Disclamer: Diablo II's character classes, items and monsters belong to
Blizzard Enterprise
Practical Magic
I. City of Rathma
Morty grimaced at the sadly mangled corpse at his feet. The fact that he could not recognize what it belonged to did not improve the plight of his stomach---of course, it wasn't that he, a necromancer in training, couldn't stand corpses in general. However, he had heard from dependable sources that the fate of students who failed the practical exam would, quite literally, teach the others a lesson....
He fervently hoped that he wouldn't have the fortune to figure out whether this was true.
"Ready, Mr. Wynmorte?" Said Master Azote in a tone which sounded like a head jailer's when his most troublesome charge finally confronted the electric chair. Most necromantic masters and students hated each other, which was expected of people who cursed each other five times a week. Morty and Azote, however, loathed each other (for reasons that would be divulged later). It was with a growing sense of foreboding that Morty took The Envelop from Azote's outstretched hand and extracted his Assignment.
NAME: Apprentice Wynmorte TIME AVAILABLE: three minutes TASK: Summon one humanoid skeleton
Morty's eyes widened in shock: One skeleton? A practical assignment this easy was unheard of, said the optimistic part of his mind. The pessimistic part, however, reminded him that skeletal assembly was the one thing he had never gotten the hang of. Even at his best, Morty's skeletons would be hard put to be described as homo, let alone Sapien. Azote looked triumphant.
"One skeleton is quite sufficient, Mr. Wynmorte." He said softly.
I'm dead. Thought Morty, fiddling his wand absently while pages of Skeletal Structure Identification struggled to resurface in his mind like a waterlogged drowned carcass.
"If you won't be using this corpse, please save it for the next candidate." Said Azote. He was enjoying himself. "Now, now, don't fret. you'll figure out the skeleton summoning in good time.... and perhaps, personally...."
Trusting his life to a random memorized design, Morty, muttering arcane syllables and words of apology under his breath, waved a wand at his probable ex- classmate, who now twitched like someone waking up from a bad dream into a worse one. "About time." Sighed Azote with barely concealed disappointment. "I was expecting mushrooms...."
To both's amazement, white smoke rose from the body and started coalescing. "Mr. Wynmorte," Snapped Azote, who was the first to recover. "Is there any chance that you possibly failed to comprehend the instructions?"
"I did use the right summoning chant!" Retorted Morty.
"For anthrax, maybe?" Smirked Azote.
The smirk froze on his face when out of the white smoke stepped a pair of shapely alabaster legs, then torso, and finally the head of a woman emerged, shadowed by massive dark bat wings adorning her back.
"What in Sanctuary is this...." Quavered Morty.
"It's a succubus." Blinked Azote, as his pragmatic self snapped back into attention. "In other words, you have not followed the instructions. I must then, alas, fail you...." He was cut short when ruby-red lips closed over his mouth. "Mmm...." Sighed the succubus. "why need a skeleton when you have me?"
"Der inshructions.... mmh.... reqrire a shelleton.... for passing.... " Mumbled Azote.
Morty resisted the suicidal urge to laugh at his master being mugged by his "minion" while making a mental note to check whether he had been reading Skeletal Structure Identification upside down the night before.
".... but in this case, I suppose the candidate deserves a distinction!" Gasped Azote, as the succubus surfaced for air. He then raced out of the hall at top speed, presumably for a cold bath.
"Hey, that was amazing arghhh!" Wailed Morty, as a hundred pounds of demoness sumo-wrestled him to the ground. He watched in morbid fascination as a cat-like tongue gently flicked over his cheek.
"Anything you need, master?" Purred the succubus.
"Umm.... chest room?" Suggested Morty, trying politely to crane his head to a direction other than ahead, a move which probably could only be achieved by cranial dislocation. "Just so that you know, I, er, have a girlfriend....
"Really, you're most kind, master!" The licking became rather more urgent now.
"NO! That's not what I mean!" Gasped Morty, while trying to push the monster away without contacting any parts that might result in litigation. "Stop doing that to my face, will you?"
