A warning, to those who would follow me

[Minalan]

Min's spell books are black as night or the darkest midnight blue. Each is bound using the highest quality leather, with runes of protection and preservation painstakingly stitched in silver thread. The pages are carefully crafted of the finest cured vellum, and penned using lavishly exotic and enchanted red and silver inks. These are clearly the books of someone who treasures the many mysteries within. The penmanship is tiny, cramped, and somewhat difficult to read, as if the books themselves are loathe to divulge their many secrets. The writing however is flawless, with each calligraphic rune, letter, number, and alchemical symbol carefully etched by a grand master scribe.

Consider this, my students. It could be that the purpose of your life is only to serve as a warning to others. Not every life can be a success, just like not every vessel can be seaworthy. The study and pursuit of the arcane is fraught with dangers. Stir a potion the wrong way, lose your concentration, mispronounce one syllable of a spell, or measure your spell reagents wrong, and the results are frequently catastrophic. Do the rest of the magical world a favor, and keep impeccable research notes in the event of your demise.
Master Dehlat,
Professor of Thatumaturgy, Lycaeum
"Lecture on proper lab notes"



Thus I keep an account of my life, work, and experiments. Heed well this warning, to those who would follow me.
- Min

[Minalan]

Lesser arcane circle glyphs: Taken from the Library of Sanctuary

Notes in the margin: The Master's Trials

It is through tests and trials that a person develops who they are.

So long as I have known, I have prepared for these trials. I am yet very young to attempt them, yet I am determined to succeed.

My first task, was to retrieve a book on glyph patterns to further empower arcane circles from Koole, the Master Arcanist of Sanctary. The renegade elves were disappointed again as I strolled through their many mundane and magical defenses unharmed, pausing only to step around the corpses of the creatures foolish enough to stand in my way. I think the elves take a perverse pleasure in nearly killing their would-be guests.

I made a copy of the research for myself, and turned in the results to Va'lis, the vampire archmagus of Moonglow.

[Minalan]

Notes on the Wisps

Wisps remain one of the greatest mysteries of Britannia. What is not known about them far outweighs what we do.

• It is little known but true, that the wisps are a single mind. Most likely they are but small parts of a single being on another plane. Consider this, when you put the tips of your fingers into a lake, the denizens of the lake will see those small bits of you, with little comprehension of your entirety outside of the water. Thus the small energy beings are but three dimensional projections of something larger and unfathomable.
• We know that hundreds of thousands of years ago, they gave Zog the spell of Armageddon, who apparently did not hesitate to employ it. He was clearly meant to do so, leaving the world open to the whim of the wisp creatures for hundreds of centuries.
  
• We know that the wisp gave the spell to the Followers of Armageddon, who employed it nearly 16 years ago, opening up the passage to Papua.
  
• My former compatriots in 'The Followers' worshipped the wisps as gods, believing that they would be rewarded for the destruction of this plane.
  

It is my conjecture that the Followers of Armageddon couldn't have been more wrong. The wisps are a threat to our existence, and any who would further their agenda will only find death as a reward, thus leaving our world open again to whatever their nefarious agenda may be. The small parts of the 'wisp' being, their projections into this reality, need to be destroyed when they are found, wherever they are found.

It is my intention to one day open a portal to the Wisp plane, and challenge the being on its own world.

It knows that I am coming.

[Minalan]

He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle.
- Unknown

Thus I am left alive - to count the cost of my own arrogance.
- Min

Notes in the Margin

The calculations were completed, the mathematical formulas double and triple-checked to my satisfaction, and the spell was cast. Energy surged though my body, mixed with the ecstatic taste of success. I was happy, for a few moments, shedding tears as the joy of magic consumed me. My entire life, I have been an incomplete and broken person, obsessed with magic, and wishing every waking moment that I could leave this miserable mud ball full of idiots behind me. I sought the divine, to commune with it, to find a part of myself that might make me whole or normal like everyone else.

A portal opened to another world, a void black as night. As I watched in fascination, a creature from another plane melted into our world, oozing through the gaping black hole into my laboratory, a terrifying horror of eyes, fangs, and hungry, grasping appendages.

