Bending the Weave

In an ancient stronghold far up into the mountains, overlooking an incomparably large valley, new life has breathed into the walls. In the courtyard overlooking the mountain’s steep slope into the valley below, a row of noticeably charred (space one) training dummies stand, ever-so-innocently. Then, a group of individuals in unison: “Fulmen Ignum!” A row of small bolts of fire come jetting in, all striking true… except the uncharred one. No bolt comes forth to strike the dummy. An exasperated sigh can be heard from the other side of the courtyard. On this side, a row of mage trainees in equal number line up, one hand raised towards the training dummy, and the other holding spell books. The sigh, escaping the lips of a young human male, catches the attention of a stern-looking elven woman, who approaches the individual from behind and takes hold of his shoulders, adjusting them.   “Straighten your shoulders. Stand up straighter, and let the incantation come from your chest, not your stomach.”   She walks in front of him, and with enviable ease, raises her hands. “Fulmen Ignum.”   A much larger bolt of fire jets forward, eviscerating the training dummy. Murmurs of awe begin amongst the onlookers. Then, the elf turns to address the group. “I think that’s enough practice for today. Go and study the cantrip. Engrain it into your memories. If you do, then one day you’ll not even need the book to cast it.”   The trainees scamper off, making their way towards the castle proper. One stays behind however: the same young boy from before. He stares timidly at the elven woman.   “Maestress Persephone…”   The now identified Persephone smiles down on him benevolently. “How may I assist you, Damian?”   “Where does this spell come from? I know Fulmen Ignum stands for “Fire Bolt”… but why these words?   Persephone raises an eyebrow. “Have you been neglecting your History of Magic classes?”   Damian looks down in shame. “No, ma’am… well, I haven’t been meaning to. It’s just… I can never seem to focus during classroom lectures.”   The elf chuckles. “Well, Fulmen Ignum directly translates to firebolt. It’s ancient Unish. The language of Padarak.   “But why does it hold such power?”   Persephone begins to walk towards the cliffside overlooking the valley, and gestures for Damian to follow. Once there, she folds both hands behind her back. “Language is a powerful thing. Unish, being one of the oldest languages we are aware of, holds a special connection to The Weave. But, quite frankly, it’s simply a channel. Something to associate with fire. When you become skilled enough, what you say won’t matter as much, so long as you associate it with your spell.”   This seems to reveal something to Damian. After a moment of pondering, he raises his hand out towards the expanse. He thinks for a moment, and a boom of words comes forth. “SIACK!”   A golden bolt of fire is shot off from the tip of his fingers and rockets across the expanse. Persephone seems just as surprised as he.   “You… did it.”   Damian can’t help but giggle. “Finally!”   Persephone glances down at him, perplexed. “What language was that?”   “Huh? Oh… I’m not certain. It just felt right to say.”   He runs off towards the castle.   “I’m going to study some more! Thank you for the help, Maestress!”   With that, he’s gone. Persephone continues staring, wondering what exactly just happened.