The glowing mad slits of the succubus's eyes filled his vision. "Arghhh! Get off me! GET OFF ME!" Flailing wildly, he finally managed to un-pin one of his arms from under the, er, weight on top of his chest, and flung out a fist which caught the face....
....of a river watcher that was investigating his nostrils.
A young river watcher, to be precise. Morty sat up in bed, relieved for a second that the examination catastrophe had only been a dream. Gratefulness for reality could wait, however, as the river watcher coiled up in a defensive position on his bed sheets. Morty sighed. For the life of him he could never understand why his friend had this penchant for keeping hazardous animal companions at large in the bedroom. Morty rather preferred them to remain in a bone prison, or even better, a jar with the suitable preservatives.
"Relax, relax! I won't hurt you!" He coaxed in a voice that, he hoped, resembled his friend Shaver's. It probably didn't. The River Watcher reared back threateningly.
"Hreeeeeeek!" Screamed the reptile, launching a thin bolt of poison at his face. Morty's roommate, Shaffosky, entered.
"Morty! There's poison all over your face!" Cried Shaffosky with concern. "Don't you know how much time it took for Trag'Oul to make that much spit? I've been giving him extra feed, too! Why can't you just stop provoking him? I thought the two of you got along pretty well last week---"
"Only because I slipped him a sedative." Interrupted Morty, wiping his abused face with a towel. "Let's just face it, Shaver--- you're better off buying the stuff from Alkor than scraping it off the walls. It's not worth the opportunity cost."
"Anyway," Said Shaver, waving a hand dismissively to indicate that such things as economics were beyond him. "It's about time you get up. You slept through the entire practical examination, you know."
"I--- what? Did I miss it?"
"Um, no. Yours, being of an exceptional nature, haven't officially started yet." Shaver looked at Morty curiously. "Don't you remember? You were there at the opening ceremony, too."
"I was?" Morty continued to gape dumbly.
"I see." Said Shaver thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose you hit your head a tad bit too hard when you fell, or else you are feigning a memory loss. Either way, there's no weaseling out of the deal now. Let me refresh your memory as to what happened...."
To be continued....
Practical Magic
I. City of Rathma
Morty grimaced at the sadly mangled corpse at his feet. The fact that he could not recognize what it belonged to did not improve the plight of his stomach---of course, it wasn't that he, a necromancer in training, couldn't stand corpses in general. However, he had heard from dependable sources that the fate of students who failed the practical exam would, quite literally, teach the others a lesson....
He fervently hoped that he wouldn't have the fortune to figure out whether this was true.
"Ready, Mr. Wynmorte?" Said Master Azote in a tone which sounded like a head jailer's when his most troublesome charge finally confronted the electric chair. Most necromantic masters and students hated each other, which was expected of people who cursed each other five times a week. Morty and Azote, however, loathed each other (for reasons that would be divulged later). It was with a growing sense of foreboding that Morty took The Envelop from Azote's outstretched hand and extracted his Assignment.
NAME: Apprentice Wynmorte TIME AVAILABLE: three minutes TASK: Summon one humanoid skeleton
Morty's eyes widened in shock: One skeleton? A practical assignment this easy was unheard of, said the optimistic part of his mind. The pessimistic part, however, reminded him that skeletal assembly was the one thing he had never gotten the hang of. Even at his best, Morty's skeletons would be hard put to be described as homo, let alone Sapien. Azote looked triumphant.
"One skeleton is quite sufficient, Mr. Wynmorte." He said softly.
I'm dead. Thought Morty, fiddling his wand absently while pages of Skeletal Structure Identification struggled to resurface in his mind like a waterlogged drowned carcass.
"If you won't be using this corpse, please save it for the next candidate." Said Azote. He was enjoying himself. "Now, now, don't fret. you'll figure out the skeleton summoning in good time.... and perhaps, personally...."
Trusting his life to a random memorized design, Morty, muttering arcane syllables and words of apology under his breath, waved a wand at his probable ex- classmate, who now twitched like someone waking up from a bad dream into a worse one. "About time." Sighed Azote with barely concealed disappointment. "I was expecting mushrooms...."