My mistake nearly cost me my life, I was fortunate that it only cost me the top two floors of my tower. The fetid creature tore into me, hurling me across the room. I responded with everything I had. Ozone reeked as lightning struck, and columns of fire burned bright. Elementals of earth tore their way into my lab from the floor, pummeling the creature. It's horrifying high pitched shrieks shook the very foundation of my home. It grabbed me again and again, feasting on my flesh. I miscast an explosion spell, that brought the roof collapsing in on the monster. All I could do was continue to cast spell after dizzying spell, eventually causing the monster to explode into a fountain of foul ichor. Small leftover parts of the creature lived on, trying in vain to reach me, trailing pitch black gore as they inched across the broken stone floor on shattered teeth and burnt stubs of appendages.

Master Dehlat always said that when a predictable outcome of an experiment is not assured, then predict the future itself. My master was obsessed with divination. When he was alive, we had travelled the shards together to hear the Sphynxes riddle, consult the wisdom of Meerish seers, and visit the gypsy fortune tellers with the gift of foresight. My master was always the smartest man in the room wherever he went, and was the greatest at whatever he did. It's time to heed his advice.

First, I'll be visiting the Gypsies.

[Minalan]

Thus ends the final legacy of Archmagus Adaephon Dehlat, my closest friend and mentor.
This structure will fade into the earth, but you will never, ever be forgotten.
- Min

IN VAS POR
KAL VAS XEN YLEM
IN VAS POR

Calmly and clearly, I spoke the words of magic and the ecstasy of power filled my every fiber. The earth rattled and cracked, and elementals of stone pounded on the foundation and the load bearing walls of my tower. I continued casting quakes, reaching deep within myself, pushing all of the magic from my reserve, and tearing deep rents in the earth. I poured everything I had into widening the gaping hole underneath the structure, until it finally collapsed, spilling and tumbling into the enormous cracks in the earth, and covering me with a thick layer of dust. It was done.

My master had left me this home, a square tower on Fire Island, and it had served me well for some time. In the end I nearly destroyed it in a failed experiment. The tower itself was relatively small, and I know intellectually that it was insufficient for my many needs long term. Nor was I concerned about the destruction of my home, as I possessed the spells and the power to raise an even greater one. No. I had spent a lot of time here, apprenticing and studying alongside my master. It was here that I gained in skill, building on the foundations of my early schooling and finally becoming an accomplished adept. Thus I excused myself a temporary measure of sentimentality before I tore it apart. Master Dehlat would have wanted it that way I think. No lesser mage would ever defile this place, and no greater mage would degrade themselves as to live in another master's home.

In school, I was the quiet student, separated distant from other students both socially and academically. My few intellectual peers were bitter rivals, people to be respected and outclassed at every opportunity. Those who weren't I never understood, and I rarely interacted with them outside of their frequent scorn or disdain. Master Dehlat above all, understood me, as he held a passion for magic and spellcraft that rivaled even my own. When the Lycaeum attempted to expel me, he put a stop to the motion, and allowed me to study independently under his direction. Later, he took me on as his apprentice, I had never been more honored or thrilled in my life.

But no longer am I the apprentice, cowering in the shadow of the many accomplishments of his master. It is time for me to complete my trials and become a master, and thus forge my own legacy.

[Minalan]

Spell to open a permanent translocation portal:

Speak the words, and carefully etch the sigils above into the stone where the focus of the portal is to be lain. When a gateway is to be opened, hold the translocation coordinates and path in your mind.

• For travel within a plane, carefully re-calculate for ley lines and mana wells using spherical geometry, or you will not reach your destination. Remember that the shortest route between two physical locations is not along any of the traditional three dimensional vectors.
• Inter-planar travel requires a complex parametric probability distribution formula. When travelling between planes, your exact location is determined by a statistical function along a five dimensional axis, and you (probably or probably don't) exist in multiple places at once.

Vas Ex Por;
Vas Rel Tym;
Vas Rel Des Por;
Vas Rel Uus Por;
Vas Rel Ort Grav;

Note: This spell is best cast near a molapar; a any physical location with lower ethereal resistance to magic, where the threads of reality (TMS: Time, Matter, and Space) are more mystically flexible.

[Minalan]

The Rangers of Spiritwood

Leaving Fire Island and the dark memories of "The Followers" behind, I began searching the mainland for an appropriate place to live. My search began in Spiritwood, where I met the rangers, and never a more honorable group will you find.

