Post by Aiden Raa Corm on Feb 24, 2009 9:26:49 GMT -5
The Creation of the Staff
The Bo Staff of Power
Once again, the boy was up at dawn's first light. He had gone to the stables and taken care of the horses, who now seemed genuinely happy to see him, in spite of the smell of lion. Perhaps it was the apples and other treats he always brought with him in the mornings. Eryn was looking sleeker each day now, it wouldn't be too much longer before the boy had his own steed to ride.
He had fed the chickens and stopped by the archery range, but just couldn't bring himself to start training yet, his bow arm was still sore from yesterday's trials. No, today, or at least this morning, he would take a break and go to the forest.
Setting off down the main trail to the forest to the east, the elven boy's heart light and full of hope. He would find himself a staff today. It would have to be oak, for not only was it to be his Bo, it would also be his athame, his staff of power. He travels for some time, listening to the awakening of the forest, the birds, the rustling of leaves as animals foraged in the snowy undergrowth. Yes, the day fairly glistened with promise.
The morning sun finally rises over the treetops, tendrils of light shafting greenly through the forest canopy. The six year olds ranger's footsteps are soundless, bare feet leaving no trail for others to follow. Branches and brambles alike move out of his way, then shift back to cover any trace of his passing.
It is still early morning when the boy enters the sacred grotto, deep in the heart of the forest where a ring of old oaks surround a natural clearing. There, the boy divests himself of all clothing and other articles, stacking them neatly to one side. Naked, he lays down on the bare earth and proceeds to clear his mind in preparation.
When he has reached a proper meditative state, he utters the words of a commune with nature spell, seeking knowledge from the forest itself. He seeks to find an oak that has recently been struck by lightning, for such a phenomenon adds power to the strength of the oak, power he will need within his staff. Farther and farther he searches until at last his search is rewarded. There, on the furthest edge of Eldyn lands, almost into the mountains, lives the tree that he seeks. Fixing the location in his mind, the boy gradually emerges from his trance.
Sitting up, the little boy smiles, quickly dressing and placing his possessions in their proper places, the dragon bone dagger on his hip, the quiver and bow on his shoulders. For today's outing he has left the ranger's cloak behind, not wanting anything that might hinder transformations. Adequately prepared, he shifts into his owl form, his supplies and equipment shifting with him, basically stored in a temporary bubble universe, to be returned when he takes back his normal form. With powerful strokes, his wings lift him from the earth, gradually taking him through the under layer and canopy until he breaks out of the trees and soars high above the forest.
North and eastward the owl flies, catching thermals when he can, gaining altitude to save energy as he flies relentlessly onward. Small game and animals spotted below are ignored, though the owl brain keeps telling him he could use a good meal of rabbit or squirrel, but the boy within knows that he must fast for the enormous task ahead.
Landing near the old lightning struck oak, the owl transforms back into the boy's elven form. For a few moments, he simply stares, admiring the strength and tenacity of the venerable oak. Once again removing all clothing and other articles, the boy climbs nimbly into the oak's branches, climbing up to an area near the scarred portion of the tree. Once there, he makes himself comfortable in the crook of a branch and casts a speak with plant spell. He first begins by expressing his admiration of the old oak, gradually explaining his need and asking the oak to part with a living branch that he can use as a staff.
The sun is high in the sky by the time this is done, the boy oblivious to time's passing. Eventually, the oak agrees and a branch is released into the boy's hand. He spends yet more time, properly thanking the oak for its selfless sacrifice and promising to use the staff for the betterment of the forest. Clutching the branch tightly, the boy again thanks the oak and descends carefully to the ground. There, he dresses quickly, hindered by the branch of live oak, yet he cannot let go of it until it has been properly prepared.
Knowing that he cannot take another shape yet, Aiden begins the long trek back to the sacred grotto, for he has more spells to cast this day and already it is early afternoon. His stomach rumbles in protest of his fast, yet he endures. A smile comes to his face as he realizes that his quest is partially completed. True, there was much yet to do, rituals that needed to be completed before he was finished, yet in his hand was a powerful token, ready to become his Staff of Power.
Returning to the sacred grotto takes him most of the afternoon and shadows lay long over the lands as he prepares himself for the casting of spells. Some of the spells he intended were standard, others were modifications not intended for this sort of use, those would be the trickiest. The tiny druid checks his spell components, making sure he has plenty of mistletoe at hand along with a handful of holly berries and other ingredients. Sitting down in the middle of the grotto, the staff across his knees, the boy prays to the goddess, the Earth Mother, his Mother. As the sun slips past the skyline, casting a riot of colors into the clouds, the boy begins the first spell. Shillelagh, it is called, enabling a druid to change his oaken staff into a magical weapon. Crushing the mistletoe and a shamrock in his hands, he chants the words as he rubs the mixture over the staff seven times seven times.
