::The door to his study opened and a page arrived. With a quick nod the warlock ordered him to enter. Lowering his head in respect the page dropped the note and quietly left the study again, it seemed to make him feel uncomfortable somehow. Rising from his chair the warlock shook his head slowly. What had become of him? Glancing into the mirror in his study that served him as a means of transportation rather than to evaluate his looks he couldnít hold back a little sigh.
His face still showed the delicate features of a young grey elf. Yet the sparkle of youth in his eyes got replaced by a mist. He was a young man considering that those of his race easily reached over a thousand years of age. His eyes were blue like the deep ocean and his hair had a silver-grey color, he had always been pale even for one of his kin. The demon robes he wore and the talisman around his neck marked him as an adept of the dark arts. "Supremacy over death, dominance over pain", he knew Penilordís words quite well. The huge tower at Moorgateís graveyard, Merdreadís legacy; being a young mage he once stood before it, wondering how to get in since he couldnít find an entrance, a gate, a door. All he could see back then was a raven circling the pinnacle of the dark building and a single, unearthly glowing light in one of the upper windows. Now the warlock guards bowed before him, the rightful successor of Icejester, leader of the Coven.
Playing with the just recently received mages guildmasterís ring on his finger he let his thoughts wander back in time. It had been just twenty years when he entered the guild. He remembered quite well, a sunny day, in the mid of spring, the fly spell he had cast still on him he hurried to Gent and delivered the scroll of knowledge required. Glancing at the impressive building on Brent Street, not knowing what he would find within its walls he carefully stepped inside. Standing in the middle of the entrance hall, lost within all those glowing portals a half-elven sorcerer rode in on his light war horse, he introduced himself as Rrbhaunoch, the guildís ambassador. With a donation of 1,000 gold coins and a pair of runes along with some words of advice the elder mage pat him on the back and bid farewell. Embur, a young sorceress showed him around a little and answered the thousand questions he had, how young and curious he once was. Everything was new to him, amazing, mysterious.
It seemed as if it had been yesterday. Names came to his mind of mages he met and friends he made, some still alive others dead, gone and long forgotten. It didnít take him too long to advance in the guild, thanks to the guidance and training he received under his master, Vistilantus. Vistilantus was an Arch Mage of the guild back in those days, still his presence and the aura around him were already strong, even the young mage he was back then could notice that. He grew, progressed fast, very soon he himself could be found in the entrance hall, helping out new mages, answering their questions and providing them with the little knowledge he had.
One day he was at a class held by Bliss, assisted by Malevolus, an ancient lich and a fabled warlock. He never would forget the voice of this hideous creature, remembering it sent a slight shiver down his spine. In awe he watched the powerful being, soaking up every word spoken, memorizing them. He couldnít remember if it was that day when he chose to join the Coven. Thinking about it he wondered if he ever had a choice at all.
The day in the catacombs, when he was seeking the hidden scroll of passage, the day he was first betrayed, how that young fighter promised to help him, only to run off with his most prized posession, a ring of protection. The bolt of the koboldís crossbow that caused the fatal wound and the sound of the fighterís pony vanishing in the distance, leaving him bleeding to death in the dark, cold loneliness of the dungeon, never would he forget that. Waking up at the plane of rebirth his wounds healed again, his soul returned to his mortal shell he and made whole again by the grace of Kali and Senrania something was lost, for good. He became a follower of the Dark Flames, swore his allegiance and loyalty to Vistilantus. Spending his time with Kain and Juan, hunting with Talivar, the varlet of Eresthera he was never really sure if his decision had been right. Time went by and he finally left the clan, not his oath. "The sad elf" he was called in those times, not without reason......::
::"The sad elf, yes, thatís what they used to call me, or what I called myself..." absentmindedly the warlock went back to his chair, sat down and pulled out his pipe, his thoughts wandering back in time again.