There lies within the virtues, a deep, powerful magic. Even the most foul abyssal curse quails before the simple power of humility and compassion. The rangers are masters of woodcraft, lore, and spirituality. Their wisdom is something that I will most certainly consult in the future, and in exchange I will certainly assist them magically in any way they require. I made the acquaintance the Rangers Morrow, Tserim, Tobias, Eodain, Katalin, Oona, and Mylar. Were I capable of warm sentiments such as finding the simple joy in the companionship of others, I would certainly do so with them.

[Minalan]

The Master's Trials: Terort Skitas

The second task assigned by the arch magus, was to head to the settlement of Terort Skitas, in the facet of Ilshenar. Alone. I was to retrieve a book for Va'lis, but not from the library. No. That would have been too easy.

You'll excuse my brevity here, for I can write only the parts that I remember. At one point, I was not myself.

I found this place to be unsettling. It might have been just magical sensitivity, but terrible things transpired here. I thought nothing of the dark feeling at first, as I waded through dozens of insane wizards, greater demons, balrogs, elementals, and undead of every kind.

In the end my mind became possessed by another - no possession is the wrong word. Perhaps a shared experience? For a time, I became a young apprentice named Wellen, who had died decades ago. I walked in his shoes for an entire afternoon. The master had called me for assistance with a spell, and I was happy to comply. That contentment died when the master cursed me, making me sleepy and unable to move. The master said not to worry, it was for the greater good. When I awoke, I was imprisoned, tortured, and tattooed in preparation for a ritual. Eventually I was stretched out on a table and sacrificed, as other dark sorcerers scratched on parchment of human flesh, with pens using my still beating heart as an ink font. The spirits of the dead thus gave the old wizards the fruits of their wisdom.

When I came to, I was in the tower's sacrificial chamber, with no knowledge of having walked there or how I found the place. My oddly trembling hand held the book that I was sent for, leaning on the sacrificial table.

A Moral Approach to Human Sacrifices - By Zeitro Zandor:

As you skim the pages, you realize that the text not only addresses the morality of the process, but the process itself.
You stumble across a picture of a man stretched on a table.
The following picture depicts a knife cutting through his still beating heart.
The diagram shows a quill being dipped into the heart like an inkwell.
It shows the man being removed from the table. The one performing the sacrifice places the quill against the table.
Following the incantation, and the removal of the sacrifice, the life essence is used to invoke the sacred runes.
An additional picture, shows four runes written in blood, smoke rising in an outline around them.
As I studied the picture, I saw the table in front of me.
As I ran my fingers across the table, a soft voice whispered to me.

Cruelty and murder in exchange for wisdom.
Never trust the dead.

[Minalan]

Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration.
- Unknown

Finding A Home

I had perhaps been travelling for days, riding on my black ethereal steed. The gray pallor of the ever-present clouds choking the sky offered me no hint as to the passage of time. Only the dismal cold and legions of sleeping trees interspersed with gravestones kept me company here. No sound but that of dead cracking sticks beneath the hooves of my steed. I huddled in my cloak against the chill, my nose stung red and my breath leaving a cloud of white vapor. Unlike the bright, living facet of Trammel, Felucca's cold winter haze holds no promise of a spring to come. For some reason, I find that suits me perfectly.

I was born here, long ago, before the invasion of Minax, and Nystul's great divide. Of all the places I've visited from the forests of Spiritwood, the swamps of Trammel, the dark forests of Umbra, to the highest peaks of the tallest mountains of Malas - none can hope to match the ancient and powerful magics woven into this place. Mondain, Minax, and the great hero tread this very ground. Great histories were written here, and even greater magics wrought. No, there is power in this bleak, forsaken land. I belong here.

I looked up to my staff, the end of the enchanted SpiritWood oak adorned with a few rare feathers, and a small glass sphere hanging down from the tip. The latter was a thaumaturgical glass, a crystal orb with a bit of amber inside, used for measuring the aetheric resistance of an area. The more the amber spins, the less naturally resistant the area is to magic. Since I arrived in Felucca, the amber within had been steadily and slowly turning as I trod southwards. Now it was moving much faster, rattling inside of the glass with speed, the spinning too fast to count. I stopped when the glass sphere finally cracked and broke.

I surveyed the area around me, there was once a settlement here, long ago - perhaps a few centuries ago. I could clearly see signs of old streets and the rotten broken walls of buildings reclaimed by choked vegetation. Before me there was cold and forlorn beach. Over the crashing of freezing waves, I could hear the howling of the long-dead residents shambling forward to greet me from both sides. Something terrible had happened here, long ago. Some magical cataclysm had destroyed a small town and all of its residents; it was something strong enough to warp space and time, leaving the threads of reality here thinner.