Standing, walking winder shins around the small clearing, chanting softly in a sing song voice, he casts the remains of the mistletoe to the four corners, North, South, East, West. The boy is casting a Ceremony spell, Hallowed Ground. This will enscorcel the trees in this grove so that they will never be affected by disease or other natural disasters. As part of the ceremony, the boy plants the staff in the middle of the grove, causing it to be included as if one of the trees, a part of the grotto. This is tricky, for the staff is not really a tree, yet it remains alive, since the oak had given it up willingly. This single spell takes over an hour to cast, dusk fading into twilight as he finishes. So far so good, yet he is not nearly done.
The next spell he attempts is called Succor, it is not exactly supposed to be used this way, but by changing the words a bit, he is fairly sure it will work, though he is not positive, for to his knowledge it had never been tried. He had searched through ancestral memories, not really his ancestors, but certainly his predecessors, Arch Druids of the past, back to the beginning of the order and not found the spell ever used this way. If it worked, he would be able to transport himself back to this sacred grotto instantly, from basically anywhere, using the staff as the connection. If it didn't work, well, he wouldn't worry about that, he probably wouldn't survive long enough to feel the backlash of power. Holding the staff with both hands, the living wood still planted in the ground, part of the grotto, the boy begins the chant. As he recites the final words of the spell, he draws a bag of pixie dust from his pocket, sprinkling it over the staff, himself and the grotto. His voice rising to a shout, though no sound passes from the grotto, the boy lifts the staff high, then slams the end back into the ground with the final words. The resulting concussion can be felt throughout the forest, Earth Power ripples outward from the clearing in waves felt but not seen. It was done. A triumphant smile lights the boy's face as he views the staff with his inner eye, it radiates power now, yet are still one more spells to cast.
This next spell is called Changestaff, which enables the staff to become a treant when a secret word is uttered. Not just any treant, but a treant of the highest order, the largest possible. The treant could be called upon to fight for the druid as needed, with no limitations, save that if it took too much damage, the staff would be ruined. Only a staff taken from an oak struck by lightning could be used for this spell, yet another reason the boy had sought for such. Using the bone dagger, the boy works carefully, carving forest scenes into the wood, scenes of woodland life. He draws heavily upon his ancestral memories now for the skill needed, he uses the memories of a wood carver-turned druid to shape the scenes as he carves. Working long into the night, it is nearly dawn by the time he begins to rub the staff with holly berries, working the staff over and over to a fine polish. As the sun begins to cast its rays over the forest, conjured flames sprout from each hand, searing the wood and curing it, hardening the staff to the density of metal. Again the staff is thrust into the soil of the grove, a Speak with Plants spell is used to charge the staff with a dweomer which will last for many changes from staff to treant and back again.
Aiden heaves a heavy sigh as this spell is completed, the next few spells were simple spells, simply charging the staff and adding additional protections. The first would be Protection from Fire, a simple third level druid spell that takes only minutes to cast. The second was a bit trickier, a modification of another third level spell, Call Lightning. He is not trying to call lighting at the moment, but to imbue the spell within the staff. Another hour passes as he chants, more mistletoe used to complete the spell. This done, he moves on to the last series of spells.
Again, he is trying something that had never been done, he was going to combine all his weather spells into one, imbuing the staff with their power. The first, Control Temperature, a fourth level druid spell, followed by Control Winds, a fifth level spell. Sweat rings his brow as he chants, in spite of the cold, fatigue starting to take its toll as he has used much power already this night. Keeping the spells in order, the final word of each chant tied into the next, he continues, moving to higher and higher order of spells. The sixth level spell, Weather Summoning is added into the chant, followed by the last, Control Weather, the most difficult, a seventh level spell. His lithe little body now trembling with the unreleased power of the combined spells he again raises the staff into the air and brings it slamming into the Earth, the forest trembles as the power released into the staff.
Any who are sensitive to the Earth powers would have sensed the enormous energies being used and where. To those sensitive to magic, but not the Earth powers, it would only seem as if great spells were being cast somewhere, but with no sense of direction or type. As the last of the spells is completed, sometime past noon, the boy falls to the ground, exhausted but exuberant, and lapses into a deep sleep, one hand curled around the mighty Staff of Power.
