The LoreMaster (Full Version)

All Forums >> [Gaming Community] >> [Legends and Lore] >> Writers of Lore >> [The Bookshelves] >> Other Creative Prose



Message

Alixander Fey -> The LoreMaster (12/11/2008 23:02:06)

This is a new story for me, with new characters and new themes. It’s set in Aduil so you won’t have to learn a new set of rules and regulations for my world or my magic. Don’t ask how long it’s going to be, or why I’m writing it, because I don’t know either. It’s lovingly dedicated to its namesake, our own Falerin. Lucky for us, the LoreMaster in this story is nothing like Falerin in real life.

You’ll like this, I’m pretty sure. You’re going to see a lot of new things from me, as well as tried and true things (like dragons!).




Alixander Fey -> RE: The LoreMaster (12/11/2008 23:03:16)

The LoreMaster



“I just don’t like it,” Agrathan complained. “It’s not natural.”

Tara MageBorn laughed and raised his ebon cowl. “You’re traveling with a sorcerer!” he said. “Don’t you think it’s a little late to decide you’re uncomfortable with magic?”

The leather-clad ranger shook his head and pointed. “Look at that! It’s just wrong. I hate every bit of it.”

The abbey that stretched before them radiated arcane power. Situated at the very edge of the Endless Sands, the thrice-spired monastery housed a reclusive order of priests dedicated to preserving knowledge in the form of books. To provide the occupants with plenteous water, the constructers of the castle had built it over an expansive oasis. Literally—over the oasis. A series of free-floating stepping stones comprised the bridge that led to the front gate. The castle itself hovered over the water, bobbing slowly like driftwood in a pond. As a magicker, Tara could feel the energy emanating from the fortress.

“What’s wrong with it?” he asked. “I think it’s a perfect example of how magic has helped us dominate the powers that be.”

Shifting on his mule, Agrathan grunted and averted his eyes. “That’s just it, Tara. It’s not right to fight Fate like that. We’ve got rules, and magic breaks them all. It’s never right to cheat nature.”

Laughing again, Tara shrugged. “I know what to do!” he declared. “I’ll enchant your blade. When you see how useful magic is, you’ll change your mind.”

The warrior glanced down at his long claymore. “You can do that? I mean, it’s not a magic blade…”

“The steel is eflmade, yes?” The ranger nodded. “Elfstone is a form of crystal, not steel. I can enchant your blade with anything I want.”

Agrathan shifted his gaze several times, obviously weighing the decision in his mind. “We’ll see,” he finally said. “We’ll see. For now, let’s get your book and go.”

Tara nodded. “Right, back to business.” He had come with questions about the crafting of a rare crystal. Every lead indicated that this abbey held his answers. Dismounting his burdened mule, the mage placed a foot—tentatively—on the first stepping stone. It quivered for a moment, but held. Drawing in a breath, he placed his second foot on another stone.

“Are you sure this isn’t just a trick to keep away… unwanted guests?” Agrathan asked from behind him.

Tara turned around, jumping up and down on the stones. “They look steady to me,” he said. Using his staff to test the next footing, he ambled up the river of airborne stone. Agrathan followed with voiced complaints, keeping both feet on the same stone and jumping from one platform to the next like a child.

The sorcerer reached the gate three full minutes before his ranger friend, and he spent the time examining the arcane runes lining the portal. “Welcome to the abbey of heaven,” he read, “the library of the Gods, repository of the knowledge of the ages, oasis of great minds, ecclesia of the erudite, and dwelling place of the LoreMaster. Bring your hopes and dreams with you, all ye who enter here.”

The ranger startled him when he placed a hand on his shoulder. “What does it say?”

Tara glanced over his shoulder, noting how the man’s tattered leather jerkin contrasted with his elegant jade cloak. “It says something about a LoreMaster,” he offered. “Maybe he’s the one we need to talk to.”

Shrugging, the warrior pushed past him. “Well, let’s go, then.” His hands searched the flat wooden panel for a handle or a knocker. “How on Aduil do we open this thing?”

Tara laughed, stepped back, and raised his engraved stave. “It’s a place of knowledge, Agrathan. And a place of magic. You open it the way any sensible person would.”

“Ty’grr!”

Drawing on the spirits around him, the wizard spoke the word for open and pushed with his mind. The door responded instantly, swinging wide on well-oiled hinges.

Agrathan shook his head. “No sensible person opens a door by talking to it,” he grumbled.

The light from the sun behind them illuminated the abbey’s parlor, revealing sparse but comfortable-looking furniture and a few unlit lamps. When no one appeared to greet them, Tara stepped past the threshold. He half-expected the door to shut behind him and lock them in. It would have been fitting; he couldn’t imagine what kind of priests could inhabit a place like this. The stone walls were harsh, and there weren’t enough lamps even if they had been lit.

Waving a hand, Tara grunted a spell-word and closed the door. The darkness was palpable.

“How do you plan to light the lamps?” the ranger mocked. “Talk to them?”

The mage smiled. “That’s an excellent idea.” He raised his staff and touched the source of magic.

“Vas mat’kas ve asimov fete!”

A stream of fire shot from his staff to one of the nearby lamps. On contact with the flame, the lamp lighted. The fire moved on, touching each lamp and igniting their wicks before it faded into nothingness.

In the lamplight, the room appeared even more barren. Larger than they had first thought, it stretched far back into the abbey, ending in a straight wall lined with murals and flanked by gilded staircases.

The ranger cursed aloud. “I don’t suppose you could talk and summon the caretaker of this place…”

Tara shrugged. “Only if you could tell me his name, or provide me with his location or a decent picture.” He lulled his head to one side, pensive. “No, that’s not true. I could use the word for—”

“Okay, okay. That’s fine. Shut up.” Agrathan placed a hand on his pommel and stepped deeper into the chamber. “Hello? Is anyone home?”

His voice resounded through the chamber, echoing several times before it faded into nothingness. No one showed.

“Hmrph. Talking only works if you wear a black cloak.”

Tara laughed and clicked the base of his stave against the floor. “How many times do I have to tell you, it’s the staff, not the cape!” Deciding to act for his own, the cloaked wizard strode towards the staircases against the wall. The polish on the gold impressed him—he could see his own sinister reflection. Without the imposing advantage of height, Tara had chosen to intimidate through malefice. He wore heavy black cloaks that hid his build and a cowl that hid his face, although his enchanted eyes glowed (a by-product of the spells that allowed him to see in the dark). An emerald crystal of the same color topped the carved elfstone staff, also glowing with defensive and offensive enchantments.

“Congratulations, MageBorn, you look scary,” Agrathan said as he passed the wizard and ascended the stairs. “Has it ever gotten you out of a fight?”

Tara followed the man with quick steps that send his weighty cloaks billowing. “I’ve never seen a fight that I needed to avoid, Agrathan. I can turn most men into sand with a flick of my wrists.”

The ranger shrugged. “Okay, I’ll give you that much. You can kill people with more creative energy than I’ve ever seen.” At the top of the stairs, they reached a carved wooden door whose embossed engraving described a battle between a wizard and a pair of dragons. “Can you open this one with a word, MageBorn?”

Squinting, Tara touched the door. As he expected, a magical current streamed up his fingers and shocked him. “Gods above,” he cursed. Flexing his fingers, he glanced at his friend. “No, I don’t think I can open this one.”

“That’s because no one gets into the library without my permission.”

Agrathan drew his sword and spun to face the newcomer, but Tara gasped his hand and forced it down. The man standing before them never flinched.

Although made of coarse and plain wool, the stranger’s tunic was pristine and pressed. He held himself loosely, comfortable but not limp, and his eyes darted about in a manner that suggested he observed everything in his surroundings. Tara was drawn to his eyes, which radiated amber hues akin to smoldering ashes. They were too old, too wise, to fit his young, flawless body.

He stood in silence for several seconds, gazing at them. Hoping to break the tension, Tara bowed and introduced himself. “Good sir, I am Tara MageBorn, and this is my traveling companion, Agrathan Thoulurd. We have come a great distance to seek the knowledge of this library. Can you take us to the LoreMaster?”

The man met Tara’s eyes, holding them without showing emotion in his face. “MageBorn? That is a unique name. Given, perhaps, after your birth?”

The wizard nodded. “Yes. My talent for the arcane was recognized at an early age.”

The man did not blink. “And what magics have you studied?”

“I am a sorcerer of the thirty-first tier.” Growing suspicious, Tara rehearsed a few spells in his mind. He usually avoided giving out such telling information, but secrecy would not convince the LoreMaster to help him.

Finally, the stranger reacted. His eyebrows raised and he nodded in surprise. “A magicker of your age would do well to reach tier eighteen. You will have to show me your magics during your visit.”

Agrathan cleared his throat in impatience. “Can we see the LoreMaster now, please? As much as I love talking about magic…”

His face returned to its stoic impassiveness, and he leveled his gaze at the ranger. “Your impatience is unnecessary. I am the sole resident of this abbey.”

Even without seeing him, Tara could feel Agrathan’s sudden anger. “We came all this way and there is no LoreMaster?”

For the second time, he showed emotion. His brow wrinkled and his eyes narrowed. “I am the LoreMaster.” He cocked his head to one side, and, as if deciding that the ranger was unimportant, returned his attention to Tara. “The knowledge you seek… is it magic?”

Tara hesitated for a moment. This library was ancient, known throughout the world as a repository of knowledge. This man could not have been older than twenty-five. He was not the LoreMaster. An apprentice, maybe? Perhaps the true LoreMaster had died recently. “Yes,” he finally said. “Yes, it is magical in nature.”

Smiling pleasantly, he motioned to the stairs. “Come, ask your questions, and let us see if I can give you answers.”





Alixander Fey -> RE: The LoreMaster (12/15/2008 22:59:04)


The LoreMaster led them to a small room branching off from the main hall. Tara had missed the door, and he suspected that some magic had been used to hide it. The parlor acted like a conference room, with plush chairs design for long periods of sitting. The lamps were already lit.

They picked chairs at random, but Tara and Agrathan both sat where they could see the door. The LoreMaster seemed oblivious to their tension, smiling in a pleasant manner and relaxing in his chair.

“So, what have you come to seek?”

Tara blanched. He had hoped for time to explain—the object of his search would make him the object of derision in most contemporary circles. He hesitated for a moment, glancing at Agrathan, then at his feet, before beginning. “My master has sent me…” he lied, hoping the man knew nothing of his mildly-famous master. “My master has sent me to find books on the Orbs of Power.”

The LoreMaster scooted forward, interested instantly. “Orbs of Power? Why does he want those?”

