A Lesson

Kazimierz found the Farseer sitting serenely in front of a small fire, set at the last switchback before the path let out into the valley. Wordlessly, he held the spirit’s stone aloft, fighting to keep a triumphant grin from disturbing his appropriately restrained visage.

“So. Perhaps I have misjudged you, son of Ro’al,” said the elder shaman, inclining her head ever so slightly in apology and waving a hand towards a small setting of food and water. “Sit, refresh yourself. I will show you how to use the stone to call on the great spirit’s power when you are done.”
Famished, Kazimierz dug into the food-boar meat with cactus apples and the sharp, pungent spices native to Durotar. As he ate, Shrikha began to explain the basics of using a totem as a focus.

“The totem you have received is a physical manifestation of your bond with the great spirit,” she said, watching her student eat with the ghost of a smile. “You must maintain the totem’s power with periodic rituals, but in return it will allow you to quickly and easily call upon the earthen one’s powers…power the spirit will share with anyone nearby you deem worthy.”

Shrikha’s teachings went on well past the first light of dawn. The first fiery rays that broke the eastern ridge of the valley found teacher and student in intense concentration…and no small quantity of irritation.
“You are not focused! The spirit world will not listen to an indistinct call,” Shrikha admonished her charge, the now-worn phrase tinged with impatience.
Growling under his breath, Kazimierz stood with building fury, hefting his staff .

“Enough! I do the best I am able!” he snarled, calling the spirit into his weapons.
The elder Farseer curled her lips into an amused smile. “You will never have the skill to challenge me, whelp,” she said condescendingly, then turned to walk away as the rage boiled inside him.

She didn’t look behind her as he closed the few steps between them, nor when he raised the staff to strike down the source of his aggravation. She did, however, catch the staff on the downstroke, twist like a mongoose, and deliver a breath-destroying kick to his chest. As Kazimierz scrambled to his feet, she shook her head disapprovingly.

“Foolish child. That cannot go unanswered,” Shrikha hissed, kicking her walking-staff from the ground into her hand. Bloodlust singing in his veins, Kazimierz swung fast-high, low, then whirling into a thrust that Shrikha slapped out of the way. She raised a hand to the air, and Kazimierz could feel a surge of spiritual presence a mere moment before the pain began. The wind howled furiously as the Farseer spun impossibly fast, her staff blurring as it struck. With an agonizing crack, Kazimierz felt bones break-first in his forearm as he attempted to ward off the blow, followed by a number of ribs as the staff came around again. A last sweep brought him to the ground, where he lay trying to avoid screaming in pain. The Farseer turned wordlessly away, leaving him defeated on the valley floor.

Shrikha walked calmly back to her dwelling, showing no sign of agitation or inner turmoil. Two important lessons today, she thought. One of patience…and one of discretion. Best to pick your battles with care, after all…