Shaker

"Berserker who was thrown out of magic school because "Smash It With Your Fists", while effective, is not traditionally considered "magic."" - Making Up Adventurers, Cohost, 2023

"Maybe you should talk to someone before you go back. About your uh.. anger problem."

"I don't have an anger problem," the dwarf said, his voice tense. "I have a problem with people making me angry." He finished the sentence he was penning with a stab that crushed and ruined the tip of his quill, spattering ink all over the page, discarding it into a dented wastebin beside his writing table, filled with dozens of others, along with masses of crumpled, ruined vellum sheets.

"Most people don't get kicked out of the Magisterium for their temper, Theo!"

Theophrastus Bombastus turned to his companion, his face and smooth shaven head taking on a mottled red tone. "The MAGISTERIUM can go to-" his words halt suddenly, and he adjusted his small eyeglasses, his thick mustache trembling as he visibly calmed himself. "The Magisterium made a mistake. And after I show them my thesis, they will see that and acknowledge it and know what fools they've been." He gathered the pages of the thesis in question, a hefty stack of manuscript written in a heavy hand. Many Hands Make Light Work - New Applications of Mage Hand and Parallel Casting, Exploring the Unrivaled Utility of An Underappreciated Spell. Stuffing it into his satchel, he rose and donned his coat, the seams stretching audibly over his broad shoulders. "This will be my day of triumph. They'll remember this day for years."

...

Outside the Imperial Magisterium's Hall of High Magi, two guard-magi with spell-wreathed halberds barred the way, crossing their weapons before the massive brass doors. A page ran swiftly down the hall, crying out for more guards and somewhere in the distance a bell began to ring. "Move aside, fools. I have business inside." The dwarf glared at them.

"You aren't welcome here, Bombastus, and you know it," said the more senior guard, in a voice that only trembled a little. "If you leave now, there doesn't need to be any trouble. Like last time."

Theophrastus narrowed his eyes.

...

The Council of High Magi had only just noticed the sounds of commotion outside when the iron doors of their chambers were ripped off of the hinges by a pair of colossal spectral hands, crumpled like tin foil and hurled aside to smash the stone walls. Through the dust and falling rubble walked the dwarf, dragging the two battered, limp guardsmen by the collars before dropping them like a child who has tired of their dolls. "I have returned to your halls, my esteemed peers, to allow you to make right your great error of judgement. Grant me my status of Magus immediately. Once you read my thesis, I'm certain you'll see-"

"Magus?!" cried out one of the council. "You're no mage, Bombastus! One spell doesn't make a wizard! You were barely an apprentice - even my weakest students can manage a dozen cantrips!"

"Bombastus the one spell wonder!"

"Did you learn a new one? Power Word: Foot?"

The dwarf's brows furrowed and his little spectacles gleamed in the dim light of the chamber. A vein visibly throbbed on his bald scalp as he growled his reply through clenched jaws. "I am certain. You will see. The value of my research." He withdrew his thesis, and ghostly hands carried the bundle of paper to the highest of the High Magi. "I am achieving levels of parallel casting that NONE have before, and-"

The High Magus's hard voice cut him off. "You are exiled from these halls. Permanently, and with no hope of forgiveness. You will leave, and if you ever claim to be a Magus again you will be thrown into a deeper pit than any dwarven mine, and sealed within." The elf took his manuscript in hand, and with a contemptuous syllable, ignited the pages with a green flame, till they crumbled into ash. "Begone." The guards summoned earlier began to rush into the chamber, leveling their weapons at Theophrastus, who trembled.

The ghostly magehands floated beside him, clenched into fists. Then they were joined by a second pair. A third, a fourth. Countless mage hands, a mandala of potential violence. Theophrastus cracked his knuckles - thousands of them - and chaos erupted.

...

It took weeks to clear the rubble away. The destruction was worse than if an alchemical bomb had been detonated - the entire chamber of the High Magi had been torn down brick by brick by a thousand hands, all the way to the foundations, every fixture smashed into splinters, every timber snapped into kindling. By some miracle, not a single person was killed, but each member of the High Magi had the appearance of being trampled by a cattle stampede or caught in an avalanche, and the entire corps of guard magi was found beaten unconscious.

In the interest of saving face, no official word was ever spoken about the events of that day, beyond a vague announcement that the Magisterium were attacked by some unknown devil, who was defeated but managed to flee. No official arrest warrant was issued for the dwarf who tore a path of destruction like a tornado all the way to the city walls and disappeared into the hills. Theophrastus Bombastus has not been seen again.

Mage hand is no longer taught, as too many of the instructors grow ill at the sight of it.