Tara averted his eyes. “We hope to use them as a defense mechanism for our tower, should it ever be besieged.”

“Can’t you just prepare crystals with defensive spells?” he asked.

Encouraged that the man had not mocked him, Tara brightened. “That would require predicting how the enemy will attack. With an Orb of Power, we can use the magic however we want.”

Long ago, mages had discovered the unique arcane quality of gems and crystals—they could hold magic. By casting a spell into a gem, a magicker could save the spell until he needed it most, and then release it with negligible drain on his energy. But the energy could not simply be placed within the crystals—it had to be bound to a certain, specific spell. The Orbs of Power were different.

The LoreMaster reclined in his chair, stroking his chin in thought. “You are a sorcerer. Certainly, you can cast a spell into a crystal and use your sorcery to drain the energy from the spell later. Wouldn’t that be the same thing?”

Tara shook his head, unsure of the LoreMaster’s knowledge of sorcery magics. “That would give us only half the yield. If we could craft an Orb of Power…” Fashioned in the likeness of the fabled Elemental Orbs the Gods had created for the first wizards, the Orbs of Power could hold pure, unbound magical energy. With an Orb of Power, magickers could store days worth of their strength for a later date.

The man smoothed his robes and stood with a sigh. Turning away from Tara, he started to pace. “I’ve always believed that the Orbs were a myth. Most scholars agree that a group of sorcerers did what I suggested—cast spells into a crystal and drained the spells themselves for energy—and then played of the legends of the Elemental Orbs to frighten their enemies.”


Tara nodded, understanding the LoreMaster’s line of thought. Sorcerers could harvest spell energy from previously cast spells—for instance, they could drain the magic from an enchanted blade to use for their own conjugations. “I’ve heard that, too. But I think there’s something more to the rumor. Can we at least try?”

Ignoring his question, the LoreMaster whirled in place and marched a circle around the room. “I have seven books on the Orbs of Power,” he said after a moment of silence. “I think one might be a dissertation on why they could never exist, and another is a compilation of legends about them. The rest… perhaps you will find what you need.”

The wizard smiled and stood to thank him. “That’s wonderful. Where are they?”

The man glared hard at him for several long heartbeats. Finally, slowly, he spoke. “It will take me several days to compile the books you need, sorcerer MageBorn.”

Tara had to admit that Agrathan had done a good job of behaving so far, but when the ranger snapped to his feet, he wasn’t surprised. “Days?” he demanded. “It’s seven books! How can it take days?”

The LoreMaster’s eyes flared, and he whirled around and stormed from the room. He left the door open, which indicated to Tara that he should follow. They found the main hall empty, but they could hear the LoreMaster’s voice near the locked door. By the time the sorcerer and the ranger ascended the stairs, he stood before the embossed door, waving his hands in slow arcs. Afraid to interrupt the spell-casting librarian, Tara slipped behind him and dipped his head without a sound. When Agrathan opened his mouth to speak, the sorcerer silenced him with a rap to the knuckles.

After nearly a minute of senseless mumbling, the LoreMaster spat three short syllables. The heavy doors groaned and swung open.

“Three Gods,” Agrathan cursed under his breath. “Talking to it does work.”

Tara smiled. “You just need to know the right things to say.”

The librarian entered the room without acknowledging their presence. Again, the sorcerer and his companion followed. Passing the door, they entered an octagonal, musty office lined with bookshelves. An expansive, flat-topped desk occupied most of the room, and the only two sections of the wall not covered by a bookshelf opened to small, five-sided doors. The LoreMaster marched to the one on the right and repeated his arm-waving ritual.

The ranger slipped his hand around Tara’s wrist and pulled him aside. “What is he doing?”

Before he could answer, the doors creaked open to reveal a curtain of impenetrable darkness. The LoreMaster turned slowly and leveled his gaze on Tara. Beckoning with a hand, he stepped into the shadows.

Agrathan remained motionless, but his companion moved to join the LoreMaster. As soon as Tara crossed the portal, the darkness lifted. He staggered backwards in awe when he saw the library for the first time.

He and the librarian stood on a balcony no wider than ten feet and no longer than thirty. A gaping maw stretched in front of them, but on the other side Tara could see another balcony—no, it spanned the entire width of the wall and wrapped around, so it was the actual floor—filled with bookshelves. He counted no less than forty rows, each with twelve bookcases, just on the opposite side. Looking to the sections on his left and right, he found that they were longer and held at least seventy equally-sized rows. So why is there a hole in the middle? the sorcerer thought. Stepping forward, he leaned on the railing and looked down—

But could not see the floor. Thirty feet below him, he saw an identical hole, but this one was lined on all four sides instead of three. From his birds-eye view, he could see that this floor held more books than he had thought possible. Below that level, he counted another, then another, and three more. Beyond that, his vision failed him.

The immensity of the library mesmerized him, and he spent so long staring at the rows and rows of books and parchments that he almost forgot to look up. When he did, he found another floor identical to the one below him, and then three more floors before the ledge above obstructed his view.

The dim light and the awkward position of this balcony made an educated guess about the library’s size impossible. But just from what Tara had seen, this library was larger than the city of his birth.

After giving the sorcerer time to comprehend the enormity of the library, the LoreMaster turned around, fixing Tara with his ember-eyed gaze. “Now do you understand why finding those books will take so long?”

Still awed, the mage nodded.

“I have been collecting books for many years, MageBorn. I am the LoreMaster, but I am not God. Now, I have prepared a room where you can wait for me to find your books.”




Alixander Fey -> RE: The LoreMaster (12/15/2008 23:10:26)

“So, how big was it?’

Tara and Agrathan sat beside a warm fireplace, sharing a pipe and broth from the LoreMaster’s kitchen. He had provided them with a sumptuous dinner and a comfortable room, then disappeared into his library to work.

The wizard sighed. “I counted at least ten floors. Why didn’t you just come in with me?”

“Because I don’t trust that freak farther than I can throw him,” the ranger said with a shrug. “I’ll bet he has ogre in his blood.”

Beneath his cowl, Tara raised an eyebrow. “Why, because he has glowing eyes?” His own emerald orbs sparkled as he spoke.

“No,” he protested. “There’s just something about him, something…”

“—magical?”

“No!” Hurling the pipe in the fire, he stood and stormed to the other side of the room. “But something not right with that one. He’s into some devilry.”

Tara sighed and joined his friend, clapping him on the shoulder. “Agrathan, have you seen anyone else in the library?” The ranger shook his head. “Neither have I. Think about it; this man has probably lived in seclusion for most of his life. He’s just… lonely. I doubt you learn great social skills when your only friends are made of paper.”

The ranger grunted and shook his friend’s hand away. “No. There’s something else. You weren’t listening very closely, because you’re usually the one who notices the little things.”

Tara stepped back. “What do you mean?”

“When he took you into the library, I couldn’t see anything. But I did hear him talk to you. Do you remember what he said?”

The sorcerer’s forehead wrinkled. “That he’s not God?”

“That he has been collecting books for a ‘very long time.’ How old do you think he is, Tara? Twenty-four? Twenty-five?”

“I would guess that he’s about twenty-five,” the mage agreed.

“But he said he’d been collecting books for a long time. So he’s a liar, at least.”

Tara shook his head and stepped away. “No, I don’t think so. You’re picking at a gnat, Agrathan. It was just a figure of speech.”

“Tara, he’s spent his life with books. He knows how to use words.”

Shaking his head, the mage retrieved his staff and his cloak, then retreated to their room. He found a place to keep his things and slipped into the bed with one of his sketchbooks to study. Agrathan came in quietly and set his sword on the room’s only table. Unbuttoning buttons and unstrapping straps, he removed his leather armor and plopped into the bed opposite Tara’s.

They sat in silence for several minutes until Tara reached a chapter on enchanting weapons. “Dragon’s bane,” he cursed. Sitting up, he slipped out of the bed and draped a robe around his shoulders. “Where’s your sword?”

Agrathan straightened and reached for his dagger. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” the sorcerer said as he brought the sword from the table to his bed. “I just forgot that I promised to enchant your sword.”

The ranger’s eyes shifted uncomfortably. “Oh… right. Can it… can it be undone if I don’t like it?”

Tara nodded. “Easily. Actually, you could do it yourself by running the enchantment dry. I can only put so much magic in the blade.” Unsheathing the sword, Tara examined the elfstone blade. “This was well made,” he said. “I’m surprised it wasn’t enchanted when you bought it.”

Agrathan laughed. “I stole it from a smithy. I needed a weapon and we were in House Carn territory…”

Tara rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Please, don’t tell me any more than I have to know.” Flipping the sword over, he gripped the pommel. “What is the blade’s name?” The ranger shrugged. “Fine, then. I won’t name it.”

Closing his eyes, Tara opened himself to the spirits around him, letting their magical essence fill him.

“What are you going to do?”

Agrathan’s voice interrupted his concentration. Letting the spirits escape him, Tara opened his eyes. “I’m gathering energy for the spell! It takes a great deal of power to enchant a weapon.”

The ranger looked down sheepishly. “I was asking what enchantment you were going to put on it…”

Tara glanced away, silently cursing himself for snapping at the warrior. “I’m going to put a fire enchantment in the blade. That’s simple enough, yes?”

Agrathan nodded and watched in silence as Tara prepared himself again.

Countless years ago, the Gods had cursed a rebellious sect of dragons: their spirits had to remain on Aduil for all of eternity and act as the fuel for magic. To cast a spell, a mage needed to draw on the powers of those spirits and bend them to his will using the ancient language of dragons.

Tara drew a breath, struggling to grip the spirits around him. They were… slippery, almost. As if they did not want to obey him. Wrestling with the resistant magic, he considered casting a spell that would let him see the spirits, but then he found a coven of souls that answered his call. He drew them in, summoning them to his palm as he raised his hand.

“Vas ska’ll’a kam nir’den fete ja gra’tere!”

Nothing happened at first. The spirits fought him, and he was growing impatient. Forcing his will on them, he creased his forehead and spoke the spell again. He felt the life drain from his muscles immediately. Still, he persevered.

Orange flame sparked in his hand, and when he touched the sword-hilt, the entire blade erupted in a blaze. Wrenching his eyes opened, Tara raised the blade away from his lap so it wouldn’t burn his bed or his clothes. In the light cast by the fire, he could see Agrathan’s eyes wide with shock and fear.

Seconds later, the fire died. Tara tapped the blade twice to ensure it was cool, and then passed the sword hilt-first to his companion. The effort of raising the blade left his arms shaking. The ranger took the weapon seconds before Tara would have dropped it. “What… what did you do?”

