Transference (Spell scribing - Ruthenia and Calla)

cowritten with the wonderful Dee

Ruthenia once again received a missive to meet with Calla. She stared at the note with some disdain at first. The last time they had met had ended in some harsh words between the two. Ruthenia couldn't help herself; the reckless firebrand was playing with forces beyond her control. She was in her right mind to ignore the message. And yet, there she found herself at the threshold of her door again. Whatever this was, she'd clearly seek it out one way or another. It might as well be from herself.

"Well met, Calla. Keeping yourself out of trouble, I hope?"

“Oh, actively so. At least for the season. I’m leaving for Port Ffirst after this”. The dark elf smiles, and it’s a much more playful expression than the last time Ruthenia met Calla at the Academy.

“I have some creative projects, some planning for the future”. She turns to lead Ruthenia back into the map room, still talking over a shoulder “Some things are probably going to go horribly wrong and I’d like to prepare for them”. Calla sits down and mage-hands out a chair for her elder.

“Hence the letter”.

"Hm. I suspected as such. Of course, it makes sense to prepare for the worst but the way you're expecting it worries me, child. Well, you are an adult in any case; I can pontificate as much as I like about the dangers of the world, what you do with that information is your business and yours alone."

She takes the seat so graciously offered to her and places her spellbook on the table.

"So what are you after specifically? A large amount of my repertoire consists of the standard protections and wards any witch or wizard worth their robes should be able to cast plus a few extra tricks to aid in the divine art of running away. You'd be amazed at just how useful Expeditious Retreat is for a young troublemaker."

That elicits a brief chuckle, “I’m lucky enough to have short range teleportation. No, it’s something more serious I’m afraid. And not, exactly, for me”. Calla takes a deep breath, and with a rueful look on her face, continues, “Mittens is going to get himself into a lot of peril, probably soon, and I’ve recently had first hand experience of how unsatisfactory a small amount of healing can prove under pressure”. All trace of levity leaves her face. “I need something bigger. You can see why I got in touch."

Ruthenia's smile fades from her face as she waves a hand, causing a faint skeletal one to start rifling through her spellbook.

"I know what you're asking me for and I can't say I'm entirely pleased what with your previous track record. Realise that it is only due to my pedagogical spirit and a trust that recent events may have instilled a sense of personal responsibility in you that I'm even choosing to offer you this."

The hand stops at a specific set of pages. This one, while seemingly written in the typical formulas that the other spells in her book resemble at first glance is a lot more freeform, with several details written in the sidebars. It definitely seems that Ruthenia has spent a lot of time on these pages.

"Most systems refer to this spell as Life Transference, and I can wager quite confidently that I am probably one of the few wizards on the entire continent to have it actively scribed in my book, and that is for a reason. This is dangerous magic. I cannot stress that enough. I had to work on this mostly on my own; The Red Wizards don't exactly value living life enough to put much stock into healing them, death was far more profitable for the economic machine. There are several theories about the nature of arcane and divine magic, mine is that divine casters, your clerics, paladins, the Old Religion, regardless of denomination have access to a concept I like to refer to as The Divine Apparatus, a sort of wellspring of life force, divine magic, positive energy, whatever name you wish to put to it. Us arcane casters, deprived of such a privilege, must resort to moving around this energy that is already present in front of us, either by pulling it in from others, which I have no doubt that you could name countless ways to do, or to push it out from within ourselves to other people. It is self sacrifice. Martyrdom. And once upon a time I would have told you that this was a virtuous and a noble thing. Time and tide freed me from that dogma. Old habits won me this new form. It is a powerful spell, no doubt a useful spell, but I must impress upon you the danger to yourself, both physical and psychological. This spell is more than capable of killing you outright if you are not careful and trust me, I have nearly done it myself, but having this ability will fill you with the kind of reckless confidence that should be reserved for more apt healers. I will let you learn this Calla, but not without some conditions. Again, you are a grown woman and I cannot force you to do anything. That is why I'm going to ask you to make me some promises."

A long pause stretches out as the two scholars keep eye contact. Calla breaks first, looking down at Ruthenia’s notes.

“You should know, I take promises extremely seriously”.

With a bookish demeanor and presentation through winter and spring, It's been easy to forget that Calla's not native to the Prime Material. Now that summer's here, there's something in her tone, in her choice of words, that serves as a more pressing reminder. Something that suggests that promises are a kind of bargain: a kind of pact.

"Fine. I'm glad you understand the gravity of this."

Ruthenia took in Calla's determined tone. She was glad, reassured that even if she didn't accept her terms, then at the very least she wouldn't lie to her about it.

"The first is this; you will make every effort to not require using this spell. This is a last resort measure and should be treated as such. If there are clerics or paladins around, let them do their jobs. Stock up on health potions if you need and encourage those around you to do the same. Learn how to use a healer's kit if you must and only resort to use this spell if those other measures are impossible for whatever reason."

Ruthenia leant back in her chair, closed her eyes and furrowed her brow.

"Now, I am unfamiliar with this 'Mittens' character and quite frankly, if you are concerned about them then I don't think I want to know them. Clearly you have a strong desire to protect them and that is admirable but this should not be to your downfall. I cannot help but have your welfare on my mind, but I refuse to have your blood on my hands. If you are ever in a situation where you have to choose between Mittens, or whoever else for that matter, or yourself, you are to choose yourself always. Don't turn yourself into a martyr and use the spell only with the intention of saving you both. You are chronologically my elder but you are still far too young to die. If you have to choose, choose yourself."

Ruthenia opens her eyes again and looks back at Calla, her gaze softening for the briefest of moments.

"I'm trying to look out for you here, you understand. Swear these to me and the spell is yours. Refuse and our business here is done."

As Ruthenia's gaze softens, Calla's narrows. Not a look of suspicion, but of calculation. "I understand the terms, appreciate their clarity, and value the drive beneath them. I value what you're doing here, and will treat your terms with diligence and honesty". A beat, and Ruthenia can feel what's coming next.

"I have caveats, but they come down to this: Your spell will not be the thing that kills me. One, I promise to treat it as a last resort when it could put me in actual danger. I have a number of wards that buffer my life from harm. You can trust me to do that math, and be accurate in its execution. Two, your second clause is largely unenforceable, but I will not martyr myself unless doing so prevents catastrophic harm. Not for a single individual, not to undo a reckless mistake. In a choice between Mittens and myself, I will chose myself. In a choice between Me and, say, the Dawnlands, I cannot make that promise. Under those conditions, it will have been circumstance, not you, that makes my end".

Another beat, and Calla's expression becomes even harder.

"Three, if there is the opportunity to pay the debt this spell creates in an aggressor's blood, and you're willing to teach that spell as well, I will take it".

"...clever girl."

Ruthenia's smiled as she began to break into quiet, reserved laughter.

"Clever, clever girl! So that's how you wish to play it? Goodness don't you just have the audacity?! You are something else, my dear."

Ruthenia composed herself before she continued.

"Have it your way. You are clearly both stubborn and cunning to an unnerving degree and won't back down on these matters. You've thought about this in depth and I'm forced to acknowledge that. And the final insinuation, solving the life force debt by taking from your enemies in turn? Ha! If you weren't already preoccupied you would make a fine student in the necromantic arts indeed!"

She gestured at the spellbook still open on the table.

"They are yours. I don't pray anymore, so I shall simply hope you never find use for this spell. But if you do, you better make it count."

Ruthenia's laughter essentially breaks the spell. Calla smiles demurely, shrugs meekly, but with her ambition laid bare the artifice of it becomes less deference, more shared theatre.

"Of that, you can be certain".