[ IP ] Bloodfire Mentor

Corvo hopped anxiously from one foot to another on my shoulder. `` Be wary, fear is good,'' he said in that annoyingly deep voice of his. Four months after his birthing, or vomiting I should say, on a coast of the Fractured Bay, I had grown used to his ticks, vague warnings, and Oracle of Irbaliz inspired grammar. But here thousands of miles away from the dunes, I wished for nothing more than him to sound human. 
 
 `` Be wa-'' I pinched his beak before he could continue. 
 
 `` Wary, I know, got it. Shut up.'' I felt the bird struggle momentarily, before it settled again on my shoulder. At this altitude, every breath hurt, and without an ourum to channel air effectively, I wondered if a few more weeks swinging a zweihander with the Yllmar Brigantines would have helped my endurance. At least if they had let me keep my bush of hair I would n't be so cold. Then again, I guess they just love the polished look of a well-shaped skull like my own. 
 
 Ahead, the same strange statues with their peaked horns that had marked the trail all those miles ago peeked through the mists, their moss mottled stone a slightly brighter than their drab surroundings. The fog rolled deep, or was it clouds? At this altitude, I guessed both were interchangeable. 
 
 My muscles seemed to grind against my bones with every step, and only holding on to that spark that I had come to recognize as my essence kept one foot ahead of each other; that and my cooled hatred of Lorrick, Ilmatayha, and the Mercantile Throne. 
 
 It was n't long after Corvo retrieved the key and I spent the better part of the night drinking the cool waters that lapped at the shore underneath my cage that I realized a couple things: without my ourum I was defense and attack-less; that I had just spit up a bird using a conjuring that should have died with Sandala, my grandmother; and thirdly I had no clue what exactly it was I did. It all led to the same conclusion: I was hardly ready to return Lorrick's favor on his head, let alone bring down Martana on that sorry hole of Ilmatayha. 
 
 So, I had done what us Vi were renowned: wormed my way into the favor of those that I figured were of use. It started with a vague throwaway I had heard Jasik utter before, bloodfire. A willfully forgotten art of exchanging one's essence for power, but if contracted, could be had on the condition of returning that power tenfold to a mentor. It all sounded like the myths of drunken merchant's soldiers on leave as they spoke in somber, hushed tones of a friend of a cousin's midnight liaison's valet well versed in ourum bursting into a sickly flame after insulting the wrong magus. 
 
 `` You see, darkie, those Blood Mages have no need for an ourum.'' He pointed at his temple, `` The ourum is here,'' then pointing at his chest, `` the fire of creation is here.'' Vlass was a bitter old man, endebted since his teenage years to a merchant lord that never had the courtesy to make himself known to him. 
 
 `` Ya,'' chimed Dieter, his chauffeur. `` It's much the same magicks as what got your dark folk ended. My uncle studied at Ilmatayha, and always said,'power is to be governed solely by the mind, to leave it to the heart is folly.''' The gruff men circled all grunted in unison. 
 
 `` So,'' continued Vlass, `` as I was saying. It was a damp night, one of those miserable foggy ones, and this valet Cid comes across this old man, a hunched wretched thing in his path while in his master's divan. And thrice he cursed him to move his ass from the road, and thrice the old man plead. As he raised his whip, a nine-tails it was, as he raised it, first that burst to flame, then his arm, then the rest of him, along with the divan and the six Ettermen that were with him.'' 
 
 Vlass looked around the table appreciating the nods before continuing. `` And you know what then happened? That old man, as thin as he was, he became thinner! As though his flesh were sucked down to the quick of his bones! And he the said,'In the name of the Chaste Stone, the name of the Blood Fire, I condemn you to the Mentors.''' 
 
 Now, I know the smell of shit from that of a rose, as I know the prick of a lie from the rub of truth. And lack of ourum aside, the rub was too tantalizing to give up. I had heard too many stories by now, some with details, others without, to give this up as pure daftness. All of the stories had the same elements: fire, the immediate thinning of the mage, and the intonation of the Mentors. 
 
 I would have subtly pressed for more information had Corvo, stowed in a hidden sewn pocket of my vest not uttered in that regrettably inhuman voice, `` Folly.'' 
 
 From there, there was a bit of confusion as sets quickly and suddenly emptied, and daggers were drawn. 
 
 `` Guys, guys, let's not be to quick with our blades when so soaked with our wine,'' I remember stammering as I got up slowly, arms up, trying to make sufficient eye-contact with the five men. 
 
 `` Who said that?'' Dieter asked, his blade shaking in the dim light of the tavern. 
 
 `` Was no man, no man I have ever heard,'' said Fos, as his now wild eyes scanned the room and table for anything that could be made a weapon. 
 
 `` Now, if we can all just calm down,'' I started, far too aware of my precarious situation, `` I can order us all a round... ***on me***, and introduce you to my raven, Cor-'' 
 
 `` Raven? Raven?!'' The hysteria at the word cut off anything else I was attempting to say. Before I could continue, a flame, white as snow at its base, that licked the deepest crimson at its tips burst on the table. 
 
 Part II coming soon-ish. This is a continuation of from a different prompt ( because I love me some continuity ) [ that is found here ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/373kmx/wp_invent_a_new_system_of_magic/crjk8ii )