Exhausted, Tara staggered forward and placed his hand over the ranger’s. “I enchanted your blade to light on fire whenever you tell it to.” He muttered another word. Four letters burned themselves into the steel: fete. “That is the dragonspeak word for fire. Whenever you speak it, your blade will burst into flames.” The mage stumbled back, collapsed on the bed, and motioned to the sword. “Go ahead, try it.”

Agrathan held the blade vertically, took a deep breath, and spoke.

“Fete.”

As with before, nothing happened at first. Then, fire sparked in the blade, and a roar erupted as the sword blazed. The ranger swung the weapon in a slow arc, watching in delight as the fire crackled and danced through the air. “How long will it last?” he asked without looking at his friend.

Tara was already crawling beneath the sheets. “I put enough energy in your blade for a hundred hours of flame. I’ll make you a crystal to recharge the blade tomorrow, but now… I’m tired.” The wizard rested his head on the plush pillows and closed his eyes.

“Are you alright?” the ranger asked, unconsciously banishing the flame.

“There’s something wrong with the magic here,” he said without opening his eyes. “That was a powerful spell in the first place, but… I’m not sure. Remind me to check tomorrow. I’m too tired, now.”

Agrathan raised an eyebrow and sheathed his blade. “Tara? What do you mean something’s wrong with the magic? Is my sword going to explode or something?”

The sorcerer didn't answer. He was already asleep.




Alixander Fey -> RE: The LoreMaster (12/18/2008 21:12:57)

Tara MageBorn woke after Agrathan for the first time in his extensive memory. The ranger had already taken breakfast in the other room and was waiting impatiently at the edge of the bed when the sorcerer first opened his eyes.

“What happened last night?” he asked with concern in his voice.

Tara rubbed sleep from his eyes and sat up. “Did I drink too much? Everything seems… fuzzy.”

“No, you enchanted my blade, remember? It was harder than you thought. You said something was wrong with the magic, and then you went to sleep.”

The ranger’s words sparked memories. “Right,” he said with a mental curse. “That’s it.” Pulling himself out of bed, he donned a robe and stepped into the parlor. “Has the LoreMaster come by yet?”

“Only to bring breakfast,” Agrathan explained as he joined his friend. “He left you some, but it might be cold now. You were out for a while.”

Tara nodded and slumped into a seat. Sliding the gruel across the table, he whispered a spell that brought the soup to a near boil. Then he ate in silence.

Agrathan wrinkled his brow when the mage cast his spell. “That didn’t seem too hard,” he said.

Tara took several spoonfuls of soup before he answered. “Warming a bowl of food and casting a fireball that will burn for one hundred hours are two different things. Besides, I was testing the magic.”

“Oh,” the ranger said. “Is it better now?”

The sorcerer shrugged. “I didn’t feel anything wrong,” he said. “I’ll look again when I’ve eaten.”

His companion took a seat beside him. “So what could be wrong? Can magic get sick?”

“No!” Tara said with a laugh. “No, I don’t think magic can be sick. The easiest way to explain it… the spirits were rebellious. They didn’t want to do what I told them.”

Not understanding, Agrathan cocked his head to one side. “That’s understandable. When I’m dead, I don’t want to be turned into a fireball either.”

Gazing at him in wonder, Tara beat his head against the table. “Agrathan, you are hopeless. The dead—” then he stopped, and his face drained of blood. “The human dead don’t stay in this world,” he whispered. Leaving his meal, the sorcerer staggered into the other room. Gathering his robes, his books, and his staff, he joined Agrathan again. “I need to do some tests to see what’s wrong. Then I need to talk to the LoreMaster.”

Agrathan shrugged and motioned to a stack of books. “Don’t worry. I’m really looking forward to spending today studying elvish fighting techniques.”

Knowing his friend too well, Tara looked askance at him. “Seriously?”

The ranger laughed. “Yes. And then I’m going to sell my body to a dwarvish brothel.”

Tara shook his head and slipped out the parlor door with a chuckle.




Alixander Fey -> RE: The LoreMaster (12/18/2008 21:19:14)



Tara MageBorn sat alone in the main hall of the abbey. The LoreMaster was somewhere in the library, he was sure, but without the spells to open the golden door, he couldn’t find the man. Instead, he decided to perform his tests without permission.

“Tijn!”

The spell was simple enough. It drew the appropriate amount of strength and propelled him into the air instantly. He hovered for a moment before canceling the spell and dropping back to the floor.

Well, no problem there. Focusing the magic around his body, he chanted a short incantation and summoned a visible bubble of jade energy. The shield radiated power and strength. Again, Tara had no difficulty summoning the spirits or bending them to his will.

Worry edged its way into his thoughts. He was running out of options. I summoned fire last night, yes? Perhaps the fire spirits here are the problem.

“Fete!”

A fireball shot from his outstretched hand and exploded against the stone wall. Again, the spell barely drained his strength and the spirits answered his call instantly.

“Did my wall do something to anger you?”

Tara whirled around, raising his staff on instinct before he saw the LoreMaster by the golden door. Lowering the staff, he bowed. “My apologies, master librarian. I was… stretching my senses.”

Keeping his eyes fixed on the wizard, the man descended the stairs and joined him in the hall. “A thirty-first tier sorcerer stretching by throwing a fireball? Shouldn’t you be harvesting energy from an ocean by now?”

Tara shuddered. Sorcery was the art of drawing magic from anything other than dragon spirits. The most powerful of the magic forms, it also brought the most temptation. It was true that he could drain elemental energy straight from water—but it was also true that he could poison the water, or even evaporate it completely, by drawing too much energy. History spoke of more than one sorcerer who could not resist the allure of power and drained entire lands before someone stopped them. “I… usually avoid working sorcery flippantly,” he said. “I don’t take energy from anything unless I need to.”

“Of course,” the LoreMaster said as he extended a hand. “I have never met a sorcerer before, although I have read the works of many.”

Unsure of what to do, Tara clasped the man’s hand. The LoreMaster turned and pulled him towards the mural-filled wall between the staircases. When they reached the wall, he raised a hand and caressed it, almost like petting a cat. The wall rippled, then faded from existence to reveal another staircase. As soon as the LoreMaster and his charge passed through, the wall returned.

“You seem to know a great deal of enchantments yourself,” Tara said, impressed.

The LoreMaster shrugged and started down the staircase without motion for the sorcerer to follow. “You can only read about magic for so long before curiosity forces you to try it for yourself. But I was saying that I’ve never met a sorcerer before. How is it different than normal magic?”

Tara narrowed his eyes. “I… You know the facts, so I assume you’re asking for experience. It’s dangerous. Sometimes it scares me what I can do.” He followed the librarian down the stairs, his cape billowing behind him and his staff clicking against the steps. “I once served as the Master of Passing for my house. I couldn’t… couldn’t stand it. I quit.”

The LoreMaster stopped and spun around. His eyes burned brighter than Tara remembered. He wondered absently if the librarian could control them actively. “The Master of Passing? I don’t understand.”

The sorcerer shuddered and banished the terrorizing memories. “I was… The Master of Passing is a sorcerer who works closely with the healers. When... when a patient is too far gone to help, he… draws their spirit and sends it to the next world.”

The librarians face was passive, as always, but he seemed disturbed as he turned and continued down the stairs. “Something like putting down a dying horse? An act of mercy?”

Tara nodded even though he stood behind the other man. “Yes, but for the sorcerer, it is terrorizing. To hold a human spirit in your hands… to feel it’s power… I couldn’t stand the temptation. I was afraid that one day I would take a spirit by force.”

The LoreMaster nodded without looking back. “I can understand that.” The reached the bottom of the stairs, where another golden door waited for them. Before beginning the ritual of opening, he turned one more time. “So are you experienced in dealing with the dead?”

Blood drained from Tara’s face. He was glad his hood hid his emotions. He’s a librarian, the sorcerer reminded himself. He’s just curious. Just curious. “I… Yes, I suppose I am. Although I don’t like it one bit.”

The LoreMaster smiled, nodded, then turned and pushed the door open—apparently this door was unprotected. Then he led Tara into a dark room. As soon as they entered, Tara knew it was the bottom level of the library. The whole floor was devoted to books, but he looked up and saw the second floor—four ledges around a hole—then another level, and another.

Turning with a flourish, the librarian indicated his library. “There are many volumes of magic here. I thought you’d appreciate a chance to study some… other fields of magic while I search for your Orbs of Power.”

Tara’s eyebrows rose in excitement. “I can—I didn’t think—I thought I wouldn’t be able to enter the library myself.”

The man smiled, but it was an empty, hollow expression offset by the suddenly baleful gleam in his eyes. “You are a powerful and wise sorcerer. I trust you to understand the true meaning of knowledge. I know you will respect my library. Speaking of which—please, no magic here. Some of these books are so old that any shift in the energy of this place would destroy them.”

Tara’s excitement fell. No magic? He comes to me when I’m investigating an anomaly in the spirits, and takes me to a place where magic is forbidden? He tightened his grip on his staff, then stopped. No, you fool. You’re over thinking things. Just be thankful for a chance to study the books. Finally, he bowed. “Thank you, LoreMaster. I shall respect your treasure as if it were my own life. But while you mention magic…” he paused, unsure of how far he could push. “Have you ever noticed anything unusual about the magic in this place? Last night, I had a difficult time bending the spirits to my will. They were almost… rebellious.”

Emotion swept across the LoreMaster’s face—Tara thought it was pain—but it left as soon as it came. “No, I haven’t. But I’m not nearly as advanced in that field as you. I’ll be on the lookout though, for rebellious spirits.” Laughing pleasantly, the LoreMaster brushed past him and bounded up the stairs.

Tara shivered as the doors swung closed behind the librarian.




Alixander Fey -> RE: The LoreMaster (12/23/2008 16:32:55)



“Where were you all day?” Agrathan asked when the sorcerer return to their room.

Tara ignored him, closing the door and searching for magical enchantments before he answered. “Alright, you were right,” he said when he was sure they were alone. “You were absolutely right.”

Shifting past the ranger, he discarded his cloaks and his staff and disappeared into the bedroom.

“Right about what?” Agrathan asked as he followed the mage.

“About the LoreMaster. Something here is wrong. He knows… I think he knows about the problem in the magic. And he doesn’t want me to know.” Dropping onto a chair, Tara flipped through one of his sorcery books.

“Why do you say that?” the ranger asked as he joined his friend at the table.

“I went into the main hall to test the spirits, to see if there was anything wrong. I had a theory, but I wanted to disprove everything else before I tested it. Well, just before I was satisfied, the LoreMaster came and took me to the library. He told me I could read whatever I wanted, but get this—I couldn’t use magic. He said something about how disrupting energy would destroy some of the oldest tomes.”

