Dirty Rotten Magic

I was sitting quietly but happily in a covered wooden cart as it ambled along the twisting forest track away from the town of Highfields. The air was redolent with the sweet, earthy scent of pine and damp moss, while the sunlight filtered through the trees, scattering a soft, golden glow on the canvas cover and illuminating the back of the cart where I sat. The ride was leisurely, each jolt on the rigid, creaking wooden boards accompanied by the rustle of fabric and the faint creak of ancient wood. I had wedged myself in a snug niche between the edge of the cart and a vibrant cloth draped as a backdrop for the shows, feeling as though I had discovered a hidden alcove in a magical world. This journey granted me the solitude and time to study the arcane magical spells I had acquired the previous night, their secrets whispering promises of power.

After finishing up with the 'guild heist'—as Xaset had flamboyantly dubbed it—he'd suggested that I join the troupe of entertainers on their travels. At first, the proposal had filled me with uncertainty, but the lure of exploring the kingdom's myriad mysteries and my own scheming dreams of lightening its coffers eventually swayed me. Thus, I found myself aboard this creaking wagon midway through a luminous morning, eagerly anticipating a lunchtime performance that would prove my worth to the rest of the troupe. Confidence surged through me, bolstered by the anticipation of showcasing my mentalism and magic tricks, though I harbored a quiet hope that my illusions would not unnerve the locals, who were accustomed solely to authentic, raw magic.

How strange is that? I mused, a wry smile dancing on my lips as the very thought of inhabiting a world steeped in real magic filled me with an electrifying excitement. The notion that I was one of the few who could wield such power ignited a fervent joy within me.

Bracing myself amidst the gentle sway of the cart, I immersed my eyes in the delicate, flowing script of my magical book. This was the first spellbook beyond the rudimentary level that I had been granted access to, and my heart quickened at the sight of its intricate illustrations and arcane symbols. With my treasured book of life open on my lap, I read through the pages in the quiet recesses of the back of the cart, accompanied by the rustling of leaves outside and the distant murmur of a forest alive with secrets. The contents page of 'Flaming Battle Magical Spells' listed battle spells for a range of levels, culminating at the formidable level fifty. The spells now available to me—if I reached the necessary level—were neatly summarized in my book of life:

Spells

Name  Mastery MP Effects

Flare  10 10 Shot of burning plasma

Weak Fireball  15 15 Fireball the size of a cupped hand—yellow hot

Burning Touch  18 18 Flames leap from your hand to part of the target you are holding

Flush Bolt  24 24 Flash of fire that hits your target—yellow hot

Searing Grasp  30 30 Burns the entire surface of the target

Blazing Spear  32 32 Produces a white-hot spear that is thrown

Fireball  35 35 Fireball the size of a large ball—white-hot

Scorching Blow  37 37 Burns the entirety of the target

Heat Energy Blast  40 40 Area effect of a firestorm

Fireball Storm  42 42 Area effect of a fireball storm

Flame Tempest  45 45 Swirling vortex of fire

Enemies Explode  50 50 Enemies explode

The higher-level spells, with their promise of cataclysmic effects, set my imagination alight, though I remained at a modest level twenty-four in fire magic. If anyone glanced my way, they would have seen only a man deeply absorbed, eyes fixed intently on my lap for hours as I meticulously re-read the 'Flush Bolt' spell—a spell that danced tantalizingly on the cusp of my current abilities.

I studied the texts repeatedly, each line and incantation unfolding like a riddle of fire and light, aware that mastering these complex magical formulas demanded more than mere hours of study. The spell's intricacies soared several orders of magnitude above the simpler enchantments of my beginner's tome. I had to relearn lower-level spell techniques to channel the raw energy through my body, a process that was as demanding as it was mesmerizing. Channeling environmental magic through a system previously reserved for elemental tricks introduced new challenges: not only did I have to harness more potent energy, but I also had to guide its fluid, almost serpentine movement along pathways that defied simple explanation. I had barely begun to grasp the formation of the outer weaves of the spell when my concentration was abruptly disrupted.

My intense study was interrupted by the slow, deliberate motion of the cart as it decelerated and eventually halted, the sound of creaking wood mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves. Still, I kept my head bowed over my book of life, determined to ignore the shifting surroundings and remain lost in the magic of my studies.