To both's amazement, white smoke rose from the body and started coalescing. "Mr. Wynmorte," Snapped Azote, who was the first to recover. "Is there any chance that you possibly failed to comprehend the instructions?"
"I did use the right summoning chant!" Retorted Morty.
"For anthrax, maybe?" Smirked Azote.
The smirk froze on his face when out of the white smoke stepped a pair of shapely alabaster legs, then torso, and finally the head of a woman emerged, shadowed by massive dark bat wings adorning her back.
"What in Sanctuary is this...." Quavered Morty.
"It's a succubus." Blinked Azote, as his pragmatic self snapped back into attention. "In other words, you have not followed the instructions. I must then, alas, fail you...." He was cut short when ruby-red lips closed over his mouth. "Mmm...." Sighed the succubus. "why need a skeleton when you have me?"
"Der inshructions.... mmh.... reqrire a shelleton.... for passing.... " Mumbled Azote.
Morty resisted the suicidal urge to laugh at his master being mugged by his "minion" while making a mental note to check whether he had been reading Skeletal Structure Identification upside down the night before.
".... but in this case, I suppose the candidate deserves a distinction!" Gasped Azote, as the succubus surfaced for air. He then raced out of the hall at top speed, presumably for a cold bath.
"Hey, that was amazing arghhh!" Wailed Morty, as a hundred pounds of demoness sumo-wrestled him to the ground. He watched in morbid fascination as a cat-like tongue gently flicked over his cheek.
"Anything you need, master?" Purred the succubus.
"Umm.... chest room?" Suggested Morty, trying politely to crane his head to a direction other than ahead, a move which probably could only be achieved by cranial dislocation. "Just so that you know, I, er, have a girlfriend....
"Really, you're most kind, master!" The licking became rather more urgent now.
"NO! That's not what I mean!" Gasped Morty, while trying to push the monster away without contacting any parts that might result in litigation. "Stop doing that to my face, will you?"
The glowing mad slits of the succubus's eyes filled his vision. "Arghhh! Get off me! GET OFF ME!" Flailing wildly, he finally managed to un-pin one of his arms from under the, er, weight on top of his chest, and flung out a fist which caught the face....
....of a river watcher that was investigating his nostrils.
A young river watcher, to be precise. Morty sat up in bed, relieved for a second that the examination catastrophe had only been a dream. Gratefulness for reality could wait, however, as the river watcher coiled up in a defensive position on his bed sheets. Morty sighed. For the life of him he could never understand why his friend had this penchant for keeping hazardous animal companions at large in the bedroom. Morty rather preferred them to remain in a bone prison, or even better, a jar with the suitable preservatives.
"Relax, relax! I won't hurt you!" He coaxed in a voice that, he hoped, resembled his friend Shaver's. It probably didn't. The River Watcher reared back threateningly.
"Hreeeeeeek!" Screamed the reptile, launching a thin bolt of poison at his face. Morty's roommate, Shaffosky, entered.
"Morty! There's poison all over your face!" Cried Shaffosky with concern. "Don't you know how much time it took for Trag'Oul to make that much spit? I've been giving him extra feed, too! Why can't you just stop provoking him? I thought the two of you got along pretty well last week---"
"Only because I slipped him a sedative." Interrupted Morty, wiping his abused face with a towel. "Let's just face it, Shaver--- you're better off buying the stuff from Alkor than scraping it off the walls. It's not worth the opportunity cost."
"Anyway," Said Shaver, waving a hand dismissively to indicate that such things as economics were beyond him. "It's about time you get up. You slept through the entire practical examination, you know."
"I--- what? Did I miss it?"
"Um, no. Yours, being of an exceptional nature, haven't officially started yet." Shaver looked at Morty curiously. "Don't you remember? You were there at the opening ceremony, too."
"I was?" Morty continued to gape dumbly.
"I see." Said Shaver thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose you hit your head a tad bit too hard when you fell, or else you are feigning a memory loss. Either way, there's no weaseling out of the deal now. Let me refresh your memory as to what happened...."
To be continued....