Dungeon 42

Mathmagical

Quint wasn't surprised when his training first started to find himself spending most of his time in the library. It took nearly a month for him just to choose and transcribe all of his spells into a tome. A process complicated by the fact he had to memorize them. 42 had altered his stats, whatever they were exactly, and in the process increased his mental capacity in some respect.

All of that made it easier than before, but not actually easy. Honestly the bigger win was how rapidly he achieved literacy. Being able to read on his own without too much difficulty let him study on his own after his lessons, and that was key to getting better.

Despite knowing his role was different than before, Quint couldn't help feeling like he was getting off easy a month and a half in. All of the other Daggers were going through obviously grueling combat training. Particularly Cord, the poor bastard, but he wasn't even doing laps or anything. It irked him since he'd actually been pretty good with the short sword he'd relied on when his limited spells ran out.

Reasonbably it wasn't how he'd be fighting going forward, at least if things went well, but he didn't like the idea of being a burden if the worst happened. There were other kinds of casters after all, ones who could engage more directly, but he'd always fall short of asking about the option. It was childish but he'd always wanted to be a proper mage and the idea of giving that up for something more practical was more than he could bear.

Quint sighed, leaning back in his chair. He'd been seated at one of the dungeon libraries long tables for he wasn't sure how long. He felt stiff and irritable which wasn't helping with the feeling that he should be doing more than sitting on his ass.

"Well, your handwriting is better," someone commented. Quint nearly startled out of his chair, a skull was hovering just above his shoulder. Flinching way he found himself looking at the sorcerer he'd only really seen at a distance. He was an absolute nutter according to the wizards teaching him. He refused to change his class despite his blood magic not really working.

"Better? You've seen it before?" Quint asked, surprised. He was fairly certain they hadn't even said hello. He'd have remembered given the man's strangely intense pinkish jewels.

"I've reviewed your work for errors. I left the red marks," he explained.

Quints mouth dropped open a little and he was pretty close to cussing, he closed it silently though. More than one morning he'd come in to find his papers covered in red ink and insults. It had taken him days to figure out what even half of those notes meant. Only stubbornness had kept him trying, he'd wanted to prove his mystery critic wrong. He hadn't been able to, not even once.

"You're a sorcerer though… doesn't your magic work differently?" Quint asked, wondering if he'd missed something. Even his instructors hadn't been able to say much about the notes other than they weren't necessary to understand just to cast.

"No, how I construct them is the same. How I empower them is different," the sorcerer explained. He took Quints paper from in front of him and walked around the short table to take a seat across from him. "The same is true for all magic users. Bards form the constructs through sound and movement, but ultimately that is only an aesthetic difference. They cast the same silence spell that you do, for instance."

While the man talked he took a pen and was marking all over Quints spell. The one he'd been working on learning to draw correctly and memorize before he added it to his tome.

"That doesn't… seem likely? I mean-" Quint took out his tome and turned to the spell in question. The array and instructions took up a full page along with a brief list of the focus and consumables involved. Just an owl's feather in this case, and it was reusable. "How do you sing this?"

"Celedor, how would you go about casting this?" the man called out. Quint followed his gaze and was surprised to find one of the small folk librarians placing books on a high shelf. The pumpkin eyed man wasn't using a ladder, just standing on the narrow empty ledge of the shelf itself. Unlike the pink jeweled skeleton, the small folk man was wearing an illusion of life and a colorful mix of patch work clothes.

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Without a word Celedor hopped down and jogged over, tail bobbing behind as he did. He was quite enough that Quint felt he didn't often have need of such a spell.

"This? You have to dance with this kind of thing. It's too hard to keep the right rhythm if you can't hear your voice or instrument," Celedor said after a moment's study.

"Yeah, but you couldn't cast it using this spell itself, right?" Quint asked, brows furrowing.

"Not immediately, I'd have to work out the choreography, but most of my spells started like this. The mistress wasn't really able to get ahold of anything so handy as a tome. Bards usually apprentice, though sometimes there might be a school for learning the basics of your instruments," Celedor explained. He was pulling off his tunic as he said it, revealing a more fitted sleeveless shirt underneath. It was bright red and contrasted with the red and black patchwork pants he was wearing.