Then Xaset's familiar voice cut through the quiet as he poked his head through the canvas cover. "Time for you to put on a show for the rest of the group," he announced, his tone a mix of mischief and encouragement.

"OK," I replied softly, marking my place in the book with a mental gesture before looking up at him.

When I finally extricated myself from the cart, I observed Xaset in his plain yet striking traveling clothes. Despite the rough material, his attire was worn with a natural flair—an effortless charm that had not gone unnoticed the previous night, when he had confidently employed his dashing looks to attract admiring glances from the women around. As I stepped away from the cart, the entire troupe gathered in a small, tree-lined glade beside the track. The clearing, bathed in dappled sunlight that danced through the leaves and painted the ground in golden speckles, evoked the atmosphere of an impromptu stage. Clusters of food were artfully arranged atop colorful cloths, lending the scene a relaxed, picnic-like quality, while in the distance, the gentle chirping of birds intermingled with the deep, resonant bellowing of mysterious woodland creatures.

Eigosh, the authoritative head of the troupe who had greeted me that morning when Xaset introduced us, boomed in his deep, commanding baritone, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a rare treat for us today. We are going to be graced with a performance from this tall man, just for us."

"Please hold your applause—or lack thereof—for after the show. I give you: Chrix the… Well, we'll think of a stage name for him if he's any good."

A cheer erupted from one of the women in the audience, a welcome sound that mingled with the rustle of the leaves. Her name was Sharro, and she was strikingly beautiful in a way that was both delicate and arresting. It was clear that I was not the only male who appreciated her allure; her graceful, almost mesmerizing movements hinted at a blend of strength and sensuality. I recalled how, back in town, she had artfully employed her bodily charms to draw generous contributions from admiring onlookers. Her performance as an acrobat—a contortionist of remarkable talent—had already left an indelible impression on me.

Seated nearby was another young, beautiful woman, Tuallez, the troupe's skilled knife thrower. I remembered catching glimpses of her deft hand as she casually used one of her many finely balanced throwing knives to clean a fingernail. Her precision had been evident the previous night during the show; the knives, neatly strapped to her side, whispered promises of lethal elegance, hinting at potential uses far beyond mere performance.

After Eigosh's grand announcement, I strode toward the front of the clearing, my steps measured and deliberate on the soft, dewy grass. I bowed to the crowd with the refined elegance of an old-fashioned courtier—a gesture that harked back to the street performances I had once given on Earth, eliciting giggles then, and now meeting an expectant silence here.

"He certainly is handsome enough," remarked Tuallez to Sharro, who giggled and stretched her body back at an almost impossible angle, her limbs moving with the sinuous grace of a dancer. I wondered if her provocative pose was designed to distract me or perhaps to add an extra layer of allure to the performance.

I raised my hand for silence and then, with a flourish, produced a small silver medallion in my hand. The delicate clink of metal and the glint of sunlight on its surface drew a collective gasp from the audience—a sound that resonated like a prelude to something marvelous.

"That was a good start," I thought silently, before addressing the crowd, "I need a volunteer from the audience, please."

Kiko, one of the troupe's energetic acrobats sitting next to his brother Trikob, leaped to his feet and sprinted forward with a boyish smile. He positioned himself beside me, flexing his sinewy muscles as though daring the very air to challenge his presence. I guided him with a subtle movement of my hands, directing him to face me directly. The midday sun shone high overhead, its brilliance accentuating the medallion as I held it at his eye level. I slowly began to move it, allowing the reflected light to dance in his eyes like shimmering fireflies.

"Focus…" I murmured softly.

Within seconds, I had woven him into a hypnotic trance, his eyes glazing over as the medallion's light ensnared his focus. Once under my subtle control, I initiated a series of comedic and absurd skits—transforming him into a series of animal caricatures that elicited a mix of laughter and bemusement from the enchanted audience.

After a ten-minute performance that blended humor with a touch of magic, I gently released him from the trance. Almost immediately, a flurry of questions and amazed whispers erupted from the crowd. The large man who managed the troupe, skeptical yet intrigued, demanded, "Are you in cahoots with Chrix already, Kluko?"

