Mistakes happen once or twice
Posted: Wed Jun 07, 2023 6:36 pm
122 Frost 15th
Ivar had been on pins and needles all day. The feeling wasn't the usual kind like when you have to write a big exam or you're about to get into a fight. This was a different sort of jittery feeling, the kind of nervous energy that made you want to jump and dance around. And it was all because of scrivening.
There he was, sitting at his desk, which was about as old as the hills and creaked like a banshee every time he leaned on it. The desk was practically drowning in scrolls and inks and quills. The scrolls were all nice and smooth, the sort that were a joy to write on. They were made from a type of paper that was like silk to touch and was perfect for the delicate work of scrivening.
“Gods I hope I don’t mess this up.”
He looked at the stuff before him. The inks were all kinds of colors. Blues and greens and reds and yellows. Each one looked like a tiny bottle of liquid gems. And then there were the quills. All different kinds, from different birds. They were Ivar's tools, his weapons in this new adventure.
He had a plan for today. He was going to try to create a scroll with a teleportation spell infused into it. Not a huge teleportation spell or anything. He wasn't planning on teleporting to the other side of the world or anything like that. No, he was thinking of something smaller. Short range. Just something that could maybe get him from one side of a room to another.
It was ambitious, for sure. Especially considering he'd never done anything like it before. But Ivar was nothing if not ambitious. This was going to be hard, he knew that. Scrivening was like...writing, but on a whole other level. It wasn't just about putting words on paper. It was about creating something magical, something powerful. And this...this was going to be the most challenging thing he'd ever attempted.
He started with the pictography. That was the first step in creating a magical scroll. It was all about creating images and symbols that held the essence of the spell you were trying to infuse into the scroll. It was all a bit complicated and Ivar was still trying to wrap his head around it.
He wasn't an artist. He'd never been good at drawing or painting. His figures looked more like blobs and his attempts at drawing looked like something out of a horror show. But this was different. This was important. He had to get it right. So he started sketching. He used a plain piece of paper and started creating symbols and images that he thought might work for a teleportation spell.
It was hard. Really hard. Like trying to thread a needle while riding a horse hard. His first few attempts were awful. They looked more like random squiggles than anything else. But he didn't let that discourage him. He kept going, kept trying. He was determined to get it right.
The hours seemed to fly by as he worked. His focus was so intense that he barely noticed the passing of time. The world outside his little room might as well not have existed. All that mattered was the work in front of him. By the time he finally sat back, he had a piece of paper filled with images and symbols. They weren't perfect, but they were a start. It was the first step on his journey towards creating a teleportation scroll. And that was something to be proud of.
The next day came as if in a blink and Ivar found himself right back at his rickety desk. The ink still glimmered in the early morning, a rainbow of magical potential just waiting to be tapped into. The previous day's work stared up at him from the now messy workspace, the images he’d drawn seemingly coming alive under his intense gaze.
After having breakfast (which was really just some old bread he had managed to scrounge up), he got to work. He spread out the scroll that he was going to infuse the spell into and got to work. His hands were steady as he began to carefully replicate the symbols and images onto the scroll, using the fine-tipped quills and vibrant inks.
It was painstaking work, requiring all of his focus and concentration. His tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth as he bent over the scroll, his eyes barely blinking as he traced over the lines and curves. Halfway through, disaster struck. His hand slipped and a long streak of ink marred the beautiful scroll. Ivar let out a groan of frustration, his head falling to the desk with a thud.
For a moment, he considered ripping the scroll up and throwing it into the fire. But no, he couldn't do that. He had to keep going. This was a learning process. He was going to make mistakes. He took a deep breath and began again. This time he was even more careful. He went slow, really slow, taking his time with each symbol and image. He worked through the morning and into the afternoon, the sun shining through the window and warming his back as he bent over the scroll.
By the time he was done, his back was aching and his fingers were stained with ink. But when he looked down at the scroll, he felt a surge of pride. There it was. His very own scroll with a teleportation spell infused into it. It wasn't perfect, the symbols were a bit shaky and the images could have been clearer. But it was his. He had done it.
With a tired but triumphant smile on his face, he rolled up the scroll and set it aside. He'd made some progress today. He hadn't managed to fully infuse the spell into the scroll yet, but he'd taken a huge step towards it. For now, that was enough.
He spread the scroll out, its surface adorned with the symbols and images. There was a certain beauty in the mess of ink and paper that laid before him, a testament to the hours of hard work and concentration he'd put into this project. With a soft breath, he took the vial of infused ink and began the delicate process of infusing the spell while putting his aether into it. He focused on what it was like to navigate the slip space and travel just a few yards away.
