Tale of a Talent Trial

Hundreds of glowing fairies in every shade of the rainbow fluttered above the stage, creating vivid streaks of color as they flitted this way and that. The swarms coalesced into a cloud and as the swirling colors began to descend, began to take the shape of a minuscule purple and blue dragon.

And just as the now fully formed tiny dragon touched the floor, the distant sound of windchimes carried by a soft breeze ruffled the hair of each of the three watching judges.

Malhavoc grinned proudly at his dramatic entrance. Because if there was ever a thing he loved to do, it was show off. And today? That’s exactly what he was there to do.

So when he looked out into the gallery of judges, he was pretty miffed to see that they looked inattentive, looking even… bored. Seriously?!

I mean yeah, being mages they were obviously familiar with the different magical powers, spells, and abilities available to magical creatures like himself. But having those abilities, spells, and magical powers and knowing how to use them creatively were two entirely different things. Right?

Malhavoc was not used to being ignored, that’s for sure. After all, he was a two-foot-tall purple and blue fairy dragon, and those are rarely seen at all. Let alone putting on a magical show!

But apparently, his flashy entrance was not enough to impress the three arch-magi who would award the five coveted apprenticeships to the Krendor College of Arcane Arts and Research (only the most prestigious magical school in the realm!).

Well, crap. This entrance exam talent show was NOT going well. His clever use of cantrips and flavor of the moment magic wasn’t looking like enough to get into finals - much less snag the 20,000 gold purse for first place.

And he really needed to win that purse. He was pretty sure his mentor’s recommendation would get him into the school one way or another. But he had nary a copper to his name for tuition, books, or spell components.

That purse? That was his ticket to actually learning all the magic that he longed to know and becoming a true mage in his own right.

So, how could he spice things up? Maybe something from the little black book …

The little black leather-bound journal was embossed with runes that, when one slept with the book, perfectly recorded dreams for later study. Which could definitely come in handy at a time like this.

His mentor, a renowned conjuration mage, had used the book for years before he passed it on to Malhavoc. So it was already filled with amazing spells and ideas from the mage’s dreams. Surely something in there would capture the attention of these tough judges.

Ah, yes. Malhavoc knew just the thing!

He flew up to the podium and activated an Arkenforged summoning stone. Three bandit golems were brought forth on the stage, causing some of the audience to look up, both startled and alarmed by the appearance of the golems on stage with only one little dragon to fight them.

But Malhavoc didn’t look worried. He waited until just the right moment and, as the golems began to attack, twisted one hand in a flamboyant arcane gesture.

Instantly, a shard of ice as long and wickedly sharp as a dagger appeared and shot toward the center golem. The bandit stumbled back a step as the ice knife pierced his chest - and then exploded! - flinging icy shrapnel into all three of the bandits.

Damaged but still upright, the bandits rushed toward their prey at center stage … only to find themselves stumbling across the sharp points of caltrops scattered in their path. Clumsy and off-balance - not a single blow landed on the crafty little dragon.

Malhavoc mentally patted himself on the back. Surely that got those judges paying attention! But he wasn’t done yet - he still needed to dispatch these golems.

Quickly, he released magic missiles. Three bluish-white energy darts shot from his fingertips, striking the three golems directly in the chest. Instantly, the center golem dissipated into smoke and embers and sucked back into the Arkenforge stone.

Two still remained.

But before Malhavoc could make his next attack, a crossbow bolt thunked into his thigh! He could not allow the pain to distract him or things would get much worse for him than just losing this competition. So he rolled back with the shot, and came up into a leap in the air. A ray of frost shooting from his hand to strike the bandit who had shot him.

The golem dropped his crossbow and staggered back, disintegrating into a flurry of drifting embers that raced back to join his lost companion in the Arkenforge.

One more to go.

The last bandit raised his sword and charged. But he had forgotten about the caltrops still scattered across the floor. The damage caused by just three steps (combined with what he had already suffered) was enough to finish him before his blade found its mark.

As the smoke that had been the third golem was reclaimed by the Arkenforge, Malhavoc pulled the bolt from his hip and cast it aside.

“And for my final trick,” he proclaimed as he strode (okay, limped) back to center stage and gestured grandly toward the stage assistant. "I will summon a circle of spectral swords that should only be able to apparate around me… But instead - they will appear around her!"

The stage assistant smiled weakly as she joined him on stage. Even though she had agreed to this, it was clear she wasn’t looking forward to it.

Raising his hand, Malhavoc gestured (flamboyantly, of course) to create the spectral swords. But … nothing happened.

One of the judges shook his head and made to turn away… and just then, a circle of blades burst forth from the assistant, spinning in a threatening circle around her.

As the swords flew out in every direction and vanished into the ether, Malhavoc took a deep bow.

The main judge set his book aside and smiled. "Two questions. First, how did you summon a blade burst on someone other than yourself? That spell doesn’t work that way.”

Malhavoc smiled. He raised his arm for an albino raven (hidden behind the stage assistant’s back) to land. “A mage can cast spells through their familiar, and with practice and some creativity… this can be a handy trick.”

“Very clever. And secondly - You were already accepted into this school based on the recommendation and request of your former mentor, Vailynn Whispereed. Why then are you here at this talent show and entrance exam?"

Malhavoc ducked his head sheepishly. "Yes sir, but the tuition, boarding, supplies, and cost of spell components are not included in this acceptance… I need that winning purse."

The judge smiled warmly, "I figured it was something like that. We'll see the last contestant, deliberate, and then announce our decision. You can wait with the others in the courtyard."

Malhavoc didn’t get to see the last performance while his wound was tended by one of the college healers, but he heard with a sinking feeling that it was brilliant.

He returned to the courtyard, dismayed to see that the third-floor balcony was already occupied. The judge spoke, his voice thaumaturgically amplified so all could hear.

"As you all know, there were only five apprenticeships available for the winners of this contest. What you were not aware of, is that of the forty-seven of you that competed here, six of you were plants from our advanced class ranks and student council, instructed to see how you interacted with one another and with them. They also tested you with arcane questions and observed how you dealt with both strangers and your fellow contestants."

Malhavoc thought nervously back over the past two months of preparing for this event, the people he had met, and the questions they asked. Who were they? Did he represent himself and his mentor well?

"The debate between our esteemed judges was rather fervent. And due in part to both the outstanding show of arcane skills and well-spoken applicants here, we have added three additional prizes to our contest. Three of you will be awarded apprenticeships with sages and mages working outside of the college grounds so that you may return again for the second annual contest of arcane admission next year."

Malhavoc was panting (little known fact - dragons don't sweat when nervous or exhausted. They pant).

"I am pleased to announce the following winners. In fifth place and receiving admission to Krendor is… Faldnaff." There was a course of applause.

"In fourth place is Dragnugg" Another pause for cheers and applause. "And in third place is Trandel."

“The last two we argued over and were chosen by the narrowest of margins. But without further ado, in the second place, Corvus." The applause was deafening.

“And finally, the grand prize, including the twenty thousand purse …,” Malhavoc held his breath, his heart racing. “And our gratitude for putting up with three dusty old farts pulling your leg throughout your show… Malhavoc!"

The lack of attention, the disinterest. It had all been a ruse to pull a prank on the fairy dragon. Everyone knew (especially in the magi community) that fairy dragons were notorious practical jokers and pranksters.

Malhavoc grinned and flew up into the sky. He’d done it! He would be a true mage!

As he spun and turned in the air to celebrate his win, he thought, “Well played, old farts. Let’s see how you like the shoe when it’s on the other foot later ...”