Heroism and Other Comedic Punchlines
May 24, 2022 1:37:57 GMT -8
Post by Sora-No on May 24, 2022 1:37:57 GMT -8
Click here for Character Sheet
Affinity Increase: Light 5-->6
Spell name: Arcane Exertion
Spell Main Element: Arcane
Spell Sub Elements: N/A
Affinity Strength: 4-10
Function:
A mage channels pure Arcane energy, converting their next Arcane spell in to any element (affinity of spell equal to affinity of Arcane Exertion cast), regardless of the mage's elemental affinities, at the risk of severe damage or even death to the user.
Casting at higher affinities reduces the risks, but there are still risks of minor (i.e. contact burn on using fire element) or severe (i.e. 2nd and 3rd degree burns on using fire element), while casting at lower affinities has a chance to completely kill the user.
Affinity 4: Death 30%, Severe Damage 60%, Minor Damage 10%
Affinity 5: Death 20%, Severe Damage 70%, Minor Damage 10%
Affinity 6: Death 10%, Severe Damage 70%, Minor Damage 20%
Affinity 7: Severe Damage 70%, Minor Damage 30%
Affinity 8: Severe Damage 60%, Minor Damage 40%
Affinity 9: Severe Damage 50%, Minor Damage 50%
Affinity 10: Severe Damage 30%, Minor Damage 70%
These side effects are regardless of the affinity of the second arcane spell (even the lowest Affinity Arcane Slash has these side effects), but for experts of Arcane Magic it opens the doors to more advanced usage of their magic.
Availability: Open
Mike had continued talking and walking with Soren and Rease when something just kinda... felt off. He couldn't quite pin it down at the time. He gave an apology at the door of the restaurant, then quickly left. As he continued the relatively short walk back to his place, he was working backwards in his head They were joking about Soren's improvements and the heroics he would wind up in, which led to Rease's stories of saving the damsels, doing the chop-slice-and-shit, and that nothing beats the "adventuring life". The life of heroics and good deeds.
He slowly shut the door of his vacant little apartment, a long sigh leaving his mouth. What the fuck happened? He was doing something good here, he was getting jobs and just doing his best to just make money and get his report up. And a singular ghost of a piece of shit walked in and thought it'd be a great time to have Mike go down an entire spiral.
He's an ignorant fool.
Mike thought it'd be a fucking grand idea to walk up to him and call his own father out on his bullshit like he meant anything as a "goodly adventurer". A guy who just helped out and went about his way. A wannabe hero, paragon of good intentions and thinking he could waltz up the moral high ground without being knocked down a couple of fucking pegs. He was going to be that guy to back away from the "immoral" ways of handling things and talking things out.
Nah, fuck that. He got his ass handed to him because he walked into a fight as a "good guy" and his father walked in as a fighter looking to win. And attempt to put down his kid like a sick puppy. He's not going to make that same mistake twice. Mike made the mistake of thinking having good intentions meant doing the right thing every goddamn time. Whatever the right thing even fucking meant.
The red-headed individual would crack his knuckles, starting to stretch himself out and wince at the aches of stillness and of the previous wounds he received a little while ago. He would then start to move and rearrange his apartment, leaving a large spot in the center.
Over the course of the next week and a half, he would find himself working. Tediously regaining his strength, working on his mind and his magics in the meantime. Curling up in a ball at night, feverishly shaking as his body fought and ached and screamed at him to stop. Attempting light magic far beyond his scope, working himself ragged physically and almost reopening his stitches time and time again. His body's chants and cries were nothing but background noise to the determined Mike, who kept progressing and attempting to surpass a limit he set for himself. Just like his old teach would say, 'If it burns, it means you're getting somewhere.' Of course, that was about working out muscles and technique, not fighting through deep cuts and attempting to go out of his own league with a magic he wasn't particularly attuned to as strongly.
At the week and a half mark, it happened.
Michael Grant Nailo would find himself clutching his stomach, a wet dark trail leaking out between his now red-dyed hands. His breath shaky and ragged, sweat pouring at a pace almost as alarmingly fast as the blood leaving his body from the wound he re-opened like a fool. "Fuck... shit..."
He took it too far. He opened the stitches on his torso. He knows that. And now, he's gonna sit here bleeding out on the floor like a fucking fool unless he can think quickly. Despite this, his head was entirely empty. He found it better to be angrily yelling at himself, shrieking in the palace of his idiotic brain;
I'm gonna fucking die if I don't figure out what the fuck to do. I'm a mage, I should be able to do something.
What, you're gonna magically use your mediocre light magic to- what? Make a tourniquet? You don't even know what one of those fucking look like.
Some fucking hero. You really wanted to sit here and think you could work yourself to death to "GeT sTrOnGeR". Well, instead you worked yourself to death to get death. Congraaaaaaaaatulations, dipshit.