"Something like this would probably take a day or two to work out, but I've already got it down so-" Celedor jumped up on the table. He had a feather in his teeth and Quint couldn't figure out where he'd gotten it from. Just as abruptly the small man started to dance with surprising grace, his movements quick and precise, but not sharp.

Quint tried to speak but found he couldn't. The words formed just fine but no sound issued even as his mouth moved. The sorcerer made a gesture and Celedor stopped his dancing.

"Well, I was wrong," Quint admitted as the oddity of the situation sunk in. It wasn't as if he'd been married to the idea of the various classes magic being more deeply different. He just didn't know what to do with the fact that they weren't.

"At least you're quick to admit that," the sorcerer said with a slight nod.

"What was the point of this exactly? I mean… this was a lesson, yeah?" Quint asked, curious.

"I should think the utility of understanding that all magic is similar would be obvious," the sorcerer said acidly.

"Don't be an ass Aaron," Celedor said with a sigh. "He's been stalking you like a love sick yearling, looking over your work and muttering. I think he fancies you as an apprentice."

"Celedor!" Aaron said sternly.

"Oh please, you've got the charisma of a mule. If I don't say it you'll just keep creeping about leaving your weird little love notes all over his papers," Celedor said. Aaron swatted at him but the small man flipped backwards out of range and tumbled neatly off the table before taking off running.

"I do not want you as an apprentice," Aaron shouted.

"Well, did you want to fuck me then?" Quint asked. He knew that wasn't right but couldn't' get the idea out of his head after what Celedor had said. That and the alarming question of how it would work given Aarons lack of flesh.

"NO! I had little enough interest in that in life, and less than none now," Aaron said flatly.

"Okay," Quint said, hands up in surrender.

"Ugh… mouthy halfling… What I wanted to do was ensure that you were prepared for what 42's asked of you. I don't honestly care what happens to you personally, but this endeavor matters to her and she would prefer you live as well as succeed," Aaron said and sighed.

"Nice of her," Quint said. He'd thought as much, he wouldn't have taken the deal otherwise, but it wasn't exactly reassuring to hear the way Aaron was saying it.

"So, expect to continue to receive notes," Aaron said, starting to rise to his feet.

"What's so different between you doing this and being your apprentice?" Quint asked on impulse, also standing. As much as he hadn't exactly enjoyed it, the notes had been helpful once he managed to understand them. If he could have the man himself explain what they meant he'd likely make better progress or at least not screw up quite so much.

"A contract is involved traditionally, you would become my responsibility and I have no interest in such an arrangement," Aaron explained, a note of disgust in his voice. He was walking and Quint was jogging to catch up to him.

"Well, what's more than now and less than that? Teacher?" Quint asked.

"Tutor, a teacher has more than one student," Aaron said.

"Tutor me then? I can only understand about half of your notes, and that's after a couple of days of trying," Quint asked, getting in front of Aaron directly. The man tried to go around but Quint kept pace, backpedaling easily from long practice. You didn't turn your back on an enemy if you enjoyed living.

"Haven't your "teachers" explained them?" Aaron asked, exasperated.

"They don't get them either, or just don't care. They said I don't need to know that much to cast the spells so why bother," Quint said honestly. That had been one of the things that bothered him about his training. They'd allude to things like him eventually making his own spells, but never got into how it worked or what he'd need to learn. Even how a given spell functioned was generally glossed over.

"You don't-" Aaron stopped in his tracks. Quint had been too focused on keeping pace and stopped just abruptly, which cost him his balance and had him on his ass.

"Ha, they think you don't need to know how your spells work to use them? No wonder your arrays are such a mess… Get up, we're burning that tome of yours and starting over," Aaron said, taking off again.

"Starting over?" Quint asked as he struggled to his feet.

"It won't take long to fix, you've hardly learned anything anyway," Aaron said darkly. Quint nodded as he jogged after Aaron. He was getting the distinct impression he'd just bitten off more than he could chew.