Basic Thaumaturgy for the Emotionally Incompetent

Fabrisse squinted at two spiral runes drifting in front of one of the diamond symbols that supposedly represented Tommaso. If the spirals were smoothing turbulence, then maybe he could calm the wind right where Tommaso was trying to stand firm.

He cupped his hands around the two spirals, tracking the direction of their ‘open ends.’ Right now, both spirals curled inward, which meant their open mouths were turning away the rushing tide of Swift runes.

What if he flipped the open mouths out? Would they swallow the turbulence coming toward the team?

So he did.

“Montreal!” he shouted over the wind. “Check what happens in front of Tommaso!”

“You mean Ardefiamme?”

“Yes!”

He hooked two fingers into the edge of the nearest spiral rune and twisted. It resisted at first, like trying to spin a gear caught on its teeth, then rotated after he applied more pressure.

Both spirals rolled in tandem, their open ends swiveling away from the wall and angling toward the oncoming Swift flow. Googlᴇ search n0velfire.net

Immediately, the turbulence in that section slackened. The Swift runes rerouted around the new angle, streaming past without kicking up their usual jagged interference.

A second later, Severa shouted, “Kestovar! Wind speed just dropped, but only in front of us!”

His heart thrummed in his chest.

It worked.

It actually worked.

Wind hissed and broke in new patterns as the spirals settled into their outward-facing alignment. For the first time since they’d started this ordeal, Fabrisse felt the tiniest pocket of control.

Then the spiral rune rotated itself back to its original position, about five seconds after Fabrisse had configured it. Wind roared through the gap again, shredding the brief calm.

“It only holds for five seconds!” He communicated.

“Kestovar!” Severa called. “Where else can you dampen the wind?” He could even hear the voice better now.

He scanned the pattern. Once the spirals around Tommaso stood out, the others revealed themselves in quick succession—six, seven, maybe eight spiral runes lining the sides of the main flow like little pressure valves waiting to be turned. Each one sat just far enough from the Swift currents to smooth them without breaking the pattern.

“I can dampen them all,” he said.

After another incredulous bark of wind, Severa asked, “At the same time?”

“No,” he admitted. “It takes me a second for each. Maybe a bit longer if they resist.”

There was a stretch of silence, broken only by the thunder of the ongoing gale. Then her voice cut back through, clear and edged with command, “Can you dampen the wind anyway? Even a temporary reduction is preferable. It gives us significantly more room to operate.”

“. . . I can.”

The wind roared; the fire roared back.

“And try it once at your absolute fastest speed,” She said. “I need to know precisely how long it takes you to stop the wind alongside the entire corridor.”

He swallowed, braced himself, and nodded, even though she couldn’t see it.

“On your mark,” he said.

There was no hesitation in her reply. “Now.”

Fabrisse lunged for the first spiral. His fingers hooked, twisted—click.

Wind pressure dipped a fraction.

Second spiral. Click.

His breath hitched; he was moving almost too fast to think, letting muscle memory and instinct carry him.

Third spiral. It resisted for half a turn, teeth grinding under his fingertips before giving way. Click.

Fourth spiral—

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He overshot it.

His fingers slipped off the etched groove, skidding on the slick surface. The spiral lurched halfway, caught on its internal track, and the entire airflow in front of him bucked like a living thing.

A blast of Swift wind slammed into his shoulder. He staggered sideways, nearly losing his footing as the currents snarled in sudden, chaotic backlash.

The wind whipped him in the face. His eyes watered.

Behind him, fire boomed—Tommaso’s, barely controlled.

“Kestovar?” Severa called sharply over the gale.

“I—missed the track,” he rasped, forcing the stubborn spiral through its last inch of rotation. “Too fast.”

“Not to worry. Our spell was mistimed too!” She called out. “Ardefiamme . . . What’s your strongest slow-rolling Fire spell?”

Tommaso’s voice came muffled; he couldn’t quite make out the content.

“Can you push it forward slowly?” She asked again. Tommaso said something else, then Severa called out to Fabrisse, “We are going on the offensive now, but the slowest we can hold our Pyroclasm is roughly the speed at which you turned off the wind earlier. You have to keep at that speed, Kestovar, and—” The wind howled once more. “Make no mistake. We only have one chance. After you’re done with your sequence, can you push the left humanoid forward on my mark?”

His gaze darted to the Guard rune behind the left-most diamond shape. Yes. The sequence was clear in his mind instantly: trigger the spirals one by one, drop the wind speed across the front line, then wrench the Guard rune into place to shove wind straight into the humanoid’s spine at the exact moment she needed it.

“If you cannot, skip the last step!” Severa called, more urgent now. “Just focus on dampening the wind.”

It would require timing and sequencing. His DEX was somewhere over 20. If he could pass the oncoming DEX check, this would absolutely work.

“Yes!” he shouted. “Tell me when!”

“Good,” Severa fired back. “Then get ready.”

Fabrisse braced both hands over the spirals. Time to flip the entire tunnel’s airflow on its head.

“Now!” Severa barked.

The wall illuminated in a brilliant green as Fabrisse glided his hand across the surface.

First spiral—click.

Second—click.

Third—resistance, then click.

Fourth—careful this time, deliberate pressure, controlled angle—click.

Fifth—clickclickclick—his fingers trembled but held the track.

Sixth—click.

Seventh—done almost before he registered it.

Wind peeled away from the front line, folding into a smooth corridor of lowered pressure.