Agrathan frowned. “Is that really true?”

Tara stopped flipping through his book. “Yes, but that’s beside the point. Don’t you see? He stopped me from testing the magic! And when I asked him about it, he reacted—you know how his face almost never moves? It moved. I don’t know what he was thinking, but he was thinking something.” Tossing the book across the room, he slumped lower into the chair.

“So do you know what’s wrong with the magic?”

The mage sighed and pressed his head against the wood of the tabletop. “Yes. And so does he. But I’m afraid to prove it.”

“Well, what is it?” the ranger demanded as he beat his fist against the table. “What on Aduil is going on?”

Tara raised his head slowly, eyes bleary. “I… I want to be wrong. Let me… let me test one more thing. What time is it?”

“The daystar set three hours ago,” he replied with a shrug.

Closing his eyes, Tara sighed. “Alright. Let me… I’m going to try something.” Standing, he retrieved his staff and a small pouch from his robe. Then he moved to the other side of the room and snatched the wash basin from its place. Dropping the bowl on the table, he emptied the contents of the pouch into the water. “I need to cast a spell strong enough to push me. I’m going to try and look inside his office.”

The ranger cocked his head to one side. “Why?”

“Getting past the enchantments will be… difficult,” Tara explained. “It will push me.”

Before Agrathan could say “Oh,” the sorcerer touched his staff to the water and chanted the trigger-words to a long spell. He opened himself to the spirits around him, drawing them to him and subjugating them to his will. As with before, some of the spirits resisted him. They were wild and untamed—and all too familiar. Tara shuddered. His theory was proven, but having already spoken the words, he went ahead with his spell anyway. Fighting with the slippery, rebellious spirits, he forced them to serve his purpose. The water rippled until it mirrored the room he had seen earlier: the octagonal office filled with bookshelves that lead to the middle level of the library. The LoreMaster sat at his desk, scribbling something ferociously.

“What is he writing?” Agrathan asked. His sudden words broke Tara’s hold on the rogue spirits, and the spell dissipated.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Tara said as he collapsed in his chair. “It doesn’t matter at any rate. I’ve figured out what’s wrong.”

Agrathan perked and leaned forward. “What is it?”

“I think… I think some of the spirits in the air might be human.”




Alixander Fey -> RE: The LoreMaster (12/23/2008 16:38:34)

“It’s really not that uncommon,” the sorcerer explained. “When ever a man is wronged in his death, his spirit stays on Aduil until he can forgive the wrong, fix the situation, or exact his revenge. For instance, let us say the man is wrongly convicted of murder. His spirit would stay and fight to bring incriminating evidence before the judge—evidence that would clear his name.”

Agrathan shook his head. “But how much can a dead spirit do?”

“Oh, more than you know. Spirits—yes, souls—are the essence of magic. They can affect the world easily. The more they knew about magic in their lives, the more they can affect our world in their deaths.” Standing, Tara gathered his cloaks and robes.

“So… why are they messing up magic?” The ranger joined his companion, belting his sword and his jerkins, although he didn’t know.

The sorcerer sighed. “Dragon spirits have been used for magic thousands upon thousands of times. They are submissive and willing to be used—and they are cursed by the Gods, as well. They have to obey. But humans… they don’t have to. Using a human spirit requires… subjugating that spirit. It takes a great deal of energy, but the wild spirits are more volatile, and therefore more powerful.” Draping the robes and cloaks around his body, the green-eyed sorcerer marched from the room with the ranger in tow.

“Sometimes…” he whispered, “Sometimes, sorcerers harvest the souls of humans for their magic on purpose. They can even… take a human soul from his body.”

Agrathan started behind him. “Like you did when you were the Master of Passing… that’s why you quit? You seemed… frightened.”

“Yes,” he said with a nod. “I was frightened then, and I am frightened now. Like I said, it’s not uncommon for a human spirit to roam the earth. Mages and wizards don’t have the strength to draw on them—that’s where the name wild spirits comes in, because they don’t understand them. But… this is wrong. There are too many spirits here. On a normal day, I might use a human spirit and never realize it. But it’s almost…. Almost like the wild spirits outnumber the dragon ones.” Slipping out the door, Tara made his way to the main hall.

When they arrived, the sorcerer pushed a few chairs aside and began tracing invisible symbols in the ground with his staff. Agrathan watched in silence, worried but unsure of what to do.

Tara continued his tracing until he drew an entire circle. Then, he stepped into the circle and summoned Agrathan. “One of the first spells mages learn is called spiritsight. It lets us see the dragon spirits in the air, and it helps the amateurs cast their first spells. It has other applications—among those, seeing and talking to the dead. If there are human spirits here, I will see them when I cast the spell. As soon as I can see them, they will know. The might attack me.”

The warrior balked. “So why I am stepping in your circle?”

Tara’s voice was strained with panic as he answered. “Because it will protect you. Now, you have a choice. Would you like to stay ignorant of the evils of tormented souls, and possibly not see your murderer, or would you like to see them? It will be the most terrifying thing imaginable, but at least you might defend yourself.”

Sighing, Agrathan stepped into the circle. “I’ll stay ignorant and let you fight the ghosts, how about that?”

“That’s your choice,” Tara said. As soon as the ranger entered the circle, it began to glow with unearthly light. The sorcerer closed his eyes and leaned heavily on his staff, whispering spells of defense before he gifted himself with the spiritsight.

Nothing changed for Agrathan, but to Tara, the world morphed. The physical things of the room—the chairs, walls, tables, and tapestries—wavered in thin grey hues, almost like wisps of smoke. More clear were the spirits, hundreds of spirits that infested the LoreMaster’s abbey. He saw the dragon spirits first, due to their size.

Massive drakes of pure energy, they flew and danced in circles around the sorcerer. He noted green spirits, red, blue, grey—even black and white. Dragon spirits of every kind flitted around him, pleased to see someone of so much power. Every mage had seen enough dragon spirits to know they were harmless, even docile, when not under the command of a magician. More frightening were the souls of humans.

“Wild spirits” was a perfect description. The man-shaped wraiths that swarmed around him resembled banshees rather than humans. They screeched and clawed and spat at him, their hatred manifesting in berserker rage.

For the first time in years, Tara intentionally touched the spirits with his magic. They could not harm him while he stood within his defensive circle, but he needed more than safety—he needed answers. He grasped one of the spirits firmly in his mind, using his sorcery to draw it closer. The ghost wailed unintelligibly.

“Why are you here?”

The wraith lashed at him with its claws, baring twisted, mangled teeth. Tara repeated his question, putting more pressure on the ghost.

“Why are you here?”

With a jerk, the spirit fought him. Tara drew it closer, crushing it with his mind’s grip to cause pain. The specter shrieked, but the sorcerer’s strength won in the end. The spirit could not speak, but it could offer its memories.

Pictures and flashes of emotion flashed through Tara’s mind. Instead of an explanation of the ghost’s presence in this place, he was shown the story of the man’s life. He had been working on his family well when a rope snapped, plunging him to his death in the water’s below. His wife, fearing that she had failed to tie a proper not, blamed herself. As a spirit, this man knew that the rope had been worn away by a strip of metal jutting from the stone wall.

Once the story was done, a wave of pure, unbridled desire swept over Tara, and he understood the spirit’s purpose. He wanted nothing more than the power to tell his wife it wasn’t her fault. He wanted her to be happy until they could be reunited again in death.

Tara staggered beneath the weight of the spirit’s feelings. His sudden love for this woman—Marisa was her name—almost overwhelmed him. He knew more than one sorcerer who had helped a spirit by relaying a message from beyond—No! He shouldn’t have thought that! As close as his mind and the specter’s were, the soul could sense his thoughts. Now it was begging him, pleading with him, to bring word to his wife. How hard would it be? He needed to travel to ArborVale and speak with her for less than five minutes. It would be so easy, and it would ease her sufferings so much. In love for the wonderful woman who had given so many years of his life to him, Tara stepped forward, ready to run into the arms of his wife and tell her it wasn’t her fault.

“Tara?” A strong hand gripped his arm, holding him here. Why would anyone keep him from his love? The sorcerer raised a hand to blast the man away from him—

And returned to himself. Releasing his hold on the spirit, Tara dropped into a heap in the middle of his defensive circle. His muscled refused to move, even though Agrathan stood over him, nearly panicked. The ranger shook him and called his name, asking whether it was safe to take him out of the circle. When Tara gave no answer, the ranger hoisted him onto his shoulder, summoned fire to his sword, and sprinted through the hall, screaming and daring any spirit to challenge him.

Tara’s last thought before he slipped into unconsciousness was that the ranger looked ridiculous. Of course the spirits wouldn’t hurt him…




Alixander Fey -> RE: The LoreMaster (12/24/2008 18:18:19)

Tara? Are you awake?” A dark form hovered over him, face creased in worry. The sorcerer opened his eyes slowly, wincing as memories retuned to him.

“That’s the second time I’ve just about passed out on you,” he groaned.

“Just about?” the ranger asked, his voice too loud. “You were completely out! I had to carry out of there. What happened?”

Groggily, Tara sat up in his bed. “I… I spoke with one of the spirits, but I let him get too close. I… he started controlling me, instead of the other way around.”

Agrathan’s eyes widened in shock. “Is that possible?” The sorcerer understood his surprise. He was the most powerful wizard the ranger knew. If a spirit could control him, it must have seemed terribly frightening.

“Only because I let it,” Tara admitted. “I’m… you know how afraid I am of the darker side of my art. It’s why I laid down the prestige of being Master of Passing. I… could have subjugated him, but I was afraid to control the spirit. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

“I hope there’s never an again,” Agrathan said as he helped his friend stand. “I couldn’t even see the spirits, and they were terrifying. Did you figure out why they are here, at least?”

Tara stumbled to the table and sat down. “I did, I think. The one I spoke to was… wronged, in a way. He wanted to tell his wife it wasn’t her fault he died.”

Agrathan brought Tara his robe, staff, and books. “Did his wife live here? What drew him to this library?”

“I don’t know,” he said as he shook his head. “I’m guessing… I’m guessing he thought someone here could help him. The LoreMaster, maybe?”

Agrathan shrugged and sat down. “Well, don’t ask me! I don’t know. You’re the magic expert. Could he help them?”

The sorcerer narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know the extent of his power. It’s possible he could be a sorcerer—some of our kind act like intercessors for the dead. But he told me… Oh, by the Gods!”

“What?”

“He asked me a lot about my powers as a sorcerer. He was… he was very interested in my ability to speak to the dead. He even asked… he asked me if I was experienced in dealing with the dead. I had forgotten about that.” Standing, Tara gathered his things from the table and dressed.

