The young goblin coughed, sending dust swirling around him. The front of his face was aflame, stinging and biting. Somewhere in his calculations, he had fucked up immensely. He pushed himself off of the ground, bits and pieces of shattered stone fell to his side, becoming a part of the landscape of rubble. He spit, and blood spattered.

It was supposed to be simple, but part of his calculations were incorrect. As he got to his feet, he took stock of himself. Clothing — destroyed. Arms, legs — bleeding, but still there. Hair — singed, but he shaved it off regularly, so that didn’t matter. He grimaced, and reached for the place where the pain was centralized.

His hands swiped over empty air. The explosion had taken his nose, ripped the cartilage clean off. No wonder breathing hurt. He switched to breathing through his mouth. Much better. He coughed again, and shuddered. Agony.

The area around him was destroyed. Blast! The Forum would chew him out for this. They wouldn’t release him of his vows, most likely, his research was too important. His talents were too useful to them as an organization. But they certainly wouldn’t be happy with him. His Magister, Carria, would chew him out for sure. As if he didn’t know he fucked up.

It was probably the seeds, he thought. Though he had thought them indicative of growth, the plant that he picked grew too fast, too explosively. Yes, that was likely it. He would try again, with a different breed. Soon. But first, he should take care of the gaping wound on his face.

And call the cleaning crews, yes. His study was a wreck. He bloody well couldn’t be expected to work with it in this state, now could he?



Lrfshmn woke with his face flecked with dried drool and spit. Groggily, he rose and took stock of his surroundings. His head pounded, and the familiar pain in his sinuses greeted him as he took a deep breath, fresh morning air stinging as it hit the old wound.

He had fallen asleep at his desk again. Books were splayed out around him, piled higher than he could reach. Blast it, but he was getting old. Maybe it was time to tow a bed into his study, so he wouldn’t have to walk all of the way to his quarters when he needed a good night’s rest.

His head hurt. Best get some coffee, before he was taken out of commission for the rest of the day. He reached around his neck for his scarf, a long, thick thing of wool, different patterns tracing their way up the object of clothing. He pulled it up into place around the lower half of his face. The fabric was itchy, but it was still better than the open air. Plus, he got fewer stares than when he walked with his face bare for the world to gawk at. They all assumed that he was being kind, keeping his hideousness hidden away. It was more efficient this way, that was all.

He left his office with the door open. With an effort of will, a subtle whisper, and a touch of his scarf, the lights set in their ornate lamps dimmed until the room was shrouded in dark. He remembered the times before he had his focus — Satisfaction was far more recalcitrant with her codes, it was far more difficult for him to weave spells. Now? Now he barely needed a somatic component, even at the worst of times.

Lrfshmn set off toward the cafeteria. They often had a cup set aside for him, as it was growing more regular for him to stumble out of his office after a night of study.

Mylwyldgrn be praised, Entigo had thought of him. She was a sweetling, his favorite of the cooks who took care of him and the rest of the Magisters. Not smart enough to learn at the Forum, but certainly a talented enough cook, and her coffee was ambrosia.

“Satisfaction praise you,” he blessed toward her as his gnarled hands gripped the porcelain cup. He had grown used to using the elves name for Mylwyldgrn, though he kept her True Name in mind whenever he did so. The elves couldn’t be bothered to learn Goblinish, though he was of the opinion that it was the most efficient language for their field of work, the specificity of the tongue allowing for him to separate concepts easier. Only Dwarvish came close — really, it was ironic that the Mother’s tongue was far less useful for accessing her magic.

“My pleasure Magister,” the elf girl beamed back at him. Lrfshmn nodded his head to a thought, then tottered his way out of the cafeteria toward his quarters. As he walked, he pulled his scarf down to take periodic sips of the hot beverage — pulling it up after each, as was habit by now.

His mind wandered off until it made its way to his current project. He was attempting to disprove Aethyn’s fourth treatise. The young upstart had come up with his theories, and put them forward in the Forum as fact, and it ground Lrfshmn’s teeth that the rest of the Forum accepted them as such. They didn’t even attempt to disprove the idea! Just because something was true historically doesn’t mean that it will remain true forever. As he entered back into his office, he touched his scarf and whispered the verbal component, and the lamps came on.

The alchemical portion of Lrfshmn’s office was his pride and joy — it bubbled, hissed, and spattered like any good goblin’s alchemical station should. Just enough mismatched glassware to confuse other Magisters, and small scattered vials of plant matter overtaking the area. It had been growing, the years he had studied here, overtaking the room slowly.

Yes, it was a mess, but it was his mess. He set his coffee down and sat himself up on the tall stone stool, grunting as he hoisted himself up. He would have to see about getting a seat with a back, so he could rest upon it.

Lrfshmn liked to make his own material components — he found that he had more success when he had a more intimate connection to the ingredients that way. Plus, he had learned over his long life how to make compounds that did nearly anything. The sky was the limit.

Today, he needed something very specific. Aethyn, that whippersnapper, had managed to convince the rest of the Magisters that you could not act upon a spellcasting material while it was in use. Obviously, that wasn’t true, though Lrfshmn was having trouble explaining with Elvish words how that wasn’t the case. If someone gave the slightest amount of thought, they would see that something had to be acting upon spellcasting materials — a mage exhibits their will on the objects, then Mylwyldgrn accepted the components — which meant that Mylwyldgrn was acting upon spell casting materials while they were in use. Most likely, it was the same energy that the Mother used when instilling Commands in her children.

