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which_chickI have been thinking about the problem of friendly fire. From fireballs.
Look. It's either this or Do tieflings have prehensile tails? (Answer: They can, but it's not automatic and if they do elect to have a prehensile tail, the tail cannot use a weapon.)
Why do you want to know about tiefling tails?
Mollymauk Tealeaf. I don't want to discuss it. This conversation is over.
Ellstrand Woodridge opened the heavy iron and oak door that lead to the Great Hall. As it opened, the door creaked theatrically. She made an annoyed face, gestured impatiently at the offending hinge, and muttered oleum at it as she walked through.
Inside the Great Hall, she walked briskly towards the plain wooden petitioner’s chair. Her bright pink, ankle-length wizard robes flowed behind her as her boot heels clicked rather loudly on the dull gray flagstone floor. Upon reaching the chair, Ellstrand sat quietly and waited to be recognized by the Board of Examiners. The fairly rigid protocol for Petition dictated that she was not to speak, fidget, or otherwise attempt to hurry things along.
The minutes dragged by, giving Ellstrand time to thoroughly examine the scene before her. A stage in front of her held a long table draped with a black velvet cloth. The school’s crest was picked out in metallic threads in the center of the table drape, very fine work, certainly a tuition or two squandered there. At the table sat the The Board of Examiners, seven serious old men dressed in somber robes and wearing pointy hats indoors to indicate that they were Very Serious Wizards indeed. The center wizard’s chair was slightly higher than the others because he, Argus Nightblade, was the Head Wizard of the Atherton Academy of Wizardry.
Ellstrand was considering if the Board of Examiners had seven members to avoid ties in their decisions or if they had seven members because that made a nicely symmetric display when Argus Nightblade cleared his throat and shuffled some papers that were in front of him to emphasize his importance. He looked up, eyebrows raising just a twitch as he caught sight of Ellstrand, but she didn’t take his reaction to seeing her very seriously. After all, the proctor outside the Great Hall had referred to a written list of petitioners, so she felt confident that Argus Nightblade had the same list before him and, therefore, his ‘surprise’ was faked.
"Miss Woodridge?" Argus asked this as if Ellstrand’s six years of undergraduate work and the single year of Advanced Studies she’d completed thus far at Atherton had not been an ongoing grain of sand to his oyster. He didn't fool anyone and it was clear that today, when she’d showed up for her Advanced Studies Petition in the Great Hall dressed in bubblegum pink, she’d somehow become an entire beach’s worth of sand to his oyster.
"Of course, sir." she replied, meeting his gaze evenly.
"And what," he sneered, "did you bring before this august assemblage to show for the seven years of education bestowed upon you by the Academy?"
"I offer an original spell of my making."
"An original spell? After only one year of Advanced Studies? Miss Woodridge, most students take three years of Advanced Studies to survey the existing work in their area of interest before they can even identify an issue that they’d like to tackle. And here you are petitioning with an original spell? After just one year?" Wizard Nightblade was failing to rein in his temper but to be fair he wasn't trying all that hard.
"Sir, I don’t know how other people do things. I only know how I do things. I started by looking into the causes of death and injury to wizards and to adventuring parties containing a wizard. Initially I pulled the alumni records from our academy. That turned up some interesting trends so I asked the Adventurer’s Guild for the last twenty years of their after-incident reports. Over winter break, I traveled to the Cloud Forest healers and reviewed their case history files. And my cousin is an acolyte with the Clerics of the White Hand, so he got me access to their archives over the spring equinox. Everywhere I looked, I turned up the same information." The stream of words stopped abruptly as Ellstrand paused to breathe.
"Right, right. What did you find?" Nightblade sounded almost bored.
"I found a short-lived spike in deaths and injuries for wizards and for their adventuring parties when the wizard hits fifth level. The effect drops off fairly quickly, which is kind of strange. Furthermore, the injuries and deaths are overwhelmingly fire-related." Ellstrand paused and met Nightblade’s eyes. "It’s fireball, sir. Fireball is the problem."
"Fireball is the SOLUTION," said Nightblade. "Everyone knows that fireball is the first really useful offensive weapon that a wizard can offer to his party." A general murmur of "hear hear" and "that’s right" rippled through the rest of the Examiners.
"That’s as may be, but the research is clear," Ellstrand continued. "Inexperienced casting of fireball causes friendly fire injuries and deaths. The learning curve for fireball is pretty steep and a bit crispy. Be honest, now, how many of you have burn scars from a poorly-judged fireball in your youth?" She looked at the Board, each one in turn. Several seemed uncomfortable returning her gaze.
"Very well, Miss Woodridge," said Argus grudgingly. "Fireball is a dangerous spell for the inexperienced. That’s hardly news and it’s certainly not an original spell."
"Well, when my research indicated that fireball was the problem, I wrote a cantrip to help teach student wizards about fireball. It works almost exactly like fireball but it's a cantrip instead of a level three spell."
"I don’t see how that is possible," said Argus. "Cantrips have a very simplified structure that can’t contain anywhere near the level of power you’d need for a fireball, even a scaled-down one."