I cast spells in quick succession, bringing down meteors from the sky, as chains of lightning danced amongst the shrieking wraiths and ghouls. Even I was surprised at the effectiveness of the fury I brought down on them. Usually I am the quiet, soft spoken type, not prone to shouting or yelling, but this time I raised my voice with effect, using what I knew of speaking with spirits to amplify it for the benefit of those beyond.

"Know this. I claim this area to be my home. If you value what is left of your desolate existence, you will obey this one command and stay out of my home and affairs."

Simple. To the point. I would say the same thing to Minax or King Blackthorn if either decided to show up unannounced. I began to prepare the area with magics, scratching runes and sigils into the earth, to raise a tower from the ground. So much work to do.

[Minalan]

The Final Missive of Archmagus Dehlat

What follows is an account written in nearly indecipherable scrawl. Most of it is in the common tongue, switching at random between completely different styles of handwriting and sometimes other languages: Elvish, Ancient Sosarian, Gargl, and some of it enciphered

Dawn of our last day. It is time to awaken./Calculate the node path using the derivative of the arcsin as 1/sqrt(1-n squared)/For radians −π/2 ≤ x ≤ π/2/Vas Kal An Mani In Corp Hur Tym, something is missing, since it only opened a passageway instead of the destruction we had so carefully/The fundamental law of alchemy cannot be broken, the reagents measured for the experiment are thus conclusively correct, only the order could be/The secret of the Followers of Armageddon is our anonymity, operating in cells where only one of us knows of another. However

Silence. Six voices. Simultaneous. One mind. Stop. I set them to many tasks, but now I have but one left of importance. The Sphinx of the desert riddled in it's way, and the gypsies gazed thoughtfully and waxed poetic about my chances of romance. The meerish seers delivered their melancholy future. Gold? No. Silver? Maybe. Blackrock! Agreed. I am going to die today. Crawworth's sword will run through my body, and we will die painfully on the end of it. I've run from Nystul as far and as long as we could, but he is the more powerful mage, and I can no longer elude him. Six thoughts, three exhausted, one recalcitrant, one thoroughly insane, and one holding them all (pause) somewhat together.

When I first met my apprentice it was in one of my classes. As a gifted student and habitual loner, he normally would not have garnered my notice. What interested me was his complete love of magic, both naïve and romantic; it reminds me of myself at that age. His pace of learning left him far ahead of normal class material, and the novice spent most of his time in the library stacks instead of socializing. Min is also stubborn and arrogant, which led him into inevitable conflict with other professors, whom he considers his equals.

I learned more about him before the academic tribunal was to expel him. Apparently an argument with Master Brock the warding professor, turned heated enough for him to report the issue. The incident itself does not surprise me so much as how long it took. Master Brock is the type of theoretical bureaucratic university jackass who hasn't cast a practical spell, or produced anything new in decades.

"Look at the injury on my arm, it's proof of a student using offensive magics on a faculty member. I demand he be permanently removed!", the master showed a small bleeding wound on his forearm, before slapping the table before him with a meaty fist.

I could barely contain my smirk, "I've heard that you told him to 'do his best to do you harm'. Is that true? Are you just angry that he succeeded?"

Spittle flew from Master Brock's mouth as he replied, "Yes, I meant AFTER I had cast my reflection wards. The little bastard deserved a reminder of who his betters are..."

I yawned, egging him on, "And then he said to you, 'the faster cast spell wins'. I tend to agree with the boy."

It worked, he slammed the table in anger, reached for his staff and prepared for a magical duel. I had already won the moment he lost his temper and slammed his fist on the table, as the other masters always will undoubtedly choose the calm and collected option. I remained silent as he bellowed ominously, "I demand discipline. I demand redress!"

The sitting chancellor and the master of alchemy (a close friend of mine) both jumped at the outburst, trying to calm the master. It was my moment to save this boy's career...

"I have another suggestion that will solve the problem. We graduate him. I know he's barely a teenager, but he's already learned all that he will in our standard four-year curriculum. I recommend we put him on independent study, under *my* authority, until he graduates. After that, I'll take him on as my own apprentice.."