Agrathan watched his friend with concern. “What are you doing? Don’t you think you should rest a bit before going out again?”

Tara ignored him. “It’s morning, right?” The ranger nodded. “Good, the spirits are most active at night. Now, I have a few hours where the magic is unaffected by them. We have a few hours to find out why they are here.” With Agrathan at his side, Tara marched to the main hallway. Ascending the stairs, they faced the embossed golden door.

Tara clapped his staff against the ground and spoke the words of magic, summoning a glowing green strength into his hands. Raising them palms-forward, he spoke the words of a dozen opening spells. None of them were strong enough to break the wizard-locks on the door, but each of them weakened it. Curse this! I don’t know any more opening spells. What did he do to this door?

Agrathan laughed from behind him. “So speaking doesn’t work as well as you thought?”

Tara cursed at the ignorant ranger under his breath. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Yeah, push it.” He moved forward, but before he could reach the door, Tara summoned a new wave of strength.

“Yyr!”

Pushing the door like he would a rock, the sorcerer forced it open with a resounded crack. “Good idea,” he said as he strode into the room. The LoreMaster’s office was empty save for books and the two doors. Tara’s first reaction was to check the second door, the one that didn’t lead into the library. The spell-locks there were more potent than the last set, so he left the door and examined the shelves.

“I think these are the books he’s reading now,” he announced after a few minutes of examination. “Maybe he brings them in here and moves them back into the library when he’s done.” Scanning the books on the shelf, he came to a set whose titles interested him: Necromancy in the Ancient World, The Dead Speak, and The Case for Laying the Dead to Rest. The sorcerer stepped back in surprise. What in the God’s name? These books… they would be burned in a modern library. “Agrathan, come look at his.”

“No,” the ranger replied. “You come look at this.” The ranger stood behind the man’s desk, pointing to one of three open books there. “I think he’s writing this book himself.”

Tara joined the ranger and examined the tome. The ink was recent enough that he could still smell it. “I think you might be right,” he agreed. Bending down, he read the neat scrawl.

Why do ugly wizards exist?

I have a great deal of free time. Because I read so often, my mind is always active. One day, I asked myself that question. I don’t remember what started me along that path, but I could veer from it until I found my answer.

And that answer changed my life. Let me tell you my story.

I am a priest. My order believes in the sanctity of all knowledge, and so we preserve books in a great library on the edge of the Endless Sands. When I was thirty years old, I was elected LoreMaster of this library. I spent my days organizing books, cleaning shelves, and keeping records.

When you are as curious as I am, organizing, cleaning, and recording are difficult with so many books nearby. As you would expect, I soon began to read voraciously. History, alchemy, and philosophy were all interesting, but none of them captured me like magic.

As a priest, I had a rudimentary knowledge of magic. I knew enough that when I read I could teach myself the spells within. Soon, I set to learning as much magic as I could. I’m not an evil man: I never wanted to conquer the world, plunder a town, or summon black dragons. Nor am I good: I never wanted to save the world, defend those poor towns, or battle the dragons. I had no purpose in learning my magic, aside from learning my magic.

I was obsessed with knowledge for knowledge’s sake. Power for power’s sake. I recognize that, and I accept it as who I am—

Something clicked on the other side of one of the doors. Tara and Agrathan looked up, at the door, and then at each other. As one, they bolted from the room. The sorcerer flung the doors closed behind them as they sprinted back to their own room.

Only when they were safely behind closed doors did they stop to breathe or think about what they had read. Neither wanted to discuss it.

As they crawled into bed, Agrathan spoke in a soft, shaky voice. “See?” he asked. “I told you so. That book said he was thirty when he became the LoreMaster. And I’ll be a queer elf-maid if he’s a day over twenty-five.”

Tara nodded in agreement and slipped under his sheets. “And he didn’t start learning magic until some time after he became LoreMaster. I… you’re right, of course.”

The sat in silence for several minutes, afraid that the LoreMaster might come looking for them.

“We have to go back as soon as we can,” Agrathan whispered. “We have to find out what else is in that book.”

Tara nodded his agreement again. Then they slept.




Alixander Fey -> RE: The LoreMaster (12/26/2008 17:05:21)

Tara and Agrathan met the LoreMaster in the main hall early the next morning. He had with him three small stacks of books. “Good morning” he called when they came. His pleasantness unnerved Tara, who was accustomed to impassioned glances and cryptic questions. “I haven’t found any of the books yet, but I’m positive I’ll get my hands on at least one today. In the mean time, I brought these.” He dropped one of the stacks. “Those are books on advanced sorcery. You might find them interesting.” The second stack fell beside the first. “And those are a set of books by an elf ranger. They speak much of your craft, Agrathan, and I think you will enjoy them.” The ranger rolled his eyes where only Tara could see. “And these,” he said, indicating the third stack, “are books of history. I’ve marked a few chapters in each of them—they detail a series of wars against the alleged creators of the Orbs of Power.”

Tara took the first and the third stack while Agrathan took the third. “Thank you, LoreMaster. I’ll enjoy looking over these books. And I’m sure Agrathan is glad for your help as well.”

The librarian laughed and bowed. “Always at your service,” he said. Turning around, he ascended the stairs—until Tara called after him.

“How do you do it?”

The LoreMaster turned slowly, the false joy gone from his expression. “Do what?”

“Use magic with so many wild spirits in this place? Since you’re not a sorcerer, I don’t see how you can stand to fight the human souls. Isn’t it hard to cast spells?”

The ember eyes flared, like their fire had been stoked by Tara’s challenge. “I don’t have to cast many spells,” he droned, emotionless once again. “It’s not that hard. It’s all I’ve ever known, to be honest.”

With that, he left. Tara paid more attention when the LoreMaster uses his spell of opening. Positive he could reproduce it, the sorcerer took his books and retreated to his room.



Alixander Fey -> RE: The LoreMaster (12/26/2008 17:13:17)

“Why exactly did you do that?” Agrathan asked when they were alone.

“Because something new is wrong. The spirits are disturbed today. I think he might be doing something.” Dropping the useless stack of books on the table, he cast a spell that sent the washbasin floating to his hand. “I’m going to see what’s going on.”

As Tara prepared the spell, Agrathan dropped his books as well. “Wait, he’s doing something to stir up the spirits? Is he a necromancer?”

“Or a sorcerer,” Tara answered. “Or both. They are closely tied skills.” Touching the crystal of his staff to the water, he cast his spell and quickly overpowered the magical wards keeping him out of the LoreMaster’s office. The water rippled again and showed them a perfect representation of the ember-eyed librarian. He sat at his desk, mumbling a few spells and waiting for something.

“What’s he doing?” the ranger asked. “Is he summoning one of the spirits?”

Tara leaned closer to see. “Look, he’s not using a warding circle. I think he might be preparing a few defenses. Maybe the spirit is coming to him, not the other way around.”

“Is that possible?” Agrathan stepped away, unsure if he wanted to see what would happen next.

Tara clasped a reassuring hand on his friends shoulder. “Very possible. If these things think he can help them, then they would manifest themselves to him as best they can. And don’t worry—I don’t think we’ll actually be able to see the spirit.”

The ranger still trembled, but he leaned forward to see. “How did you know something was going on, again?”

Tara sighed as the LoreMaster finished his last few incantations. “There is a pall over the spirits today. There are more wild spirits than there were the other night—and that was at night. Something important is going to happen. We need to find out what’s going on.”

Before Agrathan could reply, the LoreMaster’s office darkened several shades. Papers shuffled as if a gust of wind blew them aside.

“You have heard seven pleas already today. Why do you refuse to help them?”

The LoreMaster looked visibly shaken. He tensed, then dropped his hands and clenched them into fists. “Because it would be wrong,” he said with more passion than Tara had ever heard from him. “It would be an abuse of my power.”

“There is nothing wrong about it. You have discovered an alternative; a new way, a fresh hope. You are the only one who can help us.”

The voice was fell, like a bleak wind on a cursed night. It wheezed more than spoke, a whisper that chilled Tara’s heart.

“I…” The LoreMaster stammered for a second, searching for words. “No. I can’t… it would take so much power…”

“I have already solved your need for power!”

The strength of the voice launched books and papers through the air, and even Tara and Agrathan felt a physical pressure forcing them back.

“What more do you need? I have given you all the power you want! I continue to help you by sending you the books you must read to free them.”

Pain flashed across the LoreMaster’s face. “The books you send me are wicked! They are written by demons and necromancers and evil men!”

The voice paused, and Tara could feel its displeasure.

“There is another who could help us. A sorcerer of great power. Perhaps he would be more willing. Perhaps I should send my knowledge to him.”

“No!” The LoreMaster was on his feet, fists raised. “No! You need my power! Only I can help you!” Realizing his mistake, he staggered backwards.

“I see your problem. You will not help these people because there is nothing in it for you. Very well, I shall strike you another deal. If you free these people, I can give you a library three times the size of what you see here. All those books… all that knowledge… yours, forever.”

The LoreMaster dipped his head and sighed. “I… I want to help them. I want to. But I cannot make my heart believe that it is the right thing to do.” Pushing his chair away, he strode across the room and through the library door. “I need to think. Come back tomorrow and you will have your answer.”

“Very well. My companions shall continue their work, and they shall continue to bring their petitions before you.”

The LoreMaster never replied. He had already shut the door.

Agrathan and Tara exchanged nervous glances. Neither of them spoke until after the sorcerer had lowered his spell.

“What was that thing?” the ranger asked with panic evident in his voice.

Tara shook his head and gathered his robes. “Dead, that’s all I know. Very power, and manipulative. Notice how he never asked the LoreMaster to help him, just others. Obviously, he is pushing the dead to ask the LoreMaster for redemption. And he wants… he wants the LoreMaster to do something.”

Tara glided out the door, dragging Agrathan behind him. “But I don’t understand,” the ranger said. “Does he want the LoreMaster to raise them? He mentioned necromancy…”

Without looking back, Tara shook his head. “It must be something else. The voice spoke of a new way, and the LoreMaster said I couldn’t do it. He said the voice needed his powers.”

Agrathan stopped, yanking back on Tara’s cloak. “Wait. You can’t do it, right? I mean, raise the dead?”

The sorcerer shivered and turned away. “Necromancy and sorcery are more closely related than you might think. Most… most Masters of Passing become necromancers before too long.”

Agrathan stood still, enraged, while Tara marched on. The sorcerer uttered a silent curse, hoping he had not just broken his friendship with the faithful ranger. He hated his own darkness enough already; admitting it to others was something he never did. The dark whispers of temptation that spoke to him were his personal demons, no one else’s. But… Agrathan had a right to know. If the LoreMaster wanted to raise an undead army, or do something else… perverse… the ranger needed to know what they were fighting.