The Bo Staff of Power
Once again, the boy was up at dawn's first light. He had gone to the stables and taken care of the horses, who now seemed genuinely happy to see him, in spite of the smell of lion. Perhaps it was the apples and other treats he always brought with him in the mornings. Eryn was looking sleeker each day now, it wouldn't be too much longer before the boy had his own steed to ride.
He had fed the chickens and stopped by the archery range, but just couldn't bring himself to start training yet, his bow arm was still sore from yesterday's trials. No, today, or at least this morning, he would take a break and go to the forest.
Setting off down the main trail to the forest to the east, the elven boy's heart light and full of hope. He would find himself a staff today. It would have to be oak, for not only was it to be his Bo, it would also be his athame, his staff of power. He travels for some time, listening to the awakening of the forest, the birds, the rustling of leaves as animals foraged in the snowy undergrowth. Yes, the day fairly glistened with promise.
The morning sun finally rises over the treetops, tendrils of light shafting greenly through the forest canopy. The six year olds ranger's footsteps are soundless, bare feet leaving no trail for others to follow. Branches and brambles alike move out of his way, then shift back to cover any trace of his passing.
It is still early morning when the boy enters the sacred grotto, deep in the heart of the forest where a ring of old oaks surround a natural clearing. There, the boy divests himself of all clothing and other articles, stacking them neatly to one side. Naked, he lays down on the bare earth and proceeds to clear his mind in preparation.
When he has reached a proper meditative state, he utters the words of a commune with nature spell, seeking knowledge from the forest itself. He seeks to find an oak that has recently been struck by lightning, for such a phenomenon adds power to the strength of the oak, power he will need within his staff. Farther and farther he searches until at last his search is rewarded. There, on the furthest edge of Eldyn lands, almost into the mountains, lives the tree that he seeks. Fixing the location in his mind, the boy gradually emerges from his trance.
Sitting up, the little boy smiles, quickly dressing and placing his possessions in their proper places, the dragon bone dagger on his hip, the quiver and bow on his shoulders. For today's outing he has left the ranger's cloak behind, not wanting anything that might hinder transformations. Adequately prepared, he shifts into his owl form, his supplies and equipment shifting with him, basically stored in a temporary bubble universe, to be returned when he takes back his normal form. With powerful strokes, his wings lift him from the earth, gradually taking him through the under layer and canopy until he breaks out of the trees and soars high above the forest.
North and eastward the owl flies, catching thermals when he can, gaining altitude to save energy as he flies relentlessly onward. Small game and animals spotted below are ignored, though the owl brain keeps telling him he could use a good meal of rabbit or squirrel, but the boy within knows that he must fast for the enormous task ahead.
Landing near the old lightning struck oak, the owl transforms back into the boy's elven form. For a few moments, he simply stares, admiring the strength and tenacity of the venerable oak. Once again removing all clothing and other articles, the boy climbs nimbly into the oak's branches, climbing up to an area near the scarred portion of the tree. Once there, he makes himself comfortable in the crook of a branch and casts a speak with plant spell. He first begins by expressing his admiration of the old oak, gradually explaining his need and asking the oak to part with a living branch that he can use as a staff.
The sun is high in the sky by the time this is done, the boy oblivious to time's passing. Eventually, the oak agrees and a branch is released into the boy's hand. He spends yet more time, properly thanking the oak for its selfless sacrifice and promising to use the staff for the betterment of the forest. Clutching the branch tightly, the boy again thanks the oak and descends carefully to the ground. There, he dresses quickly, hindered by the branch of live oak, yet he cannot let go of it until it has been properly prepared.
Knowing that he cannot take another shape yet, Aiden begins the long trek back to the sacred grotto, for he has more spells to cast this day and already it is early afternoon. His stomach rumbles in protest of his fast, yet he endures. A smile comes to his face as he realizes that his quest is partially completed. True, there was much yet to do, rituals that needed to be completed before he was finished, yet in his hand was a powerful token, ready to become his Staff of Power.
Returning to the sacred grotto takes him most of the afternoon and shadows lay long over the lands as he prepares himself for the casting of spells. Some of the spells he intended were standard, others were modifications not intended for this sort of use, those would be the trickiest. The tiny druid checks his spell components, making sure he has plenty of mistletoe at hand along with a handful of holly berries and other ingredients. Sitting down in the middle of the grotto, the staff across his knees, the boy prays to the goddess, the Earth Mother, his Mother. As the sun slips past the skyline, casting a riot of colors into the clouds, the boy begins the first spell. Shillelagh, it is called, enabling a druid to change his oaken staff into a magical weapon. Crushing the mistletoe and a shamrock in his hands, he chants the words as he rubs the mixture over the staff seven times seven times.