"The cantrip doesn’t make a fireball – instead it generates very short-term, limited effects that mirror a fireball's cast, range, and area of effect. Instead of the fireball components, you use a pinch of angora fur and say you’re casting Forpea. Since it’s not actually generating a huge ball of fire or a permanent effect... it takes less power. A lot less."
"Miss Woodridge," said Angus suspiciously, "What, exactly, does this cantrip do?"
"It makes a visible but rapidly dissipating puff of harmless cherry-scented smoke centered at the ignition point and then makes everything that would have been affected by a fireball turn bright pink for five seconds. I made it easy, cute, and fun so that student wizards can use it for practical jokes and pranks. If you can hit your targets -- just your targets and not your allies -- with Forpea, you can do the same with Fireball." She smiled at the Board of Examiners, who sat there in shocked silence.
The silence stretched out. Some of the Board of Examiners started to look a little guilty. Gartus Thindera most certainly did not shove his foot over to nudge Wizard Nightblade’s foot to get him to say something. The table drape rippled in a very suspicious manner but that was probably due to the wind.
"That... that is a novel idea, Miss Woodridge." Argus ground out as if the words physically hurt him to utter. "What does Forpea mean?"
Ellstrand smiled. "Pink Peril Perimeter Projection. I think Forpea is a lot easier to say and sounded cuter."
"Miss Woodridge, your approach to the arcane arts is insultingly frivolous. All this... pink. The way you name things. Your approach to," and he sneered the word, "improving wizardry! You treat wizardry like a toy, as if it's something to amuse and delight." Angus Nightblade stood as he added volume to his words in the vain hopes that this posturing would bolster his argument. "Wizardry is the serious business of bending the world to the wizard's will. It is not frivolous. It is not FUN." He slammed his hands down on the table in front of him. "It’s got HISTORY. It’s got TRADITION..."
"It’s got a lot of dead fifth-level wizards," said Ellstrand calmly. She stood. "I’m going to fix that." She turned and walked out of the Great Hall, leaving the fairly rigid protocol for petitioners and her academic career in tatters. The heavy iron and oak door of the Great Hall closed silently behind her.
*****
Fifty years later, when incidents by wizards new to Fireball had dropped to fewer than five per year in the kingdom and every second-year student of wizardry knew Forpea despite the concerted and ongoing attempts by faculty everywhere to smother it, the Atherton Academy of Wizardry sent a diploma in Advanced Studies to Ellstrand Woodridge.
She returned it without comment, in a cherry-scented, pink envelope.
Look. It's either this or Do tieflings have prehensile tails? (Answer: They can, but it's not automatic and if they do elect to have a prehensile tail, the tail cannot use a weapon.)
Why do you want to know about tiefling tails?
Mollymauk Tealeaf. I don't want to discuss it. This conversation is over.
Ellstrand Woodridge opened the heavy iron and oak door that lead to the Great Hall. As it opened, the door creaked theatrically. She made an annoyed face, gestured impatiently at the offending hinge, and muttered oleum at it as she walked through.
Inside the Great Hall, she walked briskly towards the plain wooden petitioner’s chair. Her bright pink, ankle-length wizard robes flowed behind her as her boot heels clicked rather loudly on the dull gray flagstone floor. Upon reaching the chair, Ellstrand sat quietly and waited to be recognized by the Board of Examiners. The fairly rigid protocol for Petition dictated that she was not to speak, fidget, or otherwise attempt to hurry things along.
The minutes dragged by, giving Ellstrand time to thoroughly examine the scene before her. A stage in front of her held a long table draped with a black velvet cloth. The school’s crest was picked out in metallic threads in the center of the table drape, very fine work, certainly a tuition or two squandered there. At the table sat the The Board of Examiners, seven serious old men dressed in somber robes and wearing pointy hats indoors to indicate that they were Very Serious Wizards indeed. The center wizard’s chair was slightly higher than the others because he, Argus Nightblade, was the Head Wizard of the Atherton Academy of Wizardry.
Ellstrand was considering if the Board of Examiners had seven members to avoid ties in their decisions or if they had seven members because that made a nicely symmetric display when Argus Nightblade cleared his throat and shuffled some papers that were in front of him to emphasize his importance. He looked up, eyebrows raising just a twitch as he caught sight of Ellstrand, but she didn’t take his reaction to seeing her very seriously. After all, the proctor outside the Great Hall had referred to a written list of petitioners, so she felt confident that Argus Nightblade had the same list before him and, therefore, his ‘surprise’ was faked.
"Miss Woodridge?" Argus asked this as if Ellstrand’s six years of undergraduate work and the single year of Advanced Studies she’d completed thus far at Atherton had not been an ongoing grain of sand to his oyster. He didn't fool anyone and it was clear that today, when she’d showed up for her Advanced Studies Petition in the Great Hall dressed in bubblegum pink, she’d somehow become an entire beach’s worth of sand to his oyster.
"Of course, sir." she replied, meeting his gaze evenly.