Tara had the golden door open by the time Agrathan caught up to him again. The ranger said nothing, but he followed the sorcerer into the room.

Agreeing silently, they both moved towards the open book on the desk. If the LoreMaster’s power was unique enough that the voice needed him, perhaps he would explain them in his memoirs.

Tara took the seat while the ranger stood behind him.

I was obsessed with knowledge for knowledge’s sake. Power for power’s sake. I recognize that, and I accept it as who I am.

I served as the LoreMaster for many years. When I reached the age of eighty, something terrible dawned upon me.

I would die before I could read all my books.

I cannot in pen tell you…[/i\

“That’s impossible,” Tara said in frustration. He beat his fist on the desk and looked at the other two books on the table. “He must be copying something. Maybe there is a history of previous LoreMasters? Maybe he’s just writing fiction…”

Agrathan shook his head. “I don’t think so. There’s nothing here, and this ink is fresh. So unless he’s copying it down from memory these are his own words.”

They returned to reading.

I cannot in pen tell you what my books mean to me. It is not the magic or the power. It is the knowledge. It is the books. It’s the way I was raised.

I searched for a way to keep my books. I found spells that would bind my spirit to the library, giving me all of eternity to read—but I had no way to break the spell once I had finished reading. I would be trapped forever, even after I wanted to move on.

Then I came to that first question I asked you. Ugly wizards need not exist–any wizard with a measure of power could make himself beautiful. I became obsessed with the idea of changing the body. I even studied necromancy, although I never mustered the courage to use a single black spell. But somehow, I told myself I could become a lich. I would find a way.

The answer came when one of our priests fell from one of the top levels of the library. A bookcase corner pierced his side, opening it wide and spilling blood everywhere. I could not heal the wound. I had neither the strength nor the anatomical knowledge to heal the wound correctly.

In desperation, I acted.

Tara turned the next page, only to find it blank. “Three Gods,” he cursed. “He hasn’t finished writing.”

Agrathan closed the book. “Do you need to here more? He’s a necromancer! That explains his age and his eyes. He’s a lich.” The ranger drew his blade. “We have to kill him before he raises an undead army. That must be what the voice wants him to do.”

Tara raised a hand to stay his friend. “Wait. We can’t act yet. We don’t even know what he discovered. We have no idea how much power he has!”

“But we have—” Agrathan pumped his fist, accidentally knocking one of the books from the desk. He bent down to pick it up on instinct—and froze. “Tara? Isn’t this one of those… those things?”

“What in the Gods’ name are you talking about?” The sorcerer took the book from the ranger’s hands and examined it—and came to the same conclusion. The page had been inscribed with a diagram of an orb made by thousands of multifaceted crystals. Flipping the book over, he examined the name on the binding: The Orbs of Power.

“Well,” the sorcerer said, “he found one of the books. I wonder why he’s keeping this one from us.” Tara set the book down and looked towards the locked door, the one door he had never entered. “We should leave. But this is very interesting…”

As they turned to leave, Agrathan gasped and raised his sword. “What in dragon’s bane is that?”

An old, musty tome hovered in the air, inching towards the desk. Agrathan shivered as the book passed him. When it reached the desk, the book set itself down and opened to a page in the middle.

Tara whispered the spell of spiritsight, opening his eyes to the spirit world. As he suspected, two wraiths retreated from the desk slowly. When they felt his eyes on them, they turned. Tara made no move to threaten them. After a few tense seconds, they moved on, passing through the door and into the locked chamber.

Ending the spell, Tara nodded to his companion. “We need to leave, now.”

“How was the book floating?” the ranger asked as they retreated again to their room.

“A pair of wraiths carried it. Didn’t the voice say it had brought the LoreMaster power? He’s sending him books of magic, probably the books that he—whoever he is—wants the LoreMaster to learn.”

When Tara closed the door, Agrathan sheathed his sword. “Where did they go? The spirits.”

The sorcerer turned and clicked his staff against the ground. “Into the locked room. I need to get in there. Today has been very interesting indeed.”



Alixander Fey -> RE: The LoreMaster (12/29/2008 23:03:17)

When they returned to their room, Tara cast another divining spell. They found the LoreMaster’s office empty, so he left the spell active and sat down to read. Agrathan couldn’t stand waiting quietly: he paced back and forth in front of the sorcerer, swinging his sword and occasionally casting the enchantment.

Tara looked up from his book. “You know, if you don’t stop, you’ll run the fire spell right out of the blade. I don’t really feel like re-casting that spell.”

Agrathan pantomimed throwing the sword at Tara; the mage countered by launching the blade across the room with magic. The ranger cursed and stormed over to retrieve his sword. All Tara could make out was “thrice-cursed lich-hugging magicker swine.” He didn’t want to hear the rest.
When he returned with his blade, he sheathed it. “Our friend is back.”

Tara dropped his book and gave his full attention to the scrying pool. “It seems he is.” The LoreMaster sat at his desk with his head in his hands. “He looks… drained.”

Agrathan propped one foot on the chair and leaned his elbow against his knee. “Tara… have you thought that… that maybe he’s not the bad guy? What if he really doesn’t want to do what the voice is asking. Maybe… maybe we can help him.”

The sorcerer raised a glowing emerald eye and leaned back in his chair. “Weren’t you the one decrying him as a lich just minutes ago?”

The ranger shrugged. “Like you pointed out, we don’t really know what his power is. The voice said… he made it sound like it was new and unique. Maybe it’s not necromancy. We have to figure out what he can do before we know if he’s evil or not. What do you want us to do, waltz up and ask him how he plans to serve the voice that talks to him while he’s alone in his chamber?”

“Okay, good point.” The ranger focused again on the pool. “Wait, he’s writing again.” The LoreMaster scrawled in his book, finishing two pages in less than eight minutes. Tara tried to discern what he was writing, but his script was too fluid and the patterns too complex. When he finished the second page, he sat back, somewhat pleased. Then, the LoreMaster saw the fourth book. He said something indiscernible and opened the tome.

“What does the book say?” Agrathan asked.

“I can’t tell,” the sorcerer admitted. “But it’s the book those wild spirits brought him.”

“So… the voice wants him to read it. Right?”

“I think so.”

Tara and Agrathan watched the LoreMaster read for nearly two hours. Periodically, he would say something and slam his fist against the desk. Something about the book irritated him. Eventually, he set the book aside and began to stretch. The room darkened, and the voice returned.

“You have seen my newest gift?”

The LoreMaster shook his head. “I told you to come back tomorrow.”

Tara and Agrathan exchanged glances. Obviously, the voice and LoreMaster were not on good terms. Silence reigned for a few seconds.

”You have seen my newest gift?”

The LoreMaster sighed. “Yes, I’ve read your thrice-cursed book. It doesn’t help your cause.”

The shadows deepened, and a strong wind rocked the foundations of the bookshelf. The LoreMaster didn’t flinch. He bowed his head and whispered spells of warding.

“That was a rare and powerful book. Why are you not pleased?”

“Those spells… they must have been written by the ancient dragons. They are impossible. I can barely read the draconic words!”

Tara raised his eyebrows. He had only seen two spell books in his life whose words he could not read.

“You? The great LoreMaster is too weak to read my book? That should tell you how much power I can give you. I can give you the world, LoreMaster. I can give you all the knowledge of the Gods.”

The librarian shook his head and looked away. “Or those spells don’t exists, and you’re just leading me on.”

“Then let me show you something else. So far, I have only given you books. Words. useless knowledge. Let me give you power.”

Something changed. Tara couldn’t tell what—but something moved across the office. His only guess was wild spirits—if they moved in mass they could look like a blur in the flesh world.

Suddenly, the LoreMaster dropped to the floor. He placed his hands over his ears and screamed, writhing in pain. Tara stood, ready to run to the man’s aid. But before he could move to the door, the screaming stopped.

The LoreMaster stood to his feet, gazing down at his hands. Arcane energy had wrapped them in a glowing sheen, and they pulsed with power. “What… what is this?”

“Consider it a test of the power you have been harvesting. I have allowed you to touch it, just to show you how far you have come, how close you are. You have the power to help so many. Will you do it?”

The librarian pressed his hands to his face, trembling at the power moving through his body. With a quiver in his voice, he spoke. “I… I will do it. I can help these people. I will help them.”

The room brightened as the voice disappeared. Apparently, the LoreMaster needed no further direction. He moved to the second door, the one whose lock Tara hadn’t even tried to break. Waving his hands and mumbling a single word, he opened the portal. Tara released the scrying spell and summoned his staff. Agrathan drew his sword.

As they sprinted out the door and into main hall, Agrathan asked: “What exactly are we going to do? Can we even fight those wraiths? Are they even the real threat?”

Tara thrust his staff forward and blew the door from its hinges with a burst of magical strength. Agrathan lit his sword and leapt into the room, ready to fight anything that manifested itself. Tara laughed and moved to the locked door.

“Agrathan, put the glowing stick away. The spirits are gone already.”

The ranger lowered his blade. “Really?”

The sorcerer shrugged and cast the spell for spiritsight. A half dozen spirits appeared before him, but then disappeared just as quickly—through the locked door. “Well, it looks like the spirits are headed in the same direction we are. But they aren’t going to harm us now.” Raising his staff, the sorcerer spoke the words of magic and pushed against the door. “Oh, dragon’s bane. This is the strongest lock I’ve ever seen.”

Agrathan laughed and stood behind the sorcerer. “No, really, just talk to the door. It will open. I promise.”

Tara cursed under his breath. “Agrathan, would you like to make yourself useful?”

The ranger shrugged. “I could knock, sure.”

Tara’s staff flared with green energy, and the glow of his eyes dimmed as his power diverted elsewhere. “Go to the desk and read what the man wrote. With any luck, it’s the last part of the story. I’d like to know what I’m up against.”

Bounding across the room, Agrathan flipped back two pages and began reading out loud.

“In desperation, I acted.

“I couldn’t heal the priest, and I couldn’t let him die. Not in our holy place; not in the library. I had experimented very little with changing my body. I made one of my fingers three inches longer, to see what I could do. When I finished the experiment, I spoke a simple reverse spell: ‘Make my finger what it was.’

“I’m not sure why that spell was on my mind. Maybe it was a gift from the Gods. Placing both hands on my brother’s wound, I drew on all the magic I could handle. Then I spoke, ‘Make my brother what he was yesterday!”

