He's been learning magick lately – not the little stuff, that the boss insists everyone knows – but everything he can buy, beg, or steal. The last mark they took on, they had that nu-mou with them, and seeing what that guy could do – well.
When he stopped to think about it, not having to be anywhere near a mark to take 'em down like that – that's an idea he can get behind. So he's been learning.
'Course, keying up a spell isn't a quick process, so he's pretty grateful that he's got the rest of the band backing him up in this. It's one thing to have the basic stuff – Cure, Esuna, a few different spells spread out among all of them – and another thing entirely to learn every spell there is.
There's a certain amount of teasing when he pulls out his spellbook, of course, but that's just what happens. No one really means it. Theyhad all seen that nu-mou work, too.
And yesterday, all his practice had finally paid off. They had been escorting some Archadian merchants down to Dalmasca – fighting off fiends and bandits – when the wind shifted or something and the group had been attacked by fiends from the Nabreus Deadlands.
All the money, time and effort he had spent on learning that stuff – it hadn't been wasted. First there were baknamy – creepy little fuckers – and he brought up a Blizarra to hammer them down, the spell tasting cool and minty as he forced the words out of his mouth, and then it's done, and three of the baknamy are flying through the air, spears of solid ice lodged in them.
And then out come more of them – fiends this time – and Libra is telling him fire, fire, use fire, whispering in his ear over and over, and out it comes, the words – the magick – like that spicy sausage the boss likes on his tongue, the one made with fire peppers and smoked for a month – and then Fira is licking at the fiends, blazing bright and wild and oh fuck we're all dead.
No one had seen it, but there was an elemental out there. And he had been using magicks. And now it was coming for him, all sparkly trailing lights and lethal, lethal magick.
And then things got blurred. Libra was singing now, like a choir of angels – triumphant, beautiful, terrible – and that meant Holy spells – which he didn't have – and the rest of the party was shouting and everything was so loud.
Stillness. Silence.
Not just quiet – not a lack of sound – the opposite of sound – and the spell was cast. This wasn't black magick, it was something else – he wondered, briefly, when he had learned the Silence spell – and then the elemental couldn't use magicks anymore and the rest of the party was hacking away and the merchants were hiding in the wagon and he was casting everything he had on the guys – the boss got preference, but everyone got backup – blurred perception that meant Haste, the tingling warmth of a Protect, and the spring breeze and pine scent that came with Cura.
Libra's choir was fainter now, not so insistent – it's weaker, we can do this – and he's pulling out the big one – hair is standing on end, the words dancing on his lips with the coolness of a rain-filled wind and it's out– and the Thundaga hits the elemental, lightning striking out of a clear sky.
The glowing motes sort of jerked sideways, then relaxed – separated – faded. It's done, it's over.
He's looking at his hands now, sort of stunned – did I do all that? – and there's a noise, so he looks up, and it's the boss, one hand extended to help him up.
He looks. Yeah, he's flat on his butt, alright. When did that happen? He accepts the hand up, and everyone is looking at him now – huh. Yeah, he thinks, that was pretty awesome.
When they make camp for the night, no one teases him for pulling out the spellbook.