To say it was a challenge would have been an understatement. He had to perfectly align his mind and magic, to weave them together in a dance as intricate and complex as the symbols on the scroll. Every stroke of the quill felt heavy with importance.
He was so engrossed in his work that he didn't realize how much time had passed. It was only when his stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, that he looked up and noticed the position of the sun in the sky.
Rubbing at his eyes, Ivar stood up, stretching out his stiff limbs. He glanced back at the scroll. He'd done it. Or at least, he thought he had. There was only one way to find out. With a flick of his wrist, he tried to activate the teleportation spell, his eyes focused on the scroll. For a moment, nothing happened. But then, with a shimmer of magic, the scroll wobbled, then blinked out of existence before reappearing a few inches away.
The cheer that burst out of Ivar could probably be heard from the next town over. He had done it! It wasn't a great distance, and the scroll looked a bit singed around the edges, but he'd done it! His first teleportation scroll. A beam of pride lit up his face as he examined his work, his heart fluttering in his chest.
Sure, it wasn't perfect. Sure he hadn’t intended for the scroll to teleport. Actually, he’d wanted himself to teleport. But whatever, he had made something happen. The spell was weak, and he could now see where he went wrong in his scrivening. But that wasn't the point.
The second Ivar put down the quill, he felt it. An annoying pulse in his hand, like a mean drumbeat that wouldn't let up. All that holding, all that careful doodling, it had his hand crying out for a break. Pain, like a bunch of tiny goblins stabbing his fingers, spread from his knuckles to his wrist.
Just flexing his fingers, that's all he tried. And boy, did that backfire! Instead of easing up, the pain went from a nasty drumbeat to a full-on goblin war dance. It felt as if he'd tried to arm-wrestle a giant, not just doodled on some parchment.
Like, he knew scrivening wasn't easy-peasy, but nobody said anything about it hurting so bad. He was just trying to make some cool magical stuff, not go through some torture endurance test. His hand looked normal, sure, but boy, did it feel as if it had been put through a meat grinder. Well, that was a lesson learned, Ivar thought, wincing as he stretched his fingers again. He was gonna need a long break after this, and possibly a bucket full of ice.
Ivar had been on pins and needles all day. The feeling wasn't the usual kind like when you have to write a big exam or you're about to get into a fight. This was a different sort of jittery feeling, the kind of nervous energy that made you want to jump and dance around. And it was all because of scrivening.
There he was, sitting at his desk, which was about as old as the hills and creaked like a banshee every time he leaned on it. The desk was practically drowning in scrolls and inks and quills. The scrolls were all nice and smooth, the sort that were a joy to write on. They were made from a type of paper that was like silk to touch and was perfect for the delicate work of scrivening.
“Gods I hope I don’t mess this up.”
He looked at the stuff before him. The inks were all kinds of colors. Blues and greens and reds and yellows. Each one looked like a tiny bottle of liquid gems. And then there were the quills. All different kinds, from different birds. They were Ivar's tools, his weapons in this new adventure.
He had a plan for today. He was going to try to create a scroll with a teleportation spell infused into it. Not a huge teleportation spell or anything. He wasn't planning on teleporting to the other side of the world or anything like that. No, he was thinking of something smaller. Short range. Just something that could maybe get him from one side of a room to another.
It was ambitious, for sure. Especially considering he'd never done anything like it before. But Ivar was nothing if not ambitious. This was going to be hard, he knew that. Scrivening was like...writing, but on a whole other level. It wasn't just about putting words on paper. It was about creating something magical, something powerful. And this...this was going to be the most challenging thing he'd ever attempted.
He started with the pictography. That was the first step in creating a magical scroll. It was all about creating images and symbols that held the essence of the spell you were trying to infuse into the scroll. It was all a bit complicated and Ivar was still trying to wrap his head around it.
He wasn't an artist. He'd never been good at drawing or painting. His figures looked more like blobs and his attempts at drawing looked like something out of a horror show. But this was different. This was important. He had to get it right. So he started sketching. He used a plain piece of paper and started creating symbols and images that he thought might work for a teleportation spell.
It was hard. Really hard. Like trying to thread a needle while riding a horse hard. His first few attempts were awful. They looked more like random squiggles than anything else. But he didn't let that discourage him. He kept going, kept trying. He was determined to get it right.
