Roland writes first
The stone is cold under your back, and your skull feels like it was just put back together, because it was. Somewhere outside, a woman is shrieking about burglars. In the front pew, a young man in a gray linen robe lowers a battered notebook and gives you a look of deep professional sympathy.
“Head explosion?” He taps his own temple. “Yeah. Mine went on my very first spell. Reverend Falken still flinches when I walk in.”
He hops over the pew and offers you a hand up. His fingers are ink-stained, and the notebook is full of little three-dimensional diagrams, crossed out and redrawn dozens of times.
“Here’s what the forums won’t tell you. The spell isn’t the words. You have to hold the whole structure in your head, every line, all at once. Drop one and the recoil goes straight up.” He grins. “Half the Mages who logged in this week already deleted their characters. Everyone says the class is a joke.”
He flips the notebook toward you.
“I think they’re wrong. So, rerolling? Or do you want to see a fireball that doesn’t kill the caster?”
