I didn’t explicitly state it before, but if anyone gives a shit, Luke is a Wild Magic Sorcerer. Whenever he casts spells, there’s a chance for something random to happen. Maybe good, maybe bad, maybe neither!
As his Barovian adventure went on, he pursued some different paths. Mechanically, this was represented by multi-classing. This decision was much more driven by narrative, however. (Trust me, Sorcerer/Wizard is not by any stretch an ‘optimal’ choice.)
This scene took place after a wild magic surge-filled battle at a winery. Luke takes some time to reflect in the church of the Morninglord, at the edge of the small village of Vallaki.
Sweat poured down Luke’s face. His pants had soaked so much up that they clung to his thighs. It was… pretty gross.
Ugh
The stone chamber was sealed up tight. A pseudodragon’s copper tail whipped about as it zipped and zoomed around the opposite wall playfully, entirely unconcerned about the heat. Luke took a couple of deep breaths to try and center himself before he opened a clenched fist and hurled another firebolt. It splashed against an empty spot on the wall where his would-be quarry had been a moment before. It chittered from its new roost on his shoulder.
She’s laughing at me.
Before he could retort, the iron door groaned open behind him. A purple-robed Gnome woman stepped through.
“Oof! It’s like a sauna in here!”
Master Silverthread gave a warm chuckle as her familiar darted into her open hand. Luke wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “One of these days…” he said, glaring at the creature, who responded by resuming its clicking and chittering as it left its master’s palm and glided through the open door.
“I keep telling you that Darcy isn’t your plaything, as much as she might enjoy it. And neither is the Weave.” Master Silverthread said as she strode past Luke. “I also keep telling you,” she bent over to pluck a short maple wand off the floor. “That you’d have better aim if you would just focus.” She held the wand out to him. Luke sighed.
“I’m sick of the kiddie-mage stuff, Virra.” He said as he snatched the instrument he’d discarded earlier from her hand and slumped down to sit against the wall. “It’s been months since you said you were done ‘experimenting’ on me. You know I don’t need this stupid thing.”
Virra’s lips pressed into a thin line for a moment before she responded. “Yes, I know. You draw the energy out of yourself. It’s a rare talent.” She looked down at him now, her tone soft. “But you still need to learn self-control. And I don’t just mean when you’re trying to tear out the energy of the Weave. Where’s the book I wrote for you?”
Luke rolled his head back and looked up at the ceiling, his mouth open. “Ugh… in my study. Where I left it.” He began tapping the end of his wand on his knee.
“There’s plenty of basic spells in there for you to practice. Which, I might add,” She paused to gesture at the empty stone chamber. “Don’t require you to lock yourself in a room void of combustibles.”
“Yeah, all written in Gnomish.” Luke whined. “You couldn’t have just done it in Common? It takes like, a thousand years for me to decipher that stuff!”
Virra picked a bit of something crusty from her robe and examined it briefly before flicking it away. “I wrote it that way so that you would have to sit down and take your time. You’re smart enough to figure it out if you want to. If you don’t learn the importance of patience and study, you’ll never be a great spellcaster. You – and the people around you – will never be safe. Plus,” she placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled. “You won’t be able to make a really cool tower like this!” She walked over to the open door and tilted her head towards the outside. “C’mon,” she said. “You’ve done enough damage to yourself for today. Head home to your family and relax.”
Luke stared at the plain tome in his lap. The church walls around him echoed faintly with the murmurs of Father Lucian’s prayers. The dim light of Barovia’s perpetually overcast skies shone as much as it could through the stained-glass windows. It was barely enough to read by. He looked at his open palms, the creases faded by a wild surge of magic he’d caused that had reversed the aging of his body by several years. Images of the smoldering craters he’d left at the vineyard lingered for a long moment in his mind.
‘The people around you will never be safe.’
Luke sighed, flipped the book open to the page where he’d quit reading long ago, and finally resumed his studies.
Convulsive Ravings 