As the edges of his vision blurred and he retched and coughed on the floor, he had quite a stupid idea. No surprise given who's being discussed, but he knew he had to have something up his sleeve. He closed his eyes, focusing entirely on the hand clutching at his stomach. If he's got any juice in him, any anything. He's gotta figure out a way out of this. Whatever flow of magic or mana or whatever the fuck he's got. Give him a shot just this once, please. As he released his focus, a flash of Arcane magic flowed out of his hand.
Fire.
Actual flame. He couldn't feel it stinging his inner palm as he saw the wrappings around his arm burning and fizzling off, his body going immediately into action to hold it against his open wound. The smell of burning flesh. His vocal chords making an unnatural sound so unlike the sarcastic red-head. Then black.
Mike would wake up several hours later, his head pounding and ears ringing something fierce. His vision would blur then return to focus as he opened his eyes. On the ground, surrounded by a surrounding sea of dried blood. Then it would all come back to his senses, a large wave of pain throughout his entire body. His hand was burned and had opened skin from whatever he did lashing out of his body to do its thing. The wound on his torso was cauterized, though definitely in the most crude way possible.
He stands up shakily, his head ringing and his body feeling like it was only standing because of whatever thought is tethering his legs to lock instead of eating shit once again on the floor. But somehow, this idiotic patch of flesh with the last name Nailo is still kicking and didn't bleed out being a fool on the floor.
Though Mike would not be given a huge reprieve as he hears the door of his apartment open, turning around in his burnt, blood covered shirt to see a... familiar face. Twisted in each and every kind of way to perfectly convey each and every question pressing the corners of their mind.
"Uh. I can explain?"
"I see."
Kalin held his hands over Mike's arm, soothing water moving and flowing around as the redhead gave a sigh of relief. Explaining the situation was a little difficult given the look of the place, but once Kalin forced Mike to sit down on the floor so he could do his thing, Mike just kind of became a motor mouth. Kalin's face would remain focused, but would occasionally nod or quirk an eyebrow in response to the words Mike said.
"Well, congrats on almost getting yourself killed. You know, I offered to take you in and teach and help you out, and so did Rease, you didn't have to sit here and do it all by yo-"
"Yes, I did."
Kalin's eyes would meet Mike's, forming into a squint as he looked Mike up and down. "And for what reason would that be? So you could risk your life to the point of a fantastical conclusion? If you didn't pull that magic trick out of your ass I'd have visited a corpse."
"What was that, anyway?" Mike would wave his injured hand, giving a hiss of frustration from Kalin as he continued working on it. "My guess? You probably are proficient in Arcane magic. Far more than the parlor tricks you've been doing previously."
"Parlor tricks? Really?"
Kalin would grab Mike's wrist, a wince of pain as heat flared down his arm like a pulse. "Compared to pulling a random element out of your ass to save your life? One that you've never even dealt with, much less been able to cast at any affinity? I'd say it's a pretty interesting parlor trick in comparison, yes."
The older fellow would release the spell around Mike's arm, standing up off the floor and brushing himself off. "There. Now don't do that again. Especially since you won't have the luck of me and your Arcane magic to help you out. Got it?" Mike would go silent, his eyes staring at the dried puddle he should probably clean up. Kalin's features would soften a bit, crouching down to Mike's level.
"Look, you're young. You think a ton of stuff needs to happen and it needs to happen right now. But you've got time. Just take it slow, cultivate what you've got and stop taking these risks." He would offer his hand. "You've got all your friends wanting you to not bleed out on the floor, so don't go doing that, alright?"
Mike would slowly stand up on his own shakily, steadying himself before walking into his bedroom without a word. Kalin would watch expectantly, hints of concern across his face before Mike would exit, changed out of his now ruined clothes into large hoodie and sweats. Walking straight past Kalin and heading for the door, only stopping when the mage tightly grabs Mike's arm.
"I'm going out."
"Michae-"
Mike's eyes would turn and meet Kalin's. There was a determined ferocity to them. A goalpost that was leagues away for Mike was just planted right in front of his feet, and that set a pyre in him that glowed behind his retinas. It was at that moment Kalin knew there was no stopping Mike. Even if he knocked him out cold, he would be out the door the second he came to. It reminded him of the same ferocity his old compatriots had. That set goal to do a thing, even if it required breaking down the entire wall in their wake. The older mage would sigh, letting go of Mike's arm.
"Don't do anything dumb, 'kay?"
"Just heading to the Library, I'll be back."
And with that, Mike walked straight out the door, leaving Kalin to give a hefty sigh, rubbing his temples. Dodged a bullet, it would seem. Teaching that kid would kill me before he killed himself. Hopefully he'll be alright. He'll have to update Rease and The Bartender on what's going on. Hopefully he'll be quick and won't go out there stupidly risking his life yet again. The truest and most annoying sense of deja vu...