It was a cold and rainy day in Moorgate. The heavens themselves seemed to be weeping. After hours of hunting at the fort the young sorcerer found his way to the bar of the adventurerís guild and find some rest and shelter from the elements out there. "Bah! Nasty weather, as if the ogres werenít enough of a pain..." mumbling to himself he waved for a bar maid to serve him some warm soup and a glass of water. Alcohol never really was his thing. A few pints of Guinness and he would get totally slooshed and that wasnít really what he wanted to be. Watching Two Hands, the barman he wondered to himself how that guy could make a living. With only one or two new adventurers finding their way to Moorgate each week and the locals avoiding his inn it wasnít really bustling with activity. Hanging on to his thoughts, dreaming of the young red dragon he saw at the guildís mount shop he got disturbed by a young half-elven monkess stumbling through the room and finally falling against his table. Looking at her he quickly realized that this lass was seriously wounded. He ordered some wyvern wings and fed them to her since she was too weak to eat herself and he was not proficient in the art of healing yet. Quickly she recovered and thanked him for his help. As she was about to run away again to get herself in trouble once more, he grabbed her arm and asked her to stay a moment. "Cattie she said, Cattie is my name, I am new to these lands, let me go again!", with that she swiftly freed herself from his weak grip and ran downstairs again to the training dungeons. The barman chuckled, obviously that was a scene he witnessed quite often here. With a shrug of his shoulders the elven sorcerer got up and went down to see if he could find her again.
He had always felt an affinity to monks. Vaklaveiv, it was all his fault. While he had been hunting the fortress with Talivar, his friend, they stumbled across a couple of ogres and a man fighting them bare handed in a glowing aura. Doing what they thought was right at the moment, Talivar charged the ogres while the elven mage tried to hold them with his ensnare spell. Smiling the figure in the robes stopped a moment, then finished the ogres off swiftly and sat down. "Thank you", he said, pulling back the hood of his robes "I am brother Vaklaveiv." Stunned at the impressive fighting techniques this warrior displayed the two young adventurers just stood there with their mouth open. With a slight bow the monk continued "Is there anything I could help you with?". That was the beginning of a friendship that withstood the test of time. Days upon days the monk showed them how to lure the creatures, how to hunt, it was a training he would never forget. Inevitable for his survival. Long was the list of the monks he respected and some even grew to be his friends. Fitio who saved his life when he was a young lad and got stunned out on the causeway, Vaklaveiv, his closest friend maybe. Of course Footloose who helped him slay the three armed fiend and the Bridge Troll, not without casualties. Sensei Nobunaga, a wise and old man. Lang the former ambassador of the monkís guild, Butwone with whom he could talk for hours about old times and the changes in the realms. Revenant too, in a way. Although he and the former monkís GM were not always on even terms. Honore, Laroon, Dandy, monks who were legends even before he was born. And some of the younger monks were quite promising too. Galthus their new GM, Eldrian, Manheim, many others. There was a lot of potential in this small guild. He watched them with interest and sometimes surprise.
"Cattie, yes. Who knows what would have happened if she hadnít left that day...." lighting up his pipe he blew a smoke ring into the air and stood up. The city lay below him and the windows of the houses on Brent Street were lit by candles, it was night. On occasion an adventurer passed the guild or one of the mages went in or out of the impressive home of Moorgateís spellcasters. He was proud to be a member of this guild he considered to be the most powerful in all of Cosrin, much to the dismay of the fighters of course. Now that he had become the guildmaster he tried to be there for all of them, yet it seemed he had too little time to do what he felt was expected of him. Once he knew the name of every guildmember by heart and greeted them in guildshouts, nowadays it could happen that he noticed a new mage the first time by the time they got the title of Magi. Still, he had wonderful GLs and mentors who were doing the important work of keeping an eye on the newcomers and aiding those in need with advice and their powers. The guild was growing day by day and after all, he was elected guildmaster for the members, not for the title or the privilege to wear the coveted Mageís Guildmaster Ring. "I just hope they know how much I appreciate their outstanding work, without them this guild would be nothing.", rubbing his chin in thought he made a note to himself that he should let them know more often. He knew that most of them thought he was doing a good job, at least that was what they told him, but who would tell his guildmaster that he should resign? Some would, he was sure about that.
Wiping these thoughts away he sat down at his desk again and resumed his work, he had too much work to do to wonder about his past, at least for the moment.... ::
Alley back to the library foyer.
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