blood the ink is made with. You must fully open yourself to the source of magic, and only then do you fill the jar with your magically infused blood. The sand is the component that is required for this spell. For stronger spells, more components and more blood will be required. The greatest scrolls are written by powerful casters, that spend years bleeding themselves to fill the jar required to create the ink for the scribing of such powerful scrolls. The components must be completely covered by your magic infused blood, in order for the next part to work.” Isidor said.
Placing his hand over the jar of blood and sand, Isidor infused the jar. “ Ulu-jthloth Mnenme! ” Isidor spoke, and the jar started to glow and shake slightly. Then, without warning, there was a bright blue flash, and the jar was still again. The liquid inside the jar was glowing a soft, blue light, and it radiated a gentle heat. Tartum’s eyes almost fell out of his head.
“This is how you know you’ve done everything right. The blood and components have been blended by the magic and are now infused. From here it gets difficult. You have to dip your quill into the ink, and while writing, you have to keep a steady flow of magic coursing through your hand, into the quill, and to the paper. It’s a little tricky, and if you fail to keep the flow of magic steady, the whole scroll will be destroyed.” Seeing the look of alarm in Tartum’s eyes, he explained further, “Dont worry, it won’t hurt you really, the paper just crumples up, and sometimes there’s a small fire.”
To demonstrate this, Isidor dipped his quill into the ink and shut off his connection to the source. The moment he began trying to write, the parchment started to crinkle and curl into itself. When it was a small ball of ash, there was a “POP!” and the paper burst, spraying ash over the both of them. The scent of burnt paper was heavy in the air; they both coughed and waved their hands in front of them, to disperse the smoke.
Still choking a little, Isidor spoke, “See? You’re not really hurt...just...hard to breathe.” Coughing, Isidor gave Tartum the quill.
“Practice writing the scroll using my ink for now. Once you’ve gotten the technique of flowing magic through a medium, into a medium, we’ll begin your training on making your own ink. Just make your scroll look exactly like the one I gave you. When you complete fifteen flawless scrolls, we’ll move on to the ink. Also, I’ll show you something else that’s useful about scrolls.” With that, Isidor stood up and left Tartum to his training.
Alone with his materials, Tartum picked up a fresh piece of parchment from the pile on the floor and began his training. His mind raced with the new applications this facet of magic would open up to him. Dipping the quill into the glowing blue ink, Tartum began to practice his new art.
...
Tartum leaned back in his chair. Arching over the back, he let his muscles relax and his spine to crack. He had been laboring over the table for almost a month now, perfecting the art of scroll transcribing. He was loving every minute of it. Every morning he would wake, wash up, eat, and then sit down to write until his stomach reminded him it was time to eat again. Occasionally, it was other parts of his anatomy that required the breaks, but mostly just his stomach. He didn’t mind.
The first week had been the hardest. He was constantly covered in ash and disappointment. There was a trick, he discovered, to concentrating the flow of magic through his hand and through the quill, to the parchment. He had to imagine not writing with the quill, but with the thin stream of magic he was causing to flow into the paper. Once he had figured that out, it was just a simple matter of perfecting the technique. The hard part was concentration. Sitting on the uneven crates and trying to keep the quill steady had proved to be impossible. Finally, after the twentieth paper had popped ash on him,
Placing his hand over the jar of blood and sand, Isidor infused the jar. “ Ulu-jthloth Mnenme! ” Isidor spoke, and the jar started to glow and shake slightly. Then, without warning, there was a bright blue flash, and the jar was still again. The liquid inside the jar was glowing a soft, blue light, and it radiated a gentle heat. Tartum’s eyes almost fell out of his head.
“This is how you know you’ve done everything right. The blood and components have been blended by the magic and are now infused. From here it gets difficult. You have to dip your quill into the ink, and while writing, you have to keep a steady flow of magic coursing through your hand, into the quill, and to the paper. It’s a little tricky, and if you fail to keep the flow of magic steady, the whole scroll will be destroyed.” Seeing the look of alarm in Tartum’s eyes, he explained further, “Dont worry, it won’t hurt you really, the paper just crumples up, and sometimes there’s a small fire.”
To demonstrate this, Isidor dipped his quill into the ink and shut off his connection to the source. The moment he began trying to write, the parchment started to crinkle and curl into itself. When it was a small ball of ash, there was a “POP!” and the paper burst, spraying ash over the both of them. The scent of burnt paper was heavy in the air; they both coughed and waved their hands in front of them, to disperse the smoke.
Still choking a little, Isidor spoke, “See? You’re not really hurt...just...hard to breathe.” Coughing, Isidor gave Tartum the quill.
“Practice writing the scroll using my ink for now. Once you’ve gotten the technique of flowing magic through a medium, into a medium, we’ll begin your training on making your own ink. Just make your scroll look exactly like the one I gave you. When you complete fifteen flawless scrolls, we’ll move on to the ink. Also, I’ll show you something else that’s useful about scrolls.” With that, Isidor stood up and left Tartum to his training.
Alone with his materials, Tartum picked up a fresh piece of parchment from the pile on the floor and began his training. His mind raced with the new applications this facet of magic would open up to him. Dipping the quill into the glowing blue ink, Tartum began to practice his new art.
...
Tartum leaned back in his chair. Arching over the back, he let his muscles relax and his spine to crack. He had been laboring over the table for almost a month now, perfecting the art of scroll transcribing. He was loving every minute of it. Every morning he would wake, wash up, eat, and then sit down to write until his stomach reminded him it was time to eat again. Occasionally, it was other parts of his anatomy that required the breaks, but mostly just his stomach. He didn’t mind.
The first week had been the hardest. He was constantly covered in ash and disappointment. There was a trick, he discovered, to concentrating the flow of magic through his hand and through the quill, to the parchment. He had to imagine not writing with the quill, but with the thin stream of magic he was causing to flow into the paper. Once he had figured that out, it was just a simple matter of perfecting the technique. The hard part was concentration. Sitting on the uneven crates and trying to keep the quill steady had proved to be impossible. Finally, after the twentieth paper had popped ash on him,
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