Standing, walking winder shins around the small clearing, chanting softly in a sing song voice, he casts the remains of the mistletoe to the four corners, North, South, East, West. The boy is casting a Ceremony spell, Hallowed Ground. This will enscorcel the trees in this grove so that they will never be affected by disease or other natural disasters. As part of the ceremony, the boy plants the staff in the middle of the grove, causing it to be included as if one of the trees, a part of the grotto. This is tricky, for the staff is not really a tree, yet it remains alive, since the oak had given it up willingly. This single spell takes over an hour to cast, dusk fading into twilight as he finishes. So far so good, yet he is not nearly done.
The next spell he attempts is called Succor, it is not exactly supposed to be used this way, but by changing the words a bit, he is fairly sure it will work, though he is not positive, for to his knowledge it had never been tried. He had searched through ancestral memories, not really his ancestors, but certainly his predecessors, Arch Druids of the past, back to the beginning of the order and not found the spell ever used this way. If it worked, he would be able to transport himself back to this sacred grotto instantly, from basically anywhere, using the staff as the connection. If it didn't work, well, he wouldn't worry about that, he probably wouldn't survive long enough to feel the backlash of power. Holding the staff with both hands, the living wood still planted in the ground, part of the grotto, the boy begins the chant. As he recites the final words of the spell, he draws a bag of pixie dust from his pocket, sprinkling it over the staff, himself and the grotto. His voice rising to a shout, though no sound passes from the grotto, the boy lifts the staff high, then slams the end back into the ground with the final words. The resulting concussion can be felt throughout the forest, Earth Power ripples outward from the clearing in waves felt but not seen. It was done. A triumphant smile lights the boy's face as he views the staff with his inner eye, it radiates power now, yet are still one more spells to cast.
This next spell is called Changestaff, which enables the staff to become a treant when a secret word is uttered. Not just any treant, but a treant of the highest order, the largest possible. The treant could be called upon to fight for the druid as needed, with no limitations, save that if it took too much damage, the staff would be ruined. Only a staff taken from an oak struck by lightning could be used for this spell, yet another reason the boy had sought for such. Using the bone dagger, the boy works carefully, carving forest scenes into the wood, scenes of woodland life. He draws heavily upon his ancestral memories now for the skill needed, he uses the memories of a wood carver-turned druid to shape the scenes as he carves. Working long into the night, it is nearly dawn by the time he begins to rub the staff with holly berries, working the staff over and over to a fine polish. As the sun begins to cast its rays over the forest, conjured flames sprout from each hand, searing the wood and curing it, hardening the staff to the density of metal. Again the staff is thrust into the soil of the grove, a Speak with Plants spell is used to charge the staff with a dweomer which will last for many changes from staff to treant and back again.
Aiden heaves a heavy sigh as this spell is completed, the next few spells were simple spells, simply charging the staff and adding additional protections. The first would be Protection from Fire, a simple third level druid spell that takes only minutes to cast. The second was a bit trickier, a modification of another third level spell, Call Lightning. He is not trying to call lighting at the moment, but to imbue the spell within the staff. Another hour passes as he chants, more mistletoe used to complete the spell. This done, he moves on to the last series of spells.
Again, he is trying something that had never been done, he was going to combine all his weather spells into one, imbuing the staff with their power. The first, Control Temperature, a fourth level druid spell, followed by Control Winds, a fifth level spell. Sweat rings his brow as he chants, in spite of the cold, fatigue starting to take its toll as he has used much power already this night. Keeping the spells in order, the final word of each chant tied into the next, he continues, moving to higher and higher order of spells. The sixth level spell, Weather Summoning is added into the chant, followed by the last, Control Weather, the most difficult, a seventh level spell. His lithe little body now trembling with the unreleased power of the combined spells he again raises the staff into the air and brings it slamming into the Earth, the forest trembles as the power released into the staff.
Any who are sensitive to the Earth powers would have sensed the enormous energies being used and where. To those sensitive to magic, but not the Earth powers, it would only seem as if great spells were being cast somewhere, but with no sense of direction or type. As the last of the spells is completed, sometime past noon, the boy falls to the ground, exhausted but exuberant, and lapses into a deep sleep, one hand curled around the mighty Staff of Power.