"And what," he sneered, "did you bring before this august assemblage to show for the seven years of education bestowed upon you by the Academy?"
"I offer an original spell of my making."
"An original spell? After only one year of Advanced Studies? Miss Woodridge, most students take three years of Advanced Studies to survey the existing work in their area of interest before they can even identify an issue that they’d like to tackle. And here you are petitioning with an original spell? After just one year?" Wizard Nightblade was failing to rein in his temper but to be fair he wasn't trying all that hard.
"Sir, I don’t know how other people do things. I only know how I do things. I started by looking into the causes of death and injury to wizards and to adventuring parties containing a wizard. Initially I pulled the alumni records from our academy. That turned up some interesting trends so I asked the Adventurer’s Guild for the last twenty years of their after-incident reports. Over winter break, I traveled to the Cloud Forest healers and reviewed their case history files. And my cousin is an acolyte with the Clerics of the White Hand, so he got me access to their archives over the spring equinox. Everywhere I looked, I turned up the same information." The stream of words stopped abruptly as Ellstrand paused to breathe.
"Right, right. What did you find?" Nightblade sounded almost bored.
"I found a short-lived spike in deaths and injuries for wizards and for their adventuring parties when the wizard hits fifth level. The effect drops off fairly quickly, which is kind of strange. Furthermore, the injuries and deaths are overwhelmingly fire-related." Ellstrand paused and met Nightblade’s eyes. "It’s fireball, sir. Fireball is the problem."
"Fireball is the SOLUTION," said Nightblade. "Everyone knows that fireball is the first really useful offensive weapon that a wizard can offer to his party." A general murmur of "hear hear" and "that’s right" rippled through the rest of the Examiners.
"That’s as may be, but the research is clear," Ellstrand continued. "Inexperienced casting of fireball causes friendly fire injuries and deaths. The learning curve for fireball is pretty steep and a bit crispy. Be honest, now, how many of you have burn scars from a poorly-judged fireball in your youth?" She looked at the Board, each one in turn. Several seemed uncomfortable returning her gaze.
"Very well, Miss Woodridge," said Argus grudgingly. "Fireball is a dangerous spell for the inexperienced. That’s hardly news and it’s certainly not an original spell."
"Well, when my research indicated that fireball was the problem, I wrote a cantrip to help teach student wizards about fireball. It works almost exactly like fireball but it's a cantrip instead of a level three spell."
"I don’t see how that is possible," said Argus. "Cantrips have a very simplified structure that can’t contain anywhere near the level of power you’d need for a fireball, even a scaled-down one."
"The cantrip doesn’t make a fireball – instead it generates very short-term, limited effects that mirror a fireball's cast, range, and area of effect. Instead of the fireball components, you use a pinch of angora fur and say you’re casting Forpea. Since it’s not actually generating a huge ball of fire or a permanent effect... it takes less power. A lot less."
"Miss Woodridge," said Angus suspiciously, "What, exactly, does this cantrip do?"
"It makes a visible but rapidly dissipating puff of harmless cherry-scented smoke centered at the ignition point and then makes everything that would have been affected by a fireball turn bright pink for five seconds. I made it easy, cute, and fun so that student wizards can use it for practical jokes and pranks. If you can hit your targets -- just your targets and not your allies -- with Forpea, you can do the same with Fireball." She smiled at the Board of Examiners, who sat there in shocked silence.
The silence stretched out. Some of the Board of Examiners started to look a little guilty. Gartus Thindera most certainly did not shove his foot over to nudge Wizard Nightblade’s foot to get him to say something. The table drape rippled in a very suspicious manner but that was probably due to the wind.
"That... that is a novel idea, Miss Woodridge." Argus ground out as if the words physically hurt him to utter. "What does Forpea mean?"
Ellstrand smiled. "Pink Peril Perimeter Projection. I think Forpea is a lot easier to say and sounded cuter."
"Miss Woodridge, your approach to the arcane arts is insultingly frivolous. All this... pink. The way you name things. Your approach to," and he sneered the word, "improving wizardry! You treat wizardry like a toy, as if it's something to amuse and delight." Angus Nightblade stood as he added volume to his words in the vain hopes that this posturing would bolster his argument. "Wizardry is the serious business of bending the world to the wizard's will. It is not frivolous. It is not FUN." He slammed his hands down on the table in front of him. "It’s got HISTORY. It’s got TRADITION..."
"It’s got a lot of dead fifth-level wizards," said Ellstrand calmly. She stood. "I’m going to fix that." She turned and walked out of the Great Hall, leaving the fairly rigid protocol for petitioners and her academic career in tatters. The heavy iron and oak door of the Great Hall closed silently behind her.
*****
Fifty years later, when incidents by wizards new to Fireball had dropped to fewer than five per year in the kingdom and every second-year student of wizardry knew Forpea despite the concerted and ongoing attempts by faculty everywhere to smother it, the Atherton Academy of Wizardry sent a diploma in Advanced Studies to Ellstrand Woodridge.
She returned it without comment, in a cherry-scented, pink envelope.
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Date: 2025-12-10 01:55 pm (UTC)