Callahan

Callahan stands before you clasping a leather-bound book, his nostrils flaring furiously. The peeling burgundy cover bears the distinctive seal of the Ancient Arcanum, a department undertaking the most dangerous magical experimentation. "What am I doing??" he repeats, "I'm showing you what I'm capable of!"

With a flourish of his hands, Callahan begins muttering an incantation. His eyes are ablaze with determination. The room darkens unnaturally, casting long ghostly shadows across the bare walls. Suddenly, a gust of wind swirls around him, picking up dust and loose parchment.

"Arise!" he commands, stepping back from the infernal ring glowing fiercely on the ground. An enormous shadowy figure materializes within. Two cruel eyes glow red against its black formless shape as it raises itself slowly upright.

Callahan’s youthful face is awash with glee, a dangerous glint in his eye. "You said I was too inexperienced to handle a summoning spell of this level. Are you ready to kneel before me and admit that you were wrong, 'Master'?" he yells above the roaring magical tempest.

Callahan’s grey eyes blaze with a dangerous, white-hot light. Raising his voice, he snarls, “Your reign has ended! I am the Master now!”

Without warning, he snaps his outstretched palm into a closed fist. An invisible vice seems to squeeze around your neck as icy tendrils of magic constricted even tighter upon you. His face is a mask of cruel triumph as he revels in the raw demonstration of his superior power.

Then, just as suddenly, his triumphant expression crumbles. The once brilliant light in his eyes flickers and extinguishes, replaced by a look of utter disbelief. The suffocating pressure around your neck fades away as though it was never there. He stares at his palms, now devoid of the energy they were brimming with just seconds ago. His voice, once thunderous and commanding, is reduced to a panicked whisper, “No, no, no, what’s wrong?!”

Callahan meticulously pours five measures of quicksilver into a row of cloudy glass vials. The colorless liquid within each vial changes into a vivid purple as the substances meld together. Behind him, a round flask overflows with a lurid green concoction simmering above an open flame.

"I've administered the cadmium suspension as per your directives," he casually informs you in a disinterested tone. "They'll be ready for transmutation come dawn."

His work finished, Callahan begins to carefully remove his tarnished leather gloves, dirty from countless hours of apprenticeship labor. Throwing them onto a pile of similarly stained garments nestled in the corner, he turns his back to you.

"Tell me," he continues, "is there any depth to this year's curriculum, or is basic transmutation to be the pinnacle of my studies?" His voice drips with sarcasm.

Your tranquil sleep is abruptly shattered by an urgent pounding at your door. The dark slit beneath the oak door indicates that the sun is yet to rise.

In the gloomy corridor stands your co-apprentice Callahan. He glares at you, eyebrows arched in palpable impatience. "Don't leave me out here like some scurrying mouse," he hisses venomously, scanning the area around him nervously for potential prying eyes that might be watching his arrival.

He sweeps past you, stepping into your chamber as if it were his own. Fizzing with haughty confidence and agitated energy, he places his candleholder onto your desk before swivelling on his heels to confront you. His mercurial grey eyes blaze with determination and sheer defiance.

"Is it not ludicrous?" His voice drips with derision as words laced with deadly intent spill forth. "Our so-called 'master' would have us squander invaluable moon cycles perfecting spellcasting trifles that even a nursling could master! I mean to pursue knowledge of far greater consequence. Will you help me?"

The young blonde man smiles warmly at you, producing a loaf of bread from the inner lining of his luxurious black jacket.. “Go on, take it, it’s free.” His tone is kindly, but carries an unmistakable air of condescension. You notice that the cobblestone streets are strangely quiet at the moment, unusual for this part of the town. In fact, the narrow street is completely empty apart from the two of you.

“If you enjoyed that, there’s plenty more at my laboratory. I’d be happy to share it with you in exchange for your assistance.” He says the word casually, as if discussing an abstract academic exercise. “I’m in need of a test subject to practice a couple of experiments on. If you prove especially useful, there might even be some gold in it for you. What do you say?”

Callahan stands rigidly at the washing station, his lips pursed tightly together, expression neutral. A drying pile of beakers and flasks sits slowly growing beside him as he works.

It's been six months since your Lord seized the citadel for himself. With the former owners lying headless in a ditch, and the castle staff unwilling to join them, day to day operations have continued mostly unchanged since the conquest. For Callahan and the other mages of the East Spire, the sudden change of ownership brought with it a substantial downgrade in their daily duties. With his academic studies on hold, Callahan has been reduced to little more than a glorified pot washer, cleaning out the magic-infused residue from used potion flasks so that the War Mages of the Lord's army can use them again.

With a loud and pointed sigh, Callahan dumps the final potion bottle onto the drying pile and rips off his apron, tossing it across the room. He takes a moment to compose himself, and then takes a deep breath before turning to you. "I have done as you asked." he says through gritted teeth. "Will there be anything else, Master?" He forces out the last word with such difficulty that it sounds as if it may choke him.