The Night Before
Titus was not doing well. The wound in his leg ached something fierce. He refused help to look at it as they rode through the forest, and when the Dryad appeared, he actually forgot about it for a while. He felt a kinship with the fey creature, but his head was swimming, and he decided to keep to himself.
While the others made merry that night, Titus was seen simply setting up his tent. The others had no doubt grown used to his sullen behavior these last few weeks. He had nearly died a number of times, and almost returned home each time, deciding to go on only through stubbornness and knowing what people would say if he rejected this noble calling.
But this evening, he is more sullen than usual. He wraps himself up in a blanket in front of the fire, even though the air of the evening is warm. He eats dinner with the others, but does not join in their merriment. Finally, he heads to bed, long before the rest would.
His dreams are full of fire and death, blood and pain. Over and over, he lives his near death experiences as they circle in his head. He wakes after one such nightmare, his cot drenched with sick sweat. He steals himself and rolls over, lighting a small lantern. His leg feels as if it is on fire. He strips the pant away to reveal the roughly bandaged wound.
Infection. Deep infection. He can see the spiderwebs of the infection spreading up his leg. His first thought is to call of help, but he knew what he would do if he saw someone else with this level of infection. He would amputate the leg. Magical healing could, perhaps, heal the wound, but the infection was another thing entirely. He did not know if the others had the power to heal disease such as this.
Not that it mattered. In his fevered state, he could not think clearly. He tried to stand, but fell back to the ground, groaning softly in pain. He was tired. So tired. He just wanted to go home. He didn't want to die in this wilderness. He was just a man. What was he doing out here?
He tried to fight the fever dreams as they descended on him, but they came regardless, tossing him back into fitful unconsciousness.
And in his unconsciousness, he wrestled with a monster. A creature of black tentacles that resembled the infection spreading on his leg. It surged around him, threatening to pull him down.
And then he heard it, softly, in the distance. A voice. One he recognizes...but didn't. His vision shifted, and he saw a...a curtain, in front of him and the creature. A barrier. Instinctively, he recognized that barrier. It was the same one his mind pushed against every time he tried to learn a spell. The same one he had grown up with. Only now, in the grip of death, did he recognize it as being foreign. He reached out, still struggled with the slimy monster around his middle. His hand brushed the barrier. It wasn't strong, now. Something had weakened. Something...
The monster. The infection. It was wearing away at the barrier. Titus felt something on the other side, a light, a breeze. He was so hot. Even in his fever dream sleep, he could feel the sweat pouring off of him. He would dehydrate soon if it did not stop.
The tentacle creature wormed its way towards his heart, it's slimy appendages too strong for him to fight anymore. In desperation, Titus lunged for that veil, that barrier he had lived with his whole life, and grasped it with his last ounce of strength. As the infection pulled him down, he ripped the barrier away.
In the tent, Titus opened his eyes wide, the iris' swirling with Cerulean power. He sucked in a deep, clean breath, feeling as if it was the first time he had tasted air in his entire life. He arched his back as...something coursed through him. Something that felt like the frozen water of the lakes of Ten Towns to the north. It revitalized, energized, and consumed him. His eyes flashed as he tapped that cold energy infusing his soul, and the air in the tent went cold. Condensation froze on the ceiling of the tent, and lines of frost grew on Titus' body. The pain of his leg numbed, then vanished entirely.
Then Titus passed out.
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The Next Morning
Titus woke to a chill tent, water dripping into his face. Indeed, water was dripping all around him. He looked up and found that the condensation that had frozen on his tent had begun to melt.
He quickly gathered his things and pulled them out of the tent before the drips could become a downpour, which it did a moment later. He stood outside his tent, in his sleeping clothes, watching as it was...raining inside his tent. He blinked a few times at this.
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OOC:
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This has actually happened to me. It looks and sounds like it's raining inside the tent.
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Looking around at those watching him, he gathered his things and apologized as he dressed himself. He checked his leg wound.
It was gone. The infection, the wound, all of it. Gone. What's more, he knew the events of the last night, at least after he woke with that inner power, was real. He could feel it, coursing through his veins like ice water. He could reach for it. Tap it.
What was this? He had seen magic, had studied it, had tried to accomplish even the smallest of spells, but they had always come so hard to him. Now...he thought back to his studies, and wondered why he never saw it before. So many things made sense, now.
He looked down at a rock on the ground. Then, looking around to make sure no one was watching, he pointed at it and tapped that hidden power. Invisible energy lanced from his fingertips to the rock, shooting it across the ground as if it had been hit by an arrow.
Eyes wide, he even understood what he had done the night before, instinctively calling upon power that would save him from his wound.
But this power was different than his studies of wizards, or even Sorcerers. For one, it felt more...limited. As if he only had enough for one good spell before needing a rest. But at the same time, he felt it would come back to him faster, and he didn’t need to prepare the spells beforehand. He simply knew the power.
For a moment, he considered keeping these powers a secret. But no, the others needed to know.
He walked back to camp, regarding them all. They all seemed very well rested. Even him, which was unusual. He felt...he was not as afraid as he was before. Not invincible, just...unafraid of death. That fear had changed him, these past weeks. It had made him something he did not like. For the first time in a while, he felt like himself.
"Everyone..." he said, not really sure how to start. "Something has...happened. I don't know how, or why, but it appears that I have...learned some magic."