Lrfshmn needed to do something similar. And thus, he had come up with a plan. If he could cast one spell using material components, he should in theory be able to cast another spell upon the material components using his focus, which would allow him to maintain two effects at once.

He knew which spell he would cast the second time — one of his favorites, that he could at this point cast with barely a somatic component and his focus. The first spell, though, that was the iffy one. He needed something powerful enough, yet slow enough that he would have time to act upon it, but there would still be a blatant effect.

Aha! That could work! He got to work.



—



“Archmagister, thank you for coming to my demonstration. Aethyn, you as well.” Lrfshmn cackled. Lysselia and Aethyn had agreed to watch his experiment — from a safe distance, of course. The Forum was well acquainted with Lrfshmn’s methods, and they had capitulated long ago to his needs.

His demonstration room was round, and covered in thick metal plates. Archmagister Lysselia and Magister Aethyn were in the observation room, about halfway up the sloped walls. Though there was nothing visible but a shimmer, Lrfshmn knew that Lysselia was upholding a warding spell to protect the two of them.

“Of course, Magister Lrfshmn,” Lysselia responded. She mispronounced his name, though everyone did here. Lrfshmn, not Lrfshmn. “Magister Aethyn and I are glad to witness.” Magister Aethyn just nodded, lips drawn tight. He looked especially smug today, Lrfshmn thought.

“As I told you, today I will be attempting to disprove Aethyn’s — sorry, Magister Aethyn’s fourth treatise. According to my calculations, it should theoretically be possible to act upon a material currently in use in a spell. Before Myl—before Satisfaction takes her price, there is a moment in which the material is nothing but that— a material.” Lrfshmn cleared his throat. “Therefore, I will cast a simple fireball spell using the normal three components. When the spell effect begins, I will cast a dilation spell — which I am bloody familiar with, thank you very much — on the material component of the first spell. If I am correct, the first spell should happen, but it should happen under the effect of the dilation spell.”

Aethyn opened his mouth, and his nasal voice grated Lrfshmn’s ears. “Magister, is there… some reason why you are choosing to use a fireball spell for this demonstration?”

Lrfshmn looked at Lysselia, who’s eyes looked pleadingly at him. He grinned, cocky. The upstart Magister believed that he knew everything, but he hadn’t even done his research before coming here. He had a stronger accent than usual, having come straight to the Mage’s Forum from The Grown Home, the ancestral homeland of the elves. He clearly knew Lrfshmn’s reputation.

“The familiarity should ease the stress on the spellcaster — myself.” He rationalized. Lysselia knew exactly why he chose an explosive spell; they were his specialty.

“Let us begin,” he said, and pulled on his protective goggles. They irked, but he had promised Lysselia after one of his numerous other experiments had gone awry. What she didn’t get, what every other mage didn’t get, was that every failure was a new thing learned. Each failed spell, each scorch mark, each bruise, were all instances of knowledge. Lrfshmn learned as much, probably even more, from his failures than his successes.

He pulled on his thick gloves, one at a time, then wiggled his fingers. All six were still there, though the small one on his right hand was a tad shorter than the rest — he had lost the tip of it, but it was all part of the job. He got to work.

First, the vial full of grayish-green powder. He lightly tapped it out onto the flat counter in front of him, setting the powder into the shape of a Goblinish rune — not strictly necessary, but helpful to him when he was using homemade components. He looked toward the two elves — there was a shimmer now, Aethyn had set up an additional ward, though it was more obtrusive than Lysselia’s.

Next, the match. He struck it on the small stone surface, and it lit. He held it out toward the powder, and muttered under his breath.

“Boom,” he whispered as he swiftly opened his closed fist. His favorite verbal trigger for this spell. The powder took light from the match, and he dropped it to the ground and gripped his scarf. This would have to be done fast, as the rune had now caught entirely, and he could feel the pressure in his head building as the spell started.

With a sharp effort of will, he cast a dilation spell on the rune. The flames flickered, then slowed — then froze. The goblin still felt the other spell in his head, the pressure was there, but it too, had slowed.

“Haha!” He cackled. He kept his focus, and turned toward the two elves. Aethyn was openly grimacing at him. Lysselia’s mouth was puckered, but she looked impressed.

“As you can see,” he extended one hand toward the time-slowed explosion, “the materials have been acted upon by an outside force, while still being accepted as a component. Therefore, Aethyn’s fourth treatise has been hastily accepted, and is not yet quite complete.” He grinned at the young Magister. Suck on that, he added mentally.

“Uh…” Lysselia started. “Magister Lrfshmn. Yes, this is quite impressive, but may I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“What are you planning on doing now?”

Lrfshmn looked toward the table, the rune growing brighter ever so slowly as he pressed the explosion down with his will. He looked back toward the viewing platform. Then at the table.

“Ah, yes.” He cleared his throat. “It appears I have not thought this through entirely.”

Lysselia sighed, then gestured at Aethyn. “Contact the cleaning crew.” She paused, and took stock of the small room. “And the healers.” Her mouth moved, but he suddenly couldn’t hear as the ward that he knew was there suddenly crystallized, coming into view as stark, geometric patterns in the air which surrounded the viewing platform. They did not include Lrfshmn within their protective bounds.

Ah well, the old goblin thought. All part of the job. He released the slowing spell. The room exploded.