"No, I swear! I knew nothing about what happened or what was going to happen," Kluko replied, his tone betraying genuine confusion over the unfolding spectacle.

"That was some pretty powerful magic," observed Eigosh, his voice resonating with a mix of awe and suspicion.

"If you want to believe it's magic, then I'm not going to dissuade you. Nobody will be able to detect any magic used, though," I said with an air of enigmatic mystery, deliberately leaving an aura of wonder in the wake of my performance.

"What the hell do you mean by that?" demanded Eigosh, his brow furrowed in perplexity.

"Just what I said," I replied, maintaining the fiction that some of my tricks, relics from my Earthly days, were imbued with true magical essence.

Sharro, her eyes glinting with playful mischief, interjected, "Eigosh, why do you care what it is? It was a mighty fine show, and you know that people will love it."

"Hmmph," he grumbled. "I'm still not convinced that it was not all arranged between the two of them."

In that moment, Sharro rose gracefully from her seated position, her lithe form unfolding like a silk ribbon as she stretched deliberately, each movement exuding calculated allure. Approaching me with a gentle confidence, she placed her warm hand on my shoulder and leaned in close. "Try to do the act with me. That should satisfy Eigosh if it works," she whispered, her voice soft yet persuasive. She exchanged a knowing glance with him, and he nodded in reluctant agreement.

With a mischievous smile, she challenged me with her luminous, captivating eyes, her lip curving in a subtle yet provocative bite. Aware that her coyness was an artifice designed to spark intrigue, I resumed my performance. Slowly, I moved the medallion again, catching the sunlight at its edges; the dancing rays played upon her face for a few enchanted moments.

"Focus…" I intoned once more.

Then, fully embracing the theatricality of the moment, I directed the medallion's hypnotic influence upon her. As she slipped into the trance, the entire troupe erupted in laughter, the sound mingling with the rustle of leaves and the distant call of forest creatures. Except for the orcs—who sat quietly, their meal punctuated by sporadic, subdued murmurs and an air of introspection—they appeared utterly engrossed in the spectacle. Their reserved silence was a stark contrast to the raucous merriment of the rest of the group.

The performance reached its crescendo as the elegant, pretty woman clucked and waddled humorously across the grass—a comical departure from her usual, graceful poise. As I gently lifted her from the trance, the troupe's applause and laughter still echoed in the clearing. Xaset quipped, "Well, that certainly worked, my feathered friend," drawing another round of hearty laughter from everyone.

"I think that performance is conclusive proof that you can join the troupe," declared Eigosh, his tone both approving and playful. "Any opposition from anybody?"

Every member of the troupe shook their head in silent acquiescence as they began to disperse to their tasks, ensuring that the moving caravan of performers would continue its journey. Just before I could slip away, Sharro reached up tenderly, her fingers brushing the side of my face as she murmured affectionately, "Welcome to the group. I'm sure you'll enjoy your time here." Her smile was both inviting and mysterious as she retreated gracefully, her lithe body moving with a hypnotic fluidity that left me captivated.

Xaset, who had been watching me with a thoughtful gaze, finally remarked quietly, "Be careful of that one. She'll eat you alive if you let her." His tone carried the weight of hard-earned wisdom—a stark contrast to the carefree man I had known just moments earlier. For a fleeting second, his eyes betrayed the old, wise soul within, only to return to his youthful exuberance as if nothing unusual had occurred.

Wondering aloud what had just transpired, I replied, "It's not like I have time, anyway. I need to get working on memorizing spells."

He regarded me thoughtfully before adding, "You'll need to practice it as well. The next town we're heading to has a dungeon that we can use. It will also be a good little earner if we get some material that we can sell."

I felt a pang of curiosity about the notion of a dungeon, but not wanting to appear uninformed about the ways of this world, I simply smiled, concealing my internal questions. Moving back across the lush, dewy grass, I returned to the cart and settled once more into my cozy study corner. The remainder of the day passed in a quiet symphony of rustling pages, whispered incantations, and the rhythmic creaks of the wagon as it was pulled along the twisting, bumpy forest tracks, leaving me enveloped in the pursuit of mastering spells and unraveling the mysteries of this enchanted realm.