A training dummy stands vigilantly on its spring, wooden sword and shield raised high. From across the courtyard, Emy breathes deeply, repeating a complex formula in her head over and over to keep her mind clear. Her fingers twitch at her side in what is becoming a familiar habit. A distinct smell of ozone fills the air around her hand, charged with energy. Her eyes fly open and her hand comes up with a snapping motion. Arcane power instantly converges in front of the dummy and blasts outward, sending it swinging backwards from the force. Before the Arcane Blast even finishes firing her other hand is up, and another burst of energy forms, this one more powerful. Even as it dissipates the first hand moves in a sweeping motion across her chest, creating yet another blast. She repeats the action one last time, in the opposite direction, before concentrating on the latent bits of energy in her body. Bits and pieces and leftovers, all caught in just the correct way for her to send them in a circuit through her arms, gathering speed to compensate for the lack of raw arcane energy. In a single fluid motion Emy's hand flies forward directing all of the excess magic to fly out in small, quick bursts.
Instead, she cries out in pain.
Her arm glows a crackling blue for only a moment as the magic loses its momentum and binding, but it's enough to bring tears to her eyes. She grips her arm with her other hand, rubbing it and cringing. Despite working on this since her return to Stormwind late last night, her missiles continue to backfire on her. It's just fortunate that the pain is only temporary. She grits her teeth. She's been challenged, she knows that. After years of being the cleverest mage in the room, both the Court and her apprenticeship have proven without question that knowledge isn't good enough. She grits her teeth and begins again.
A year ago she would have given up for the time being, gone back to her room and back to her books to try and figure out a technical solution or a workaround. It was how she mastered teleportation and conjuration despite her utter lack of practical spell casting, after all. Now, though, the very thought only brings to mind the image of Bloodstar taunting her, or that Lentodnel and his smug sense of superiority. As she piles the Arcane Blasts onto the poor dummy their arrogant, overconfident faces fill her mind, erasing any sense of a clear head. With the last blast gone she finds herself unable to concentrate on the movement of her magic, only the feeling of it flowing freely, but moves anyway, unwilling to allow them to interfere.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Five bursts of energy spiral out of her arm and directly into the face of the dummy. Emy breathes deeply, uncertain of what just happened. She replays it in her head, and is struck by understanding. Her grimace becomes a grin, weak from exhaustion but still a grin. She repeats her actions from before, this time not commanding the magic so much as guiding it. Pointing it where she wants it to go. There is no resistance this time, no need to overcompensate with extra power as she has been doing. The Blasts come freely, and the missiles fire without complaint. She goes through it a few more times before finally dropping her arms to her side, taking in the scorched and battered training dummy that has withstood the brunt of her frustrations. Her grin turns to a genuine smile, and she turns and walks away to retrieve her satchel and Hearthstone. It's a small start, but it's still a victory.
