathered why he would clearly NEVER want to train under the four foremost wizards in the city anyway and would prefer to go into general studies for a more well rounded magical training.
After a few minutes of this he heard a sound, and looked over to see who was approaching. The man closing on him appeared to be some kind of mage: robes were tattered, faded, and seemed to be worn wrong like he had just woken up and thrown them on. His staff was bent and warped by water damage, and the crystal ball on top was smudged and cracked.
"Sorry, sorry I'm late,” he said haltingly, voice heavy with the weight of phlegm and the telltale rasp of a Smoke user. “My alarm spell failed to wake me. Looks like all the other apprentices are gone...You, boy,” he snapped his fingers at Lannis, a spray of anemic sparks flying out a few feet and fell to the ground. “Wanna be a wizard?"
"No, I don't 'want' to be a wizard, I 'will' be…"
"Fine, whatever,” the older master said without care, “let’s go, follow me.” He turned back to Lannis and added, “I'm Master Brooklyr."
"Wait,” Lannis gasped. “THE Master Brooklyr...is there...anyone else coming?"
"Not if you want to be a wizard boy.” The crystal on his staff flared briefly orange. “Yep, you’ve got a spark. So that means you’re mine to train.” The crystal flashed once and then went dark and Lannis gasped to see an orange mark appear on the back of his hand. Master Brooklyr continued, “That’ll stay there until I’m done with you, so don’t rub it, you’ll go blind. Now either you suck or you pissed off those other dick weed mages who came by, so I'm your last chance.” He chuckled as he walked, “Hay cart guy might be coming by if you want to see if he'll take you.”
"D-dick weeds? Master Rooder is the finest…"
Master Brooklyr interrupted Lannis again. "Yeah, sure, whatever, he's a dick weed and you can go be a dick weed with the hay cart guy if you want, or come with me. I happen to like people who piss those guys off."
Lannis frowned, thinking, ‘maybe if this guy died or disappeared they would have to give him a new master.’ He followed the disheveled wizard to the untraveled portion of the Academy’s grounds. Entering Lannis looked around dismayed. It was dusty and disorganized, alembics laying on their sides, books splayed out across every surface.
"Here we are young man,” Master Brooklyr said with a satisfied burp, sitting on the worn couch and picking up a earthenware bottle, tilting it back and drinking deep. “We start day after tomorrow; tomorrow’s a wizard holiday."
"What?” Lannis asked. “No. It is not"
Brooklyr looked at him annoyed, "Who’s the wizard here? Yes it is.” He pointed to the filthiest part of the room. “Your bed is somewhere over there, go find it apprentice."
This relationship continued for two years. Master Brooklyr was not only lazy, but somehow very adept at creating annoying busy work for Lannis whenever Lannis started to annoy him. When Lannis would try to correct him during lessons, forgotten Wizard Holidays would crop up that the other High Mages didn’t seem to practice.
Lannis spent days organizing books and cleaning beakers he swore he never saw his master using. However, Master Brooklyr did instill in him not only a good understanding of the workings of magic, but a deep disdain for anyone that did not practice it, or did not practice it the way that was clearly right. The Master and Apprentice were somehow a match made in heaven, and like all such pairings on the morning of the end of the second year of his apprenticeship, Master Brooklyr kicked him out with an affectionate, "Get the fuck out dick weed. Don't come back."
Rooting around the bookshelf, Master Brooklyr grabbed the first empty tome he could find and wiped the coffee stains and food crumbs off its cover. “Here, Official Spell Book. I declare you graduated. Get the fuck off my property.”
Frustrated at the rude Master and seeing the orange mark on his hand fade and then disappear, Lannis took a chance to implore him, "Master Brooklyr, can't you use my real name? Just this once?"
"Fine, loser. What is it?" Brooklyr inquired.
"Lan-", he started, but was cut off by the slamming of the door.
Armed with the knowledge of magic and that everyone else was a dickweed, he set out to make his own way in the worlds, confident in the fact that like his former Master, he would be the smartest man in the world no matter where he went.
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