Hellish Rebuke

The record preserved here comes from a controlled trial arranged after a contributor claimed that retaliatory spellcraft was “at least honest,” since it only answered injury.

He was instructed to strike the caster with a padded baton.

He did so successfully.

This was the beginning of his objection.

Account of Orentha Vale

The contributor struck first.

This should be remembered.

His padded baton landed cleanly against the caster’s shoulder: a dull, ordinary sound in a prepared chamber. Chalk lines. Witnesses. A healer with folded arms. A caster who had agreed, in writing, not to escalate beyond the named working.

For one breath, the contributor looked pleased.

Then the injury answered.

The fire did not travel from the caster. No flame crossed the room. No spark leapt from hand to hand.

The green fire appeared around the contributor as if his own successful strike had opened a door beneath his skin.

It climbed him at once.

Not like ordinary flame, which searches for fuel and eats what it finds. This fire had already been given its argument. It knew whom it had come for. It wrapped the wrist that had held the baton, ran up the arm in bright infernal veins, and reached the chest before dignity could retreat.

His coat did not burn.

His body did.

He made a sound I have heard from soldiers, duelists, thieves, priests, and once from a scholar who believed a trapped coffer would respect credentials.

The contributor dropped the baton.

This did not help.

The blow had already been delivered. The answer had already found its mark.

The caster, to his credit, did not smile.

I record this because restraint after setting another person on fire deserves mention when it occurs.

When asked what he had felt, the contributor said, “I hit him.”

This was not an answer to the question.

It was, however, the most accurate statement in the room.

The body learns, too late, that consequence was waiting inside contact.

Selanka’s Note

This working is popular among persons who believe pain should be answered promptly and with documentation.

Readers should note that the spell does not punish intention. It answers damage. This distinction has produced correspondence from duelists, magistrates, theologians, warlocks, and at least one innkeeper who wished to know whether throwing a chair counted as “harmful contact” if the chair belonged to him.

I declined to adjudicate the furniture.

For practical purposes, the lesson is simple: do not assume that striking first means striking safely.

Many adventurers carry a dangerous confidence in the moral clarity of their own weapons. They believe a blow delivered for a good reason should remain only a blow. Retaliatory spellcraft is not moved by such confidence. If your injury gives the working its door, the answer may arrive before regret has finished forming.

Several correspondents have asked whether one rebuke may answer another.

If your company has reached the point of arranging theology by sequential combustion, leave.

This spell is not the greatest fire in common hostile practice. It will not satisfy readers who measure danger only by acreage burned or walls blackened.

That is another error.

A small fire delivered at the correct moral angle can change a duel, break a charge, silence a boast, or teach a violent person that some bodies answer quickly when harmed.

If struck by this working, first confirm that you are no longer burning. Then confirm whether the caster is still prepared to answer you.

Only after that should you decide whether another strike is courage, necessity, or a request for further instruction.