Min is one with a troubled mind. He pushes people away, becomes angry with himself for doing so, which makes him push others even further away, leading him into an unending feedback loop of loneliness, anger, and depression. As another broken genius, the six so enjoyed his company. Once we left the Lycaeum, he was quite easy to bring into the folds of the Followers of Armageddon, and we set about the dark works together.

Alas, I have only a few hours left before the end. The gate travel spell that I just cast will be my last, and I will have nothing left to stop the soldiers with their silver serpent shields. The four men with me carrying the enormous trunk will drop it, and die defending it. I will be run through, and the soldiers will open the trunk only to find ordinary bricks - not the blackrock that they expect. I will be long gone before it occurs to any of them to interrogate me.

Meanwhile, in the bay of Britain, on the other side of the world: In the full light of the moon, three corpses dressed in white sailcloth with iron shot tied within were tossed overboard from a dark-sailed ship. Like three bloated maggots, the bodies sank, each marked with a leering red grin from the soaked blood of the slit throats. The customs official and his two guards will bother us no longer. My apprentice carried the chest containing the real blackrock below decks, and ordered the captain to set sail. Two Follower assassins executed the crew and captain once underway, and eight more bloated red-mouthed maggots fed the hungry maw of the sea. Shortly after, those same daggers turned on my apprentice.

I have only a few hours left, and I have to make each one count. I've already cast the magic, and prepared for this. The six will not pass beyond the veil for long. No. They will join a seventh and we will sing again as one and return.

[Minalan]

Min's Jounnal: The Legacy of Archmagus Dehlat

All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered;
the point is to discover them.
- Unknown

The most terrifying truth I have discovered is the true cost of my decisions.
- Min

I suppose this began when I was aboard the Percheron, below decks with the black rock shipment, bound for the Isle of Fire. My first clue that something was terribly wrong, was when the Followers who accompanied me decided to murder the crew. The assassins were silent and efficient at the grisly task, but fortunately not quick. They gave me plenty of time to prepare.

Being a member of the Followers of Armageddon means that there is only one way out of the organization. When your usefulness is at an end, there is no simple termination of employment. It may be paranoia and distrust of well - everyone, but it has served me well thus far. I left the hold and went above, making myself invisible while I watched the two at their grisly task.

When the ship's captain was sent to his cold watery grave, I heard one tell the other to "Off the kid, do it quietly, and don't toss him overboard. Lector Dehlat has plants for him."

As one of them skulked off to the  ship's hold, a long dagger in his meaty fist, I took the opportunity to take out the other. One on one, on dry land, and prepared, he would have won. I'm an adept mage, but no match for a skilled assassin. Before he knew I was there, I had cast the spell to sweep him overboard, leaving him stranded in the ocean as the ship sailed away faster than any man could swim.

An explosion shook the vessel, and a scream from below announced the death of the other Follower. The trap I had left on the door worked. That gave me time I needed to change course of the ship, where I scuttled it on a small uncharted island.  I mapped the location, in the event that I would ever need to return, and transported myself away with a few words.

My second clue that something was terribly wrong was when I returned home to the Master's tower, to quickly gather some of my things. The Archmagus had devised a simple magical automata called "Guardian" to watch over his home, to employ it's many wards and defenses should it be required. When I arrived, the joke was on me.

"Master Dehlat, welcome home", the deep bass voice told me.

I narrowed my eyes with apprehension. "I am not the master".

The white expressionless mask of the construct examined me from the nearest wall before vanishing again. "No error was made, Master Dehlat"

It wasn't until I viewed myself through a scrying orb that the truth was unveiled.  My spirit was there, amorphous, vibrant, and full of mana.  But beyond me, right over my shoulder, I saw the creature.  The monster had many heads, five skulls screeching and howling in agony and abyssal torment.  All but the last, that skull leered at me.  Waiting for something.  Watching.  It was something out of my most terrifying nightmares, and I thought my heart would stop there.  I removed my trembling hands from the orb, horrified at what I had just seen, stumbling backwards.

Later at the Empath Abbey, I found mention of the creature in an old gargl text, called the Kodeks de Bal-Lem.   I had no difficulty translating it, since my master had written instructions and missives for me in the same language.  The monster was a soul eater, an apparition that lives many lifetimes in the bodies of its victims after devouring their spirits.  This meant only dire things for me.