The hours seemed to fly by as he worked. His focus was so intense that he barely noticed the passing of time. The world outside his little room might as well not have existed. All that mattered was the work in front of him. By the time he finally sat back, he had a piece of paper filled with images and symbols. They weren't perfect, but they were a start. It was the first step on his journey towards creating a teleportation scroll. And that was something to be proud of.
The next day came as if in a blink and Ivar found himself right back at his rickety desk. The ink still glimmered in the early morning, a rainbow of magical potential just waiting to be tapped into. The previous day's work stared up at him from the now messy workspace, the images he’d drawn seemingly coming alive under his intense gaze.
After having breakfast (which was really just some old bread he had managed to scrounge up), he got to work. He spread out the scroll that he was going to infuse the spell into and got to work. His hands were steady as he began to carefully replicate the symbols and images onto the scroll, using the fine-tipped quills and vibrant inks.
It was painstaking work, requiring all of his focus and concentration. His tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth as he bent over the scroll, his eyes barely blinking as he traced over the lines and curves. Halfway through, disaster struck. His hand slipped and a long streak of ink marred the beautiful scroll. Ivar let out a groan of frustration, his head falling to the desk with a thud.
For a moment, he considered ripping the scroll up and throwing it into the fire. But no, he couldn't do that. He had to keep going. This was a learning process. He was going to make mistakes. He took a deep breath and began again. This time he was even more careful. He went slow, really slow, taking his time with each symbol and image. He worked through the morning and into the afternoon, the sun shining through the window and warming his back as he bent over the scroll.
By the time he was done, his back was aching and his fingers were stained with ink. But when he looked down at the scroll, he felt a surge of pride. There it was. His very own scroll with a teleportation spell infused into it. It wasn't perfect, the symbols were a bit shaky and the images could have been clearer. But it was his. He had done it.
With a tired but triumphant smile on his face, he rolled up the scroll and set it aside. He'd made some progress today. He hadn't managed to fully infuse the spell into the scroll yet, but he'd taken a huge step towards it. For now, that was enough.
He spread the scroll out, its surface adorned with the symbols and images. There was a certain beauty in the mess of ink and paper that laid before him, a testament to the hours of hard work and concentration he'd put into this project. With a soft breath, he took the vial of infused ink and began the delicate process of infusing the spell while putting his aether into it. He focused on what it was like to navigate the slip space and travel just a few yards away.
To say it was a challenge would have been an understatement. He had to perfectly align his mind and magic, to weave them together in a dance as intricate and complex as the symbols on the scroll. Every stroke of the quill felt heavy with importance.
He was so engrossed in his work that he didn't realize how much time had passed. It was only when his stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, that he looked up and noticed the position of the sun in the sky.
Rubbing at his eyes, Ivar stood up, stretching out his stiff limbs. He glanced back at the scroll. He'd done it. Or at least, he thought he had. There was only one way to find out. With a flick of his wrist, he tried to activate the teleportation spell, his eyes focused on the scroll. For a moment, nothing happened. But then, with a shimmer of magic, the scroll wobbled, then blinked out of existence before reappearing a few inches away.
The cheer that burst out of Ivar could probably be heard from the next town over. He had done it! It wasn't a great distance, and the scroll looked a bit singed around the edges, but he'd done it! His first teleportation scroll. A beam of pride lit up his face as he examined his work, his heart fluttering in his chest.
Sure, it wasn't perfect. Sure he hadn’t intended for the scroll to teleport. Actually, he’d wanted himself to teleport. But whatever, he had made something happen. The spell was weak, and he could now see where he went wrong in his scrivening. But that wasn't the point.
The second Ivar put down the quill, he felt it. An annoying pulse in his hand, like a mean drumbeat that wouldn't let up. All that holding, all that careful doodling, it had his hand crying out for a break. Pain, like a bunch of tiny goblins stabbing his fingers, spread from his knuckles to his wrist.
Just flexing his fingers, that's all he tried. And boy, did that backfire! Instead of easing up, the pain went from a nasty drumbeat to a full-on goblin war dance. It felt as if he'd tried to arm-wrestle a giant, not just doodled on some parchment.
Like, he knew scrivening wasn't easy-peasy, but nobody said anything about it hurting so bad. He was just trying to make some cool magical stuff, not go through some torture endurance test. His hand looked normal, sure, but boy, did it feel as if it had been put through a meat grinder. Well, that was a lesson learned, Ivar thought, wincing as he stretched his fingers again. He was gonna need a long break after this, and possibly a bucket full of ice.