“I didn’t actually heal him. Instead, I used magic to return him to his former state. At first, the priests praised my ingenuity and swore to write books on an entire new theory of healing; transmutation. But three days later, the leader of my order demanded that I never used the spell again.

“At the time, I didn’t see the repercussions of my spell. I had not healed the man. I had de-aged him. It took three days for me to make the connection.

“It took three years for me to gain the courage to use the spell on myself.

“On my first try, I pushed myself back one year. The spell I used was seven pages long: so amazingly complex I practiced it for three months. But, in essence, I returned my body to its state one year ago.”

“Three Gods!” Agrathan exclaimed. “Are you hearing this?”

Tara’s staff shook as he uttered another arcane phrase. “Keep reading, you worthless piece of…”

The ranger’s eyes widened. “How hard is that spell?”

The ground beneath the sorcerer’s feet shook, underscoring the white pallor of his face. “May I remind you what we are dealing with?”

“What are we dealing with?”

“You’re supposed to be reading and finding out!” Tara sent a burst of magic his way, but it missed and exploded against the bookshelf behind him.

“The spell left me unconscious for a week and a half. But when I woke, I knew that I was a new man. Although the magic had drained me, I could feel more vigor in my bones than I had known for, well, a year. To a reader, this is nothing. You would not think that a year could make such a great difference. But I felt it instantly.

“The spell needed work, I knew. I could not continue casting a spell that put me to sleep for weeks at a time. I made the decision to shorten the length of the spell’s effect.

“After three weeks of tweaking and preparation, I cast my second de-aging spell. I pushed my body back one month. The drain on my strength was enormous, but I stayed conscious. And in three days, I felt like a new man again.

“I continued the pattern for nearly seven years, pushing my body back one month every week. The process was slow, and I had to hide myself from my compatriots. They feared the change, of course. They were afraid of my new powers. They accused me of countless crimes, even necromancy.

“Why don’t they understand? All I am guilty of is healing! That is all I have done to my body! I have used no black magics, no necromancy. All I have done is healed myself—of age!

“After seven years, I had the body of a twenty-five-year-old man. I left my eyes unchanged on purpose, so that I would never forget from whence I came.

“As of the writing of this book, I am two hundred and thirty seven years old. Every day when I wake, I cast a spell on my body: “Make my body what it was yesterday.” Because I am only de-aging my body for a day, the drain on my strength is negligible.

“I have healed myself of aging. I have discovered immortality. I am the LoreMaster, and I can spend forever with my books.”

Agrathan looked up and closed the book. “Tara… is any of this true?”

The sorcerer had stopped his spellcasting. He stood with his back to the door, his staff trembling in his hands. “Two hundred and thirty five? Is that… possible?”

The door behind Tara trembled. “I… I don’t know. What are we going to do?”

Tara turned back to the door. “If he has that much power… we can’t let that voice control him. We have to stop the LoreMaster. I don’t care who he thinks he’s helping.” Raising the staff again, he drew it back like a spear, shouted one word, and plunged it into the door. With a flash of green power, the doors collapsed.

Agrathan leapt over the desk and drew his blade. “What was that? If you’ve had that kind of power the whole time…”

Tara dipped his head in shame, and his jade eyes closed. “I just broke an oath, Agrathan. An oath I took when I abandoned my post as the Master of Passing.” He looked up, barely breathing. “I used the soul of a human.”




Alixander Fey -> RE: The LoreMaster (12/30/2008 12:44:36)

“By the Gods of Aduil…” Agrathan sank to his knees, nearly expelling his breakfast at the sight before him. “And here I thought… he was a good man… maybe just delusional. This is sick. This is sick. What in Aduil’s gorge is going on here?”

Tara had honestly expected books. Rows and rows of books. But not this. He understood now why the LoreMaster kept this door so tightly locked.

This chamber held corpses. Rows and rows of corpses.

They were in various states of decomposition. Some looked alive, others rotten to the bone. They lay in orderly rows, as if waiting for something. Most were clothed. Some where armed. The magic in the air crawled with wrongness, the wrongness that was so familiar to Tara.

This room was circular, with a long hallway opposite the door. Something stirred in the darkness of the hallway: a corpse, floating slowly through the air.

“Tara, that looks an awful lot like the book did when it…”

Afraid to confirm his suspicions, the sorcerer gave himself spiritsight. Two wild spirits flanked the body, carrying it into the hall with their ethereal hands. When they reached an open space in the floor, they dropped the body.

Tara stumbled backwards. “By the Gods…” He had seen this before. He had seen this scene replicated a hundred times in his mind. House Vaden had been in countless wars during his time as the Master of Passing. The bodies of the wounded and dying were placed in massive tents. The healers would move down the line, checking to see if they could do anything to help. Most of the time their efforts were futile. Most of the time the Master of Passing had to come and relieve them of their suffering. Most of the time he had to murder them.

But that wasn’t what was happening here. The voice, whoever it was, had a more insidious than relieving dying men of their suffering. Besides, these humans were already dead.

Tara tore his attention from the bodies to the spirits in the air. Each of the berserker wraiths hovered over one body—he could only assume it was their own—waiting for something. He still did not understand what.

Suddenly, Agrathan ignited his blade and leapt forward. “Tara, look out!”

The sorcerer turned his attention to the hallway, where a dark form staggered from the shadows. “LoreMaster!” he called. “LoreMaster, we can help you! Don’t do this. We can stop the voice!”

The LoreMaster was not there. The figure stepped into the light, revealing the lithe, slight frame of a beautiful woman. Her body was perfect, a picture of feminine beauty, but her clothes were ragged and musty. The utter perverseness—beauty covered in rags—struck Tara as wrong.

Until he understood. Everything clicked. He understood why the bodies were here, why the woman was standing, why the voice had approached the LoreMaster, and why the LoreMaster had said he could not replace him.

If a corpse had been dead for six days, what would happen when the LoreMaster said, “Make this body what it was seven days ago”?

Before the woman could move closer, Tara summoned a ball of fire to his hand and hurled it forward. She exploded in a burst of flame, screaming as she died.

Agrathan nearly dropped his blade as he turned around. “Why on Aduil did you do that?”

Tara glared at the ranger with his jade eyes blazing. “She’s not real. No one here is real. They’re zombies, Agrathan. You were right. He’s raising the dead.”

As the sorcerer spoke, three more figures appeared in the darkness. They carried no weapons and made no threatening gestures, but he destroyed them just they same. They fell to a storm of lightning from his left hand.

Agrathan lowered his blade. “Tara, give them a chance. How do you know something’s wrong? They didn’t do anything to threaten us.”

Tara ignored the ranger and charged forward, summoning a ball of magic to his hand. The corridor stretched for yards, cramped walls making perfect ambush points. Another human appeared, this one staggering forward with an apelike gait.

“Alright, Tara. You’re right. That thing is wrong.” Raising his burning brand, the ranger slashed the zombie in two. The corpse burned as it fell to the ground.

“Power!” a voice cried. “I need more power! I can’t help these people without power!”

Tara recognized the voice as the LoreMaster’s and pushed forward. He and Agrathan reached the end of the hallway, spilling out into another dark chamber. Corpses lined the floor here, too.

The LoreMaster crouched over one of the bodies, talking to a spirit that only he and Tara could see. “How long?” he asked. The wraith responded, although Tara could not here his answer. The librarian closed his eyes tightly and summoned more white energy into his palms. Speaking the words to a spell that Tara refused to hear, he touched the corpses head. The body transformed, instantly morphing from a decaying skeleton into a forty-year-old man. The zombie sat up, glanced around, and coughed. Then he looked to the LoreMaster, who offered him a hand. As soon as the man reached his feet, Tara blasted him down with a ball of magic.

The LoreMaster whirled around, hands raised in defense. When he saw them, he crouched into a battle stance. “What are you doing? I am helping these spirits! I am healing them!”

Tara pushed himself in front of Agrathan, holding his staff in front of him. “LoreMaster, please. We know what you are. We’ve read your memoir. But you don’t have to do this. You can’t do this.”

The librarian stammered when he tried to speak. “You… you understand? You know how I work my magic? How I am immortal?”

The sorcerer nodded.

“Oh, by the Gods, I’m sorry. I never… I never wanted this,” he said as he motioned to the corpses. “But when… when I realized what I could do… when they realized what I could do… they came to me in swarms, begging me to help! How could I resist? How long could you resist, Master of Passing?”

Tara jerked forward, summoning a pair of lightning bolts to his hand. “What are you saying?”

The LoreMaster’s nostrils flared. “I’m saying that what I do is not so different than your job! You let the spirits move on, I help them come back! You relay messages to their families; I am letting them talk to their families! I am helping them! I am healing them!”

Tara shook his head and released the magic in his palm. “No, LoreMaster. I walked away from my work as Master of Passing. But you… you are obsessed. Delusional. You have broken the cardinal rule of magic; you have raised the dead. Why are you doing this?”

He pointed at the corpses again. “To help them! To heal them! I can heal death!”

Agrathan stepped forward, placing one hand on his friends shoulder. “But you’ve made a mistake, LoreMaster. You can’t cheat death and walk away from the table alive. He always catches the cheat. And he’ll catch you.”

“No,” the LoreMaster said, raising his hands. “No! I have not cheated death! I have defeated it! I can heal it!”

“Why, LoreMaster?” Tara asked as he wove a spell. “Why? Are you really doing this to help them? Or are you doing this to get what you want? Perhaps for someone else… someone who can offer you power? Knowledge? Books?”

Tara achieved his goal: the air darkened as the voice manifested itself. In person, its power sent shivers down the sorcerer’s spine. He didn’t know if Agrathan could see it or not, but with his spiritsight, Tara saw the voice for what it was; a dragon spirit.

Wings unfurled, the deep violet mist snapped its gaping jaw at the sorcerer. Enormous by any account, the black dragon soul radiated darkness unlike anything Tara had ever felt.

“He is helping these people because he is a good man. The LoreMaster is too wise to be blinded by rules and regulations. He can see truth.”

Tara raised his staff towards the spirits. “Whoever you are, fell wyrm, I will banish you. You promised him what? Power? Books? Immortality? How much of that will you actually give him?”

“I will give the LoreMaster everything I promised, and more.”

As the dragon spoke, darkness swept over the sorcerer, billowing his cloak backwards. Tara continued to summon power to his staff, undaunted. “And what did you ask in return?”

“I have only asked that he help these lost souls. They deserve justice! They deserve life!”

“And then?” The dragon did not answer. “What next, dragon spirit? What will you ask for next? Will you bring him to your body? Will you have him resurrect you?”

The dragon spirit roared, sending Agrathan—who still could not see the apparition—flying backwards. The ranger leapt to his feet and brandished his sword. “It will never work, dragon! You know he doesn’t have that kind of power! No one does!”