[Minalan]

The Master's Trials: The Shadow Wyrms

It is one thing to read about dragons and entirely another to meet them
- Professor Draleg, Master of Taming and Beast Studies

My final trial, was to slay a proscribed number of dragons, including greater dragons, shadow wyrms, and their half-deity paragon - the ancient dragon herself. Alone. It was at that moment that I knew the Archmagus was trying to kill me. Whether Va'lis thought I was trying to take his place, or if this was part of some other nefarious mage politics, I don't know.

I'm not the type to bemoan the injustices of the world. I have a relatively short life span to do my work, and a soul eater eagerly waiting for me at the end of it. Failure or surrender simply aren't alternatives that I have the luxury of entertaining.

Master Dehlat always said that to change something, you must first understand it; I intend to "change" a lot of dragons into dead ones. Thus my first stops were the most noteworthy libraries of the land: Occlo, Empath Abbey, The Lycaeum, Wind, and even Terort Skitas. I read everything that I possibly could about dragons: their histories, battles, physiology, magics, and psychology. Finally in the mages guild of Wind I struck pay dirt: I found books on magic lethal to any great wyrm.

I learned the spells, meticulously copying all of them, and then collected the materials to fashion a new spellbook. I spent lavishly, using only the best vellum, inks, and binding. I wove magics to destroy dragons into the cover, spine and every page. Thus I began one of the greatest magical works of my life at that point. This is why I exist. This is why I am here. I got lost in the simple joys of high magic and craftsmanship, until the wyrm slaying spellbook was completed.

The last question, would it work? It was time to visit the gypsies and find out.

[Minalan]

The Gypsy Camp

In the hour of your greatest success are sown the seeds of your own destruction.
- Old Gypsy Proverb

I met the seer in the camps outside of Minoc. Young, bare-footed, and wearing simple homespun garments, she was beautiful in a way that requires no gems or adornments. Her name was Aila, and when she touched my hand to show me into her tent, I knew she was not a charlatan. I felt the jolt of power, the way two mages do when we are near one another, but different. Her magic was raw, undefined, and unshapen. She read my palm, and gazed into the realm of the spirits for me. I found myself strangely drawn to her, hanging on her every word.

The answer: I would succeed! In her vision, the dark wyrms bowed to me in submission.

The prediction was correct. The shadow dragons are all competent necromancers in their own right, but they might as well not have been. My spells cut a swath through them, their undead servants were dispelled, and the animated remains of their own kind were completely destroyed. My power coursed through me, I was in my element, and I collected the scales that the Archmagus requested.

My next task, to gather the power to challenge one of the demi-gods of dragon-kind. The Ancient Wyrm.

[Minalan]

The Master's Trials: Ancient Wyrm

So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their endings.
- Unknown Genius

Unlike humans, elves, and the gargl, the dragon race is beholden to no virtues or principles, and they worship no gods. They are far too arrogant for such mortal affectations. Instead they have paragons amongst their own kind, the most ancient wyrms. The dragon kind revere these sires of their grand sires, and pay homage to them. Ancient wyrms are the amongst most powerful of their kind. Scores of centuries old, these dragons are not only the strongest, but they are also powerful sorcerers in their own right.

Among dragons, she was known as "Klarxia". Reclusive, foul tempered, and amongst the oldest of her fellow draconic demi-gods, it had been ages since any of her race had paid call. Indeed, to leave her alone was the greatest respect those of her species could pay. No, today it was I who had foolishly decided to disturb her rest.

Deep in her pitch-black cavern, I could have sworn it was empty. Light shone from my staff, and I quietly and carefully skulked around her dark lair. It wasn't until I passed a pool of lava that her enormous scaled form crept out of the pool of molten rock behind me. I heard the creaking of her muscled body, and the enormous bellows-like intake of air into her lungs.

I had teleported twice before the first fires struck, finding cover around a corner tunnel. Even at a distance, her fire was hot enough to melt stone and shake the earth. The battle began in earnest, and to be honest I was absolutely terrified. Elementals of earth, air, and water were summoned and crushed contemptuously by her razor sharp talons. Colossi rose from the void and pummeled her, and dark revenants came screaming from the grave to strike her before she could dispel them. Lightning flashed at her from my hands, scoring horrendous blackened wounds. She added her own spells to the fray, in between massive gouts of flame that erupted from her maw. Her magic was not nearly as potent as mine, but she drew from an old and deep well of power.

