| Marc Pelzer | Lorys Germany
The night was almost over. Tirion was nervous. After he had given his consent, the old shaman had gone straight to preparing the ritual: She asked for herbs, with names of which he had never heard of, and had all sorts of items filled and brought to her hut. After that, she had instructed other tribe members to disinfect Ja'nemeri's wound and to treat it as far as possible. The mage was now waiting in front of the small moss-covered hut, from whose tiny window the light of a small fire was emanating. No one was talking to him. He had seen the warriors returning, but their mines suggested that they had not encountered the attackers. Besides, the girl's wolf had lain down in front of the hut and curled up. From time to time it whimpered a little, as if he hoped for an answer from his companion lying in the hut. All calls went unanswered. In front of the dark wall of the hut, slightly overgrown with mushrooms, stood a small bench. After waiting for a long time, Tirion decided to sit down. He leaned back and was surprised to find that he could recline very comfortably in this position. He continued to wait. Now and then people passed by, but this eluded his attention. His eyes slowly closed and he began to sleep a little despite thousands of thoughts in his head.
A voice pushed him out of his reverie, "Young mage, wake up!" He opened his eyes. The light of the rising sun blinded him. He caught himself and squinted. In front of him stood a tall man whose face was covered by a leather hood. He wore a short beard, had a big nose and eyed him intrusively with his dark eyes. "The shaman awaits you, go inside, quickly!"
Glad to leave the damp cold, he stood up still a little awkwardly and strode in through the creaking door into the hut, watched by the man. The shaman had painted a circle of white paint on the stone floor tiles. In the centre of the circle was a candle heating a bowl held on a wiry scaffold above it. She gestured for him to sit in the circle. She then instructed him: "What you are about to experience are your memories of the past. Which memories you will experience depends on your thoughts. You have to concentrate on the memory and maintain that focus. In doing so, I keep the connection to the present intact. However, you will only have one hour. On the one hand, it will take all my strength and on the other... Ja'nemeri is a strong girl, but she is running out of time."
"How do we know that I have learned a method of curing curses in my past? And even if I did, how do we know where to look?" blurted out Tirion. The old woman smiled at him guardedly. "I have great confidence. And perhaps I will tell you about it later. You will have to travel to your training period. Remember a man called Fyodor van Keist." Tirion's eyes widened. How did the shaman know that name? Though the question was on the tip of his tongue, he could not ask it. The old woman urged him to drink the beverage that was in the bowl in front of him. He reached out and grasped the bronze bowl with both hands. The brew steamed slightly and smelled like a terribly strong and bitter tea. His face formed into a grimace. However, it did not stop him from taking a swift first sip. As soon as the liquid touched his mouth, the taste literally exploded: he tasted the strong sour character with fierce bitter notes and an unexpected sharpness. In addition, there was an expansive burning sensation of high-percentage alcohol. It was not a pleasant sensation and only with difficulty did he swallow the brew. His eyes squeezed shut as he did so and began to water. "Remember my words," he heard the shaman say, "focus!".
Suddenly the burning bite and unbearable taste in the roof of his mouth disappeared. Even his eyes no longer seemed to water. He opened them in amazement. "That seems to work faster than suspected", Tirion thought to himself as he hovered over his younger self as if out of his body. The moment the mage had focused on had indeed appeared: He had been a young boy when he had spent his first week at the Guild School. Just then, his young self was being led through the school with a group of other novices. The boys and girls were at that moment marvelling at the library.
It was at this very moment that young Tirion had first spoken to the legendary Fyodor van Keist. From overhead, the boy could be seen breaking away from the cluster of novices and walking towards a white-bearded old man in a richly decorated red robe. Tirion noticed how he could even perceive the curiosity he had felt at the time, as soon as he focused on the little boy. Then he observed the conversation between the two, which was superficial but left the boy in awe and the archmage in amazement. Normally, archmages were exempt from the duty of teaching. This was the case because they had often taught at the school as masters for a long time and in their advanced age they devoted themselves to researching new spells. Archmaster van Keist had been an exception. He had been trained by one of the founding fathers and enjoyed a legendary reputation. He came to the school only afterwards and directly as Archmaster. In Tirion's time he had been the oldest mage in the school at a proud 105 years. He smiled joyfully at thoughts of the old man. There seemed to be nothing else in that memory. He concentrated and the surroundings blurred. A few moments later, a scene formed again.
Tirion could see his young self in the library with Archmaster van Keist. The latter had decided to mentor the young Tirion after the first year. Often the boy was taught in the library. This had often been hard on him, for this special treatment earned him absolutely no sympathy from the other novices. Tirion looked around: His mentor at the time was sitting in his red robe embroidered with golden runes on a cherrywood chair at a small desk. Next to him stood the young Tirion, also wearing a red novice's cloak. This was much plainer in design, but had a hood, which the young apprentice was accustomed to wearing. The dusty library had few and small windows. Therefore, a magic candle was standing on the table. This burned in a vortex a hand's breadth in the air and illuminated the desk strongly enough to be able to work on it. Tirion now focused on the conversation. Archmage van Keist was talking about using punctured magic to create complex structures. This was something his mentor had often done. He was one of the few mages who could convert magic into fire as well as having light magic. This kind of magic could form barriers and other long-standing effects. It was this that had helped van Keist gain his legendary reputation. "The highly focused release of heat in tiny amounts can act like thousands of burning needles. It can cause rocks to burst and metal to melt. Look at this drawing." The archmage held out a parchment to his less than interested protégé. Tirion looked at it in front of him. He had never been able to do this kind of magic properly. He was already thinking about jumping into the next memory, when his mentor spoke on. "However, if you reduce this destructive power in direction and range, you can work with it more finely. Figuratively speaking, it would be hundreds of thousands of needles. You could remove diseased tissue in a very controlled way. This is one of the most powerful types of healing you can learn as a fire mage." Tirion startled. He almost lost his memory. He was incredibly excited, so much so that he even began to tremble for a moment. Quickly he concentrated again and listened attentively. The answer to his curse question was at his feet and he took it up gratefully.