The warnings come after the spells - draft by sunmane1

 

 

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The warnings come after the spells - draft

 

The ebony colt approached his master's sanctuary as the sun rose over the forested hills, as was his custom. As he approached the wooden door, he tilted his head curiously at the note tacked on it, written in his master's flowing elven script.

 

"I've been called away to the north forest on an emergency. Please go about your studies as usual and I will provide assistance when I return."

 

Pleased to be left to his own devices for the day, he muttered the incantation to bypass the locks and entered his master's neat, if somewhat sparse living quarters. A few simple pieces of furniture surrounded the fireplace with a small nook for eating. Another opening led to a small study; full bookshelves and other components lined the walls with a few windows allowing plenty of light during the day. It was here he proceeded, gathering the uncatalogued plant samples from the previous day and levitating a botany reference and journal off the higher shelves to a table. His equine nature gave him a familiarity with most of the common plants in the area, quickly sorting aloe, echinacea, and various mushrooms into their proper containers. He peered closely at one of the oddities of the specimens, inhaling its sweet odor, then turned to the botanical reference, poring over the pages. Half an hour of research later, the sketch was added to the journal and noted as athelas, relatively rare here, but known for its powerful healing properties.

 

After returning the herbs to the shelf, the unicorn retrieved his spell primer, lowering it to the table carefully and opening it to a spell of sensing poison, one he’d not been able to master yet. He scanned the arcane lettering closely, silently pronouncing the words in his mind. Twice. A third time. He flipped back to the spell than sensed magical auras, comparing the wording, until he was sure they had similarities in how they were pronounced. A final read through and he was certain he had the words correct, pronouncing them carefully and feeling the magic seep into his senses. He scanned the room carefully, noticing nothing out of the ordinary until his eye fell on the shelf containing the herbs. A few of the vials containing mushrooms glowed softly under the spells effects. A wave of lethargy rolled over him as the spell wore off, the mushrooms returning to normal in his vision. Tired, yet excited at his success, he left the study to get something to satiate his growling stomach.

 

The colt made his way through the kitchen to the small pantry, looking up at the jars and other foodstuffs lining the walls. He sighed a bit, one of the disadvantages of working with humanoids was that they put things up so high! At least the bushel of fresh apples was in easy reach. He selected two and carried them out to the small table, then returned to the pantry. The next target was the pot of honey, far above him. A moment of concentration and the clay pot slid off the top shelf, wobbling a bit as he lowered it toward him, a few drabs of sweet goo spilling out as it moved to the table. He licked his muzzle, dipping the apple into the honey and crunching it with satisfaction. Finishing off the first apple, savoring its sweet texture, he let the core fall to the floor and began leisurely munching on the second after giving it a thorough coating of honey. He made his way back into the study, still chewing on the last remnants of the fruit as he looked through his spell primer.

 

A short time later, weary of the intricacies of runic writing, he glanced back toward the door out into the kitchen. The place was a mess, dried honey and fruit drippings stained the floor, even trailing into the study. He sighed and hauled himself away from his arcane tome, a trip to the nearby pond was in order. It would take the better part of an hour to get there and back, especially if he needed extra water. He turned to go, then eyed his master’s spellbooks thoughtfully. He’d seen the elf use spells to execute the quick cleanup of various spills and mishaps, and wondered if he could make use of them. He’d been forbidden to use them until he’d mastered the basics, but he felt certain he could manage such a minor enchantment.

 

He looked over the row of spellbooks, all thick parchment pages bound and protected by heavy exotic leather covers, then selected the one he believed contained the appropriate spell. Laying it out on the table, he attempted to lift the cover, but to no avail. Frowning, he examined it more closely. No obvious locks to break, so he murmured the spell to see magical auras, focusing on the book. It glowed softly in his enhanced sight and after a few minutes of study, the rune patterns showing a ward similar to one his master had placed on the door. He chanted the same incantation that allowed him to pass through the door earlier, and the runes faded a bit, the cover falling open on the table. Excitedly, he scanned the initial page, looking through the arcane notations. A spell for hindering one’s enemies, a spell talk to plants, a spell to shape rocks, a spell for basic housework. That should work fine, he read through the components, finding nothing unusual and skimmed the workings of the magic. It appeared to summon small nature spirits to perform basic tasks, and he began the process of sounding out the words to perform the conjuring.

