Curselock

Chapter 92: Scroll

Opening the chest, Leland and Glenny were met with a pair of items. The first, and least cool-looking as Jude would put it, was a rolled up piece of parchment bound by a leather bow. The second, and more cool-looking, was a chain-link flail. A dark leather grip wrapped around the base hilt and handle, where thick iron rivets stuck a metal casting in place. Attached to the casting was a chain that ended with a spiked ball.

The ball instantly caught the eye of both Leland and Glenny. They sucked in a surprised gasp when it ignited into an icy fire. Blue and white flames warmed the area, casting a bright glow from inside the treasure chest. Leland, thinking fast, snapped his hands into the chest, yanking out the bound scroll.

“Ah!” he yelped, his hand already blistered and actively turning black and blue.

He dropped the paper and rushed to a nearby pile of snow and ice left over from the battle with the moose King. With a soothing chill, the pain eased until the cold brought unease.

“Man,” he whined. “The contract with the Lord of Nature still has another twenty minutes until I can use it again…”

Glenny, now holding the flail, gave his friend a pitiful smile. From holding the weapon at its base, he could feel his skin warm through his cloak and layered shirts. Still, he couldn’t help himself from twirling the ball and chain around like some kind of Legacy of the Pit Fighter.

Speaking from across the arena, Floe spoke, “It’s called Comet’s Fall.” The massive bear stretched, making sure not to crush her nearby daughter and Jude. “It’s one of the rarer items that this dungeon can drop.”

Glenny snorted at that. “Ironic, really. None of us will use it, not unless you want it, Leland.”

Clutching a chunk of ice and his hand to his chest, Leland scowled at the aflame weapon. “I’d rather not…”

The memory of helplessly dodging the wraith came back to Leland. He wasn’t a weapon user, it had never been in his wheelhouse of skill. He always envisioned himself making grandiose spells, slinging attacks and preventing enemies from even nearing him. That, now more than ever, seemed incredibly foolish in hindsight. Simply having the flail in hand would have given him more protection than not, even if he failed to properly use it.

With a begrudging nod, Leland agreed. “At least until I can find something more my speed. A flaming flail, while unique, might be a little too unique. You know?”

Glenny nodded along with the question yet found his attention back on the weapon. With a frown, he inspected the handle for a long minute. “Um, Floe? Do you know if it is possible to turn the flames off?”

The mother bear chuckled at that. “Your will can do many things once you put your mind to it.”

With her words, Glenny effortlessly turned off the blue fire. “Huh. Easier than I expected.”

“Many trials become simple once you complete them for the first time,” Floe continued. "Even something as difficult as conjured weapons. Hands mold clay, but clay also molds the hand.”

Glenny froze with her words. The Sightless King’s power, the power he took to be his own, was something he practiced with daily. Well, daily when there wasn’t some crisis or threat on their lives to deal with. It was slow progress, but his weapons could take on a few direct forms, that being mainly increased or shortened lengths of his main elongated daggers.

Eyeing the flail, Glenny wondered if something like chains were possible with his power. The obvious answer was yes, but the simplicity of such an answer was realms above him. Or so he thought. Floe’s words about clay fluttered around his mind, even as Leland went to pick up the scroll. Maybe there was something there? Maybe the Sightless King’s power was moldable.

Leland tried to ignore the pain in his hand as he inspected the scroll. His ring of regeneration was doing its job quite well, most of the blistering was already fading, but the dull throbbing ache still remained. He resolved to put his mind to something else, the obviously magical scroll.

Having seen hundreds of similar bound pieces of parchment over the years – through his parent’s magical work, Leland knew exactly what he held. In simplest terms, it was a spell formula. It took a careful hand and years of knowledge and innovation to create such an item – or luck, to find it in a dungeon.

His dad loved the things, even going so far as to have a room solely dedicated to their creation in their family home. As a hobby, he would craft and create dozens of variants of the same formula, each more redundant than the last.

A cantrip that automatically folded letters for envelopes? His dad would augment the formula to make sure the letter was folded perfectly. The Legacy of Magic’s Crash Lightning spell? He would imbue it with rainbow lightning instead of the normal light blue.

If only people could use some of his more impressive formulas, Leland mused while pulling the leather binding off the scroll.