Mike would begin heading far out of town. Leaving the Hurricane Keep. Leaving Avalon. He'd rub his hands together outside the border, looking out towards the roads. He's got a lot more on his plate now, and he's not going to risk shit again. Especially if he's running solo. Can't have no Deus ex- bullshit picking him up again. And can't have one of the people that know him looking at him like he's a wounded puppy running through traffic.
But, first things first. Head to the Library Arcana. Figure out and talk to the scholars there to figure out what he's working with, then advance from there. It'll probably take a couple hours for Kalin to realize that he didn't mean the one in Deep Sea. And hopefully he won't start blaring alarms to everyone. Going home to getting his ass kicked would fucking suck.
He's not gonna scare the shit out of people again. Not Kalin. Not Luke. He's not going to be given that look of concern. He doesn't want them worrying about him or freaking out about his well being. He can handle himself, and he's not going to let people pity or look at him like he can't. Otherwise he's gonna lose his fucking mind. The looks when he woke up from the hospital, before he passed out. Earlier with Kalin. That look sickens him.
After half a day's journey, he'd arrive at the Library, looking quite rugged but otherwise unharmed. He'd open the door to the main lobby, and up to the reception desk. After giving introductions, he went straight to work. Looking through tomes and journals on photon light creation methods. More restricted sections on Arcane magic and the red flags raised when using it in such a raw form. Right up my alley, risk and reward piled up in a really unappealing package.
He would eventually find a source to what he was looking for. Arcane Exertion. A spell that converts your next spell into another element, with a high risk to your body to do so. The methods to do is incredibly risky depending on the school, but as he read and perused through it, he felt he could at least put it on the backburner. If there's ever a relative he needs to remove from the family tree. Or something like that, y'know?
He would rent a room in an adjacent area, spending the night looking through the tomes on light magic and creation of objects. Finding more efficient ways to create the constructs, how to do so quicker. How to prioritize where its needs to be light and where it needs to be heavy, to minimize cost and casting time. He would work with it. Definitely.
He was most definitely feeling like he was back in school. Studying magic and reading through stuff like some test was coming up. Except now he was doing that to himself. Willingly. Fucking definitely kicking himself about it now. Imagine if he actually found out about all of this sooner. How far along would he be now?
A couple months would pass as Mike worked and read through the stuff in the Library. There was a ton of stuff that caught his attention, most definitely. But he wasn't gonna go for it at the moment. He figured out the ways and workings of Arcane Exertion out. Well, that's a huge lie, but for the sake of his internal organs and external aesthetic, he wasn't going to physically test it. But mentally he does have a good idea of what to do if he uses it. Definitely going on the backlog for basically all eternity because that shit is gonna hurt like a bitch.
He also figured out how to help with Light magic. Maybe doing better with what he's decent at he could walk with some swagger and not be in pain from wounds and bullshit that he keeps doing to himself.
He would begin walking towards the gates of Avalon again. His hair was quite a tad longer than before, though definitely he found himself feeling quite similar to when he woke up from the hospital bed. That odd pit in his stomach, that feat of how people will react, what kind of looks he'll get from everyone.
He's changed a lot. Maybe not physically. In that regard he just looks like he's recovered from being almost dead. He took his time to figure it out, and Mike should have his thoughts in order. He definitely has to give an apology to Kalin and a thank you to The Bartender for helping his ass out since he already gave a thanks to Rease and Kalin in that regard.
He would arrive back at his old apartment, pausing at the door as he realized there is a fun little note. One of the true and super friendly notes that you wish you could fully shit down your landlord's mouth: A threat of Eviction. Well, he would wish he was surprised, he has been off the globe for like two months. Guess he's gotta work on that. Time to be a grand standing adventurer again! Yaaaaaaaaay~
Though in all honesty, he's just gonna do what pays him and isn't being an asshole. He'll talk to the Bartender and see what works with what he's currently dealt with. Then see what Luke and Soren's up to. Maybe offer a bite to eat with whatever fucking money he's got left. It'll be mostly easy enough, he can just get a sandwich or something. He'd crumple the note up and head inside.
Same Mike, less need to actually be the Grandstanding Big Good Paragon of Intent. Just focus on doing what's right and think about the methods when he gives a fuck. And he can just head back to the Library and get back to learning once he's earned enough for the landlord to stop attempting to plant a root in his ass. The guy's nice, and has been patient, but fucking hell he's tired and the note has shot his mood dead in the street.
And he forgot to clean the blood on the floor. Time to spend the next fucking ETERNITY cleaning everything up. Wish he could just fucking magic away that shit and get on to the thing. But no, best he can do is make a photon mop to clean up the non-light made blood splattered all over his fucking floor. It's upsetting but who is he to fucking complain.
And an outfit change, cause why not. Approximately an hour and a half of cleaning later, he would leave his apartment. Dressed in the same hoodie, with the sleeves cut off, with some pants that are now not tarnished with the horrid curse that is bleach. Cause if you think he's neat enough to remember to not get bleach on his clothes, do remember which smart brained genius left the blood there in the first place.
Final Word Count: 2942