Eventually I began to lose ground, and summoned more help while she was too weak to immediately dispel them. In the end Klarxia did not die with a mighty roar or shriek like some bard's tale, but with a quiet whimper. My colossus had thrown a boulder, striking her in the head. Her dazed, blackened and bleeding visage swam.  I stepped out from cover - finishing her with the last lightning spell I could muster. She shuddered from the force of the chain lightning, and then fell limp, her enormous form still smoking.

Her spells had razed me, her flame blasts had seared my flesh, her tail had broken my ribs, and her razor sharp claws had punctured my body. I fell to my knees, unable to walk, my arm hanging useless at my side, and my robes shredded and blackened. I managed to send myself home, expending the last of my strength.

I crawled into my laboratory from the gaping black portal. After all I had been though, I succeeded, but it mattered little. I was dying. My life blood seeped through my tattered elven robes onto the floor. I tried to laugh, but only managed to cough and vomit more of my own blood. Anger, rage, and indignation filled me. I had succeeded as predicted, only for it to come for nothing. NOTHING!

As close to death that I was, I could see my master in all of his soul-eating glory. The six skulls gazed at me in a hungry glowing-eyed triumph, and his skeletal body hovered over me. His spectral hand reached within my chest and gripped my heart, willing it to slow. I looked up helplessly as I heard all six voices speaking in tandem, "Hush my apprentice, and close your eyes; it all will be over soon." I lost consciousness, but not before hearing six bitter wails of despair.

In my study, a young gypsy girl stacked chairs against the entry door, the bells on her bare-footed ankles jingled as she ran back and forth. Wraiths and skeletons from the ruins outside hacked at the door, having decided that a pact with a near dead sorcerer was already as good as null and void.  They hungered for the blood of the young woman still within. You see, I had built my home on a site infested with the shambling dead. I know. What could possibly go wrong with that?

Aila held my broken form, frightened and weeping openly, and it might have all ended there. However she had the inner strength and cleverness to find and pour a healing elixr into my scorched lips, and breathe life into my lungs. She saved my life. I survived, and became a Master Mage

[Minalan]

The Master's Apprentice

Study anyone who's great, and you will find that they apprenticed to a master, or several masters.
- Master Zhimosom, Professor of Invocation

As an acknowledged Master Mage, and member of the Council of Mages, I am now entitled to a number of benefits: The first is a voting seat on the Council of Mages, one that I honestly never intend to occupy. Politics bores me to death. We are given adjunct professor status within the Lycaeum, once every academic year, we are expected to teach classes or assist with campus research. Masters are granted access to all faculty facilities in the Lycaeum, including the restricted archives. Of course, the Astrological Telescope is always open to our use, and we are expected to contribute to maintenance of the Royal Zoo. Tradition also grants a new master first choice of an apprentice from the current graduating class. Of greatest concern to me, was access to the Council's private library, where all of our greatest secrets are held.

I think it came as a surprise to everyone when I presented myself to the Council of Mages seeking an apprentice, as it was many months after my completed trials. Not that I had been forgotten, but my reputation as an eccentric loner apparently preceded me. There was much consternation on the council when I refused to attend my own honors and induction ceremony. Then I ignored their repeated requests for me to attend regular meetings, take my seat, or join one political faction or another. I returned missives they sent demanding that I account for my "potentially dangerous research", every one of them sealed and unread. Apparently exaggerated rumors of the mad mage opening rifts to other dimensions have run rampant amongst the other council members.

Rumor of my seeking an apprentice spread like wild fire amongst the student body. To date, I am both the youngest and the hardest tested master, and that enough would cause a stir. However, there was widespread speculation about my questionable sanity and reclusive, secretive nature. Well. Ignorance spreads like wild fire, while knowledge sprouts slowly from a tiny seed.

For a semester, I taught a graduate-level class on Thaumaturgy. It was well known that I would select one of my students as my apprentice, and thus enrollment was filled as soon as the course was announced. It turns out that teaching a large audience was far more enjoyable than I expected, but not something I would care to do regularly. I was able to share many advanced spell craft techniques I had discovered, things that the Council of Mages would likely keep to themselves - if they even knew them. I'm not an idiot. When a few of my fellow Council members "visited" to "observe and evaluate my instruction", I saw them surreptitiously taking lecture notes.

In the end, I chose Elerius. He is an awkward youth, one who frequently studders his words. However he has the potential to be one of the most powerful mages of our time. He has a sharp, eager mind, always coupled with a smile, an affable personality, and the diligence to do the work necessary. Selfless and noble to the last, he has joined me in my tower.