The issue with spell formulas was that they were tailored to the creator. Creating a formula that others understood was an art, an art that his dad had no reason to aspire to. He could make a pretty penny selling his work, sure, but the effort would ruin his hobby. Some mages spent their whole lives creating simple formulas for the masses of rich nobles and wealthy heirs – formulas that were bland and basic.

The one Leland held was… different.

The scroll unraveled to a long piece of paper with thick ink lettering and multiple runic circle drawings. It was written in a language he was unfamiliar with, yet was somewhat discernable. Through the circle diagram and recognizable key runes, he recognized it was a summoning spell formula. What it summoned, he had no idea.

“What is it?” Glenny asked.

“A formula for summoning… something? I don’t recognize this symbol. I’ve never seen it before. In fact, it doesn’t even look like the common glyph lettering.” Leland flipped the paper and pointed to the symbol in question. “See how it's rounded? Glyph lettering doesn’t curve like that.”

“Something about power cords, right?” Glenny asked. “Magic flows through straight lines better than rounded?”

“Exactly.”

The longer Leland looked at the scroll, the less things made sense. From the unknown language to the seemingly new glyph, the ink all started to blend together. Lines crossed and letters merged into one another. The page slowly became unreadable, something he realized too late.

“Ah! What is happening!?” He dropped the scroll when the ink filtered toward the edge of the paper, beading up like blood across a light scrap.

The ink squeezed itself out of the paper, flowing out and into the sand. Dark rivers moved through the arena, conjoining together like a magnet attracting shards of metal. Soon a puddle of ink rose through the sand, pooling into a small sphere of blackness. It lifted into the air, the distinct resonating whoosh of mana in the air.

Then Leland’s tattoo pecked him.

He grunted with pain, pulling his hand to his chest where his other hand resided. A drop of blood formed just below his crow tattoo’s beak, but he quickly rubbed it away on his pants. He glanced at Floe, finding her watching him with one of her big bushy eyebrows raised. He swallowed and looked at Glenny.

“You okay there, buddy?” the rogue asked, looking at Leland’s hand with a difficult expression. “I haven’t wanted to pry, but I’ve noticed that happen a few times.”

Leland gritted his teeth and went to respond but Floe beat him to it. “It seems Leland’s Lord holds an interest in his adventures. A crow tattoo, huh? I thought the Lord of Crows stopped taking Legacies decades ago.”

Leland chose to bite his tongue and refocus on the floating blob of ink, but not before sharing a look with Glenny. Glenny accepted the silence for what it was, trusting in his friend.

“Floe,” Leland suddenly said. “Do you know what this is?”

The mother bear shifted her weight, digging a bit deeper into the sand she lay on. “I do not, which is very interesting. I have seen every item this dungeon can produce over the years… Well that is obviously not true. I had thought I’d seen every item this dungeon can produce.”

“What about the scroll itself?” Glenny asked. “Ever seen something that did that?” He motioned at the ball of floating ink.

“I have not.”

“Any ideas what it is?”

“I couldn’t make a guess.”

“Hmm…” He turned to Leland. “What do we do with it?”

Leland was asking himself the same thing. The scroll was useless now, not unless they could figure out how to re-write the formula with the ink. But then again, maybe that was the point.

“Maybe the true item is the ink?” Leland asked. “I could try to bottle it?”

Floe and Glenny didn’t speak right away, and eventually started brainstorming other ideas. But nothing of substance came of it and they eventually decided Leland’s idea was best.

Empty bottle in goodish hand, Leland slowly approached the ink ball. As soon as the glass rim touched the magical liquid, gravity took. The ink fell, splattering all over Leland’s hand like an egg hitting a sizzling skillet.

The ink bubbled and spat, but never lost volume. It glued itself to Leland’s hand like thick tar mixed with cobwebs. Then the pain started.

A white hot brand blazed against the back of his hand, searing his skin like the backside of livestock. He screeched in pain, causing a wave of cold to rush out from across the arena. Instantly Floe was beside him, her massive eyes looking at the frail human worriedly. Glenny was next, rushing over while screaming out his name.

Yet Leland didn’t notice. He couldn’t, not really. The pain was one thing, but as the ink contorted and morphed, he started to see a pattern. Something clicked in the back of his mind, something that he had seen countless times in his years of learning the basics of magic.

A black circle was forming, more specifically a magical circle.

It bled into his skin, prickling him like a thousand needles. He knew he should be freaking out, but as he saw a new tattoo form around his inked crow, he couldn’t help but be fascinated.