 

The sun had indicated it was mid-afternoon before he was satisfied he could perform the enchantment properly and he took the tome into the kitchen to have easy access to it. Focusing his mind on the trail of honey and fruit drippings clinging to the floor, he carefully pronounced the words of the spell, attempting to call the spirit to his aid. Again he felt the rush of power and subsequent lethargy, but nothing obvious appeared in the disheveled kitchen. He frowned, certain he’d cast the spell correctly, then heard a creak as one of the closet doors opened. A broom, held by unseen hands, made its way into the kitchen and began cleaning up the debris while two empty buckets made a beeline for the open front door and toward the nearby pond. The colt discovered he did not need to maintain any sort of control over the spirits once summoned, the broom swept the floor, the buckets soon returned, filled with water. A matched set of short handled scrub brushes, clean rags, and soap floated toward the buckets and worked up a lather, then went to work on the sticky mess of honey and fruit splattered on the floor and table.

 

Satisfied, he turned back toward the study, eager to continue with his research. The broom that had been sweeping the last of the dust and apple cores out the front hastened over to block the unicorn’s path, hovering in place in front of the study doorway. Scowling, the colt focused his will on the broom, mentally ordering it back to cleaning the kitchen. One of the soapy rags floated next to the colt, falling at his hoof, while the broom continued to hover in place seemingly waiting expectantly. He looked down at the rag and then back at the broom, “You expect me to help? I’m the one who give the commands-” The remainder was cut off as the soapy rag flew into his muzzle, thoroughly coating his tongue and teeth with suds. He felt his tail lift and let out a sputter of bubbles as the scrub brush gave his rump a series of sharp smacks, then both fell back to the floor.

 

Pouting, but taking the hint, the colt picked up the rag and dunked it back in the bucket, making his way back to the kitchen. He went to work on the floor, cleaning the sticky remnants and making sure no trace remained. Incentive was provided by one of the brushes, hovering threateningly near his loins, and giving him a light tap if he seemed to be slacking off. Nothing harsher was needed as a reminder to his stinging hindquarters and between the animated cleaning utensils and himself, the kitchen and study soon showed no trace of any mishap. Sighing, he tossed the rag back in the bucket, gathered up the book, then headed back toward the library to resume his studies.

 

The colt nickered in pain as one of the still animated rags gave his ear a twist and tug, pulling him back into the kitchen. Frantic, he looked around the now gleaming kitchen; the broom had returned to the closet, but one of the buckets was retrieving fresh water, while a stool slid across the floor to the corner of the room. An unsettling realization came over him as he desperately tried to will the spell to end, but he’d lost control of the magic or he’d never had it in the first place. He tried to pull away, but the animated brushes hovered by his hindquarters again, alternately dealing several sharp smacks until he stopped resisting. He allowed himself to be pulled to the corner and sat gingerly on the stool, wincing a bit as his freshly reddened rear made contact with the hard wood. The colt whimpered, his tear-stained muzzle cast toward the ground as he tried to see where things had gone wrong. He was certain he’d cast the spell correctly.

 

He could see the sun setting through the window as he sighed through a remnants of the bar of soap. Leaving the corner only provoked the spirits, causing them to resume his punishment. The book lay open on the floor, the notes following the spell clear. “Frivolous or unapproved use of this conjuring may result in unintended consequences.” He knew the coming dawn would typically end such long term castings, but he hoped his mentor would return before that. Otherwise it was going to be a very long night.