ORIGIN - A Spark

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It was as though some divine being had heard his pleas. The thing that Ember pulled free was fairly large--almost three feet long and a foot and a bit in height and width. It was an old chest: a trunk, wood and worn leather, with a brass buckle on the front and hinges at the back. It was a container, just as he'd wanted: something to carry things in, something Ember could use for storage.

It wouldn't be as flexible as a bag, but for now at least, it would do.

GM note... this stuff's random rolled, not cheesing it I swear. Ember's just getting REAL lucky with specific results!

When at first he dragged the old chest free--to a clatter of stone and a nose-tickling plume of dust--he found himself puzzled. "What're you?" he asked it, and examined it for a moment. Then he tucked it under one arm, and braced himself. He launched backward off the building, catching himself in the air, then hovered there as he held the chest awkwardly out before him. It was big, about half as long as he was tall at his shoulder, so a little awkward to carry midair.

Still-... it'd do, for what he wanted. He wanted to practice putting magic into stuff; maybe he could infuse magic into this?

Out of interest, he flapped down to the ground and fiddled with the thing. Thankfully his digits were mobile enough to work the buckle, albeit with some effort--and when the chest popped open, he was half-disappointed to see that it was empty inside bar a light coating of dust.

"Oh, well. You're still pretty cool. Hey! I could carry stuff in you!" he realized, fascinated. He'd wanted something to carry things in, and now--he had this! Granted it was unwieldy, not soft like a bag, but it'd still work when he went around collecting stuff.

Ember's eyes widened. "I love you, box," he said.

He carefully closed the chest, snapped the buckle closed, and took flight again--back the way he'd come, back toward the Throne.

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Once he'd arrived back home, he first checked the gemstone and the whetstone and then settled in for his practice.

"Right," he said, looking between the whetstone and the chest. "What first?" He thought over the magic that he knew. He could glow, and make himself warm to the touch. He could make himself float a little, too. Among other things, of course, but--these sounded like they'd be fun to try and put into these two items.

Maybe I can make the rock float, and the chest glow-? It might be useful for searching for stuff, the chest lighting places up. But--I could light up myself. Might be better if I can make the chest float, he reasoned--though it was kind of heavy. I could make the stone light up, he thought--that'd be pretty cool. He still didn't know what it was for, but a glowing rock would be neat to have. And if it was warm, maybe he could use it when it was cold out, too.

Ember sort of shrugged, and went to the chest first. He planted his claws on it, squinted, and tried to focus. "Right... I gotta make the chest magic," he thought aloud, concentrating very hard.

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Abruptly, he felt a lurch, as if his stomach had fallen out from under him. It wasn't a very pleasant feeling. It almost felt like he were falling, for a moment--and then he realized, no, a part of him had fallen into the chest.

Metaphorically speaking-!

It was my magic, he realized. Did that mean it'd worked? Well-... It wasn't floating, yet, so... maybe he had to do that separately?

He hesitated, then tried to push more magic in. The floaty kind.

And, to his absolute delighted joy, the chest began to hover. It wasn't a lot--just a tiny fraction of the floor, to heavy to bob around a few inches up. But when he scrambled back and gave it a gentle nudge with one claw, it sort of... glided, a little.

"I DID IT!" Ember cried--then clapped his forelimbs over his maw, sitting back on his haunches, realizing just how loud he'd been.

"I did it," he repeated, in a whisper, and quickly paced around the chest. It was floating. Dad is gonna be SO proud, he thought, swelling up with pride of his own.

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After awhile spent admiring the box--nudging it, play-bowing to it, bounding around it like a six-foot puppy--Ember at last turned his attention to the whetstone.

He didn't know what it was, but that didn't stop him in the slightest. He had to also really stop and think about whether he'd be able to do another one of these. He already felt sort of tired, but in retrospect it didn't feel too bad: just a sort of weariness that'd probably go away from a few good nights' rests and a bit of food.

So he settled down, and picked the whetstone up between his forepaws, and examined it. Gritty, gray, streaked with different shades. He shrugged a little, and--lapsing from silliness into deep, still focus--tried to push his magic into this thing, too.

Again there was that feeling of lurching, almost falling, and Ember winced a little. "Urrgh," softly said, was followed by a grimace. But again-... it had worked.

He could feel the thing waiting, like a receptacle. Like an open box except it wasn't the box at all, and for... magic, instead of things.

"Okay," he said, and took a breath. Next, for fire magic.

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It was time for the last piece. The fire, or well--light, and warmth. He'd try to push it into the weird, angular rock, and see what happened.

I'll use the really mild one, he decided, because having a rock that was always on fire would only be so much use. He'd not be able to move it or anything! But warmth, light? Those could be pretty good to have, he reasoned.

He settled in again, but lowered his forelimbs for a minute. Rested, took a breath, rolled his shoulders. And when he felt a little better, he picked the stone up again, resting it on his haunches, his wings balancing him as he laid claws delicately (with little 'clicks') over the whetstone's surface.

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And-... nothing.

Nothing happened.

He sagged for a moment, brow furrowed, but then had a realization: It was just my magic failing. It happened, sometimes-... well, pretty often, actually. I wonder if I can try again..? Or would the rock's receptiveness to magic have faded, by now?

Ember focused, a little harried now, and tried again. Fire, he thought, a little urgently--come on, come on--do fire!
This time, when he tapped into his magic, it answered in a little flood: a surge of heat that roiled, glowing, into the whetstone... and then stayed there.

Ember let out an excited sound--part roar, part howl, but short and happy. It was a weird, almost choked sort of noise, but then he was up and hopping again, on three feet and his wings, as he happily examined his new glowing rock.

It wasn't much more than baubled, but hopefully no one would tell him that; but at least it was warm, too.

I did it! he thought, again.

But now, his mind was reeling.

What else could he do with this?

Ideas swam through his mind. Could he make items that'd help plants grow, using magic like Mercy's? Or things that would bounce across the caves, like Pride's? Things that'd read minds, or emit music, or cloaks that'd hide people in darkness?

Fascinated, wide-eyed with this new power and all the wondrous exploration that might come with it, Ember held his whetstone close. Then, just for fun, he put it into the chest, and closed it.

Then opened it.

A floating chest, with a glowing rock inside.

Now this was magic!

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