“No!” The LoreMaster sprang in front of the ranger and the sorcerer. “I have all the power I need!” Raising his glowing hands, he called a spell of light. “I have all the power on Aduil! I can heal death for everyone!”

The librarian’s spell illuminated the chamber, revealing a long, granite table at the other end of the room. The tabletop was bare, safe for a cloth and safe translucent orbs. Inspecting them, Tara realized they were of thousands of tiny crystals. Orbs of Power.

“Yes! The Orbs of Power! I know you came to take them from me! You’ve come to stop me, just like the priests before you! You hate me for being immortal, so you want to take it from me! You want to stop me from healing death!”

Tare and the LoreMaster released their spell at the same time. The librarian aimed his magics at the corpses on the floor, drawing almost all of the power from the Orbs of Power. As one, the zombies stood.

The sorcerer stabbed his staff against the stone, creating a shockwave of emerald power that swept the zombies off their feet and destroyed most of them. The dragon spirit, the LoreMaster, and the Orbs of Power remained untouched.

The LoreMaster screamed and fired a beam of light energy at the sorcerer. Tara blocked it, but the drain on his magic forced him backwards.

Shooting a glance at Agrathan, he gasped, “Run!” The ranger sprinted back down the corridor, clearing the way with his flaming sword. Pushing against the LoreMaster’s magic with a final shove, Tara MageBorn turned and followed his companion.

They reached the first chamber to find an army of zombies. The LoreMaster had rushed his spell: these walking corpses had not been completely reconstructed. Some were missing chunks of flesh, others, eyes, hands, or legs.

Agrathan charged with abandon, hacking through the monsters while Tara followed with swift fireballs. The flame spread wildly, keeping the zombies away with infernal tongues. The sorcerer and his companion escaped into the office, turning right and sprinting into the main hall. When they reached the top of the stairs, Tara wrapped his hands around the ranger’s wrist and chanted.

“Tijn!”

The wizard flew into the air, propelled my magic until they reached the colossal doors that kept the desert outside and the abbey within. Pushing with his mind, he opened the doors and allowed them to soar into the open sunlight. After they cleared the abbey, the spell dissipated, and they glided to the ground.



Alixander Fey -> RE: The LoreMaster (12/30/2008 12:48:23)

Once grounded, Tara began weaving another set of enchantments. Agrathan only held his sword and gazed at the abbey in wonder.

“What… what is going on? I don’t understand.”

Tara stopped spellcasting and glanced at the ranger. “That dragon spirit… it’s an ancient evil. I can feel it. Somehow… somehow that dragon is responsible for everything. He’s manipulated the LoreMaster—he might even be responsible for his immortality. The dragon wants the LoreMaster to resurrect his body.”

Agrathan shook his head. “Then why all the zombies?”

Tara shrugged. “As far as I can figure, there are two reasons. One, he’s testing the spell. You saw how some of the zombies… were missing pieces? He’s trying to make sure that doesn’t happen to his body. Second… I think he plans to harvest their spirits for power once he returns to the world of mortals.” Grasping his staff in both hands, he returned to his spellweaving.

“So, I’m going to guess we shouldn’t run away and hide? We’re somewhat honor bound to stop him?”

Tara never replied; his voice droned a series of low chants and his staff began to glow.

Another drone reached their ears, this time the drone of a hundred of half-dead corpses. Agrathan ignited his sword and raised it above his head. “Tara, I think your zombies are coming.”

The sorcerer raised his staff as well. “My zombies? You were the one rooting for an undead army. I say you take credit for this.”

Before the ranger could offer another retort, the zombies appeared at the top of the floating stepping stones. Any hope either of them held about sunlight harming the monsters faded as the army of freaks charged.

Dozens of the monsters fell on the stepping stones, whether they lost their footing or were accidentally forced off by their comrades Tara could not tell. Just when the first zombie touched the ground, he thrust his staff forward.

“Vas krask kam dran yyr!”

The stepping stones flew backwards, launching zombies from their perch on the rocks and hurtling them towards the water below. Through his spiritsight, he saw dozens of freed spirits escape towards the sky. As soon as Tara’s magic released, the stones returned to their original place, but it was too late. Less than two dozen zombies actually reached Agrathan. The ranger shot forward, swinging his blade in blazing arcs. The zombies fell before him like grass, but their numbers were too much, and two of the fiends managed to tackle him from behind.

Panicking, Tara reached forward with his magic. He could not fire an attack for risk of killing the warrior; instead, he touched the zombie’s souls. The LoreMaster had done a patchwork job of raising them, and their spirits barely clung to their bodies.

“Aer!”

Speaking the primary word of sorcery, Tara separated the souls from their zombie hosts. Fixing the spirits in his grasp, he fashioned them into a ball of green energy that manifested in his palm.

Without their spirits, the corpses fell limp and decayed in seconds. Agrathan tossed their bodies aside, cursing as he retrieved his sword. “Thanks for that, my friend.”

Tara nodded without speaking and chanted again, summoning two more orbs to his side.

“Almost, sorcerer. Almost.”

Tara and Agrathan turned towards the abbey, raising their weapons. At the top of the floating stones, the LoreMaster stood with an Orb of Power in each hand. The ranger raised his blade and ignited it—he could not see the spirits as Tara did, but he recognized the voice.

The sorcerer barely saw the LoreMaster. The man’s spirit blazed like a star—but a deep purple mist coiled around him, shrouding the light of his soul. The dragon spirit rose like a snake, snapping and hissing and flapping his wings.

“You have not stopped me. I do not need the souls of my slaves to power my resurrection.”

The voice had changed; the dragon spirit spoke through the body of the LoreMaster. Tara didn’t know what Agrathan saw, but as soon as the librarian opened his mouth to speak, the dragon spirit tunneled down his throat. Seeing the spirit world, the sorcerer could hear the man’s screams of agony as he was possessed by the dragon.

“There are many places from which I may draw my power, Master of Passing. You know that. I will raise my body if I must bring down this entire abbey!”

The LoreMaster’s eyes turned from ember to violet, a sign of the finality of the dragon’s control. Raising the Orbs of Power, he began to chant.

“What is going on?” Agrathan asked. He could not understand the black magic working before his eyes.

Tara shot the two orbs of magic forward, then drew back his hand and fired the spell he had drained from the zombie souls. “The dragon is taking control of the LoreMaster’s body!”

Lowering one Orb, the LoreMaster knocked all three attacks aside and returned to his chanting. The white sheen of magic covered his entire body, pulsing with the power he drew from the Orbs.

“Vleidr brag’na’thal thr’yda!”

Tara forked a bolt of lightning from the crystal of his staff. The LoreMaster summoned a shield around his body—stopping the lightning but not turning it back. Tara siphoned more power from the spirits whom the LoreMaster had not drained.

The lightning and the shield pulsed, flaring bright light that blinded Agrathan and the sorcerer.

“Your magic is nothing, MageBorn! I will drain the power of the ancients! I will walk on Aduil again!”

Tara watched in horror as the few spirits who had not escaped or been drained flew to the Orbs of Power. The dragon spirit had forced itself completely inside the LoreMaster’s body by now; he scintillated with violet power. As he raised both Orbs into the air, his chant climaxed. Tara recognized the words as spells of sorcery.

Even the lowest of sorcerers learned spells that allowed them to harvest the power from an enchanted item. The spells were versatile and popular, and they had saved more than one sorcerer in trouble.

Tara stepped back and raised a hand, summoning energy to his hand. “What is he doing now?” Agrathan asked from behind him.

“I’m not sure,” the sorcerer admitted. “He’s about to drain something…”

The ranger grasped his shoulder and jerked Tara around. “Are you a fool? Run!” Before he could react, Agrathan sheathed his sword and sprinted away from the abbey.

“What are you doing?” Tara called.

“Run, you idiot!”

The sorcerer turned around, searching with his spiritsight for a clue to the LoreMaster’s target. Streaks of soul energy poured into his hands, but he could not tell from where. “Moron! Get out of there!” the ranger screamed again. Tara ignored him, determined to stop the LoreMaster’s spell before he cast it.

The sorcerer was too late. He didn’t even understand what was going until the first stepping stone dropped to the water below. The abbey had been built over a massive oasis. The spells keeping the library adrift radiated more power than Tara could even see. But the streams of multicolored soul energy flowing into the LoreMaster’s Orbs originated from the bottom of the flying abbey.

The entire structure shuddered, bobbing in the air as its flight-spells weakened.

A hand grasped the back of Tara’s robe, wrenching him away. Convinced, he followed the ranger into the desert.

“Fools. When I have my body, I will destroy you!”

Tara felt rather than saw when the LoreMaster drained the last bit of magic from the abbey. The entire structure collapsed, sinking until it plunged into the watery oasis below. The explosion shot sand across the dessert at impossible speeds, biting the skin on the back of Tara’s neck.
Losing his balance, Agrathan toppled to the ground. Tara tripped on his legs and fell over him, covering them both with his cloak. They remained motionless until the sandstorm abated.

“You really didn’t see that coming?” the ranger asked as he drew his sword. “I don’t know the first thing about magic and I guessed he would drain the abbey’s magic. I told you—it’s not natural. And raising zombies isn’t natural either. So they were drawn together by fate.”

Tara shot the man an empty glare and stood, gathering his robe around him. “The more powerful an enchantment is, the harder it is to drain. I… I never imagined anyone could siphon the abbey’s floating magic.”

In the distance, a second explosion shot more sand in their faces.

“What was that?”

Tara summoned power to his staff. “I’m not sure. Come on, we need to stop this man before he destroys everything he sees.”

The sorcerer and the ranger sprinted forward, fighting the sand with their cloaks. When they reached the base of the oasis again, they found the library mostly intact, only halfway under water.

And the LoreMaster stood just outside the front door, still holding the Orbs of Power. Only this time, his mouth gaped open and shone with the same purple light as his eyes. His body wrenched back and forth, tossed by the dragon spirit coiled about him and controlling his body.

Above the library, cloud of dust choked the air. The sand cleared slowly, inch by inch revealing a labyrinth of beige stone rods. The LoreMaster’s body jerked, and the line between spiritsight and true eyesight blurred as the dragon spirit manifested itself.

“He’s going to bring back the dragon now,” Agrathan gasped.

Tara nodded. “That must be the dragon’s corpse. Here, under the abbey?”

The sorcerer was right: the sand dissipated completely, revealing the stone rods to be a rib cage. The dragon corpse stretched its wings, lifelike, snapping its jaw in the air. The LoreMaster raised both Orbs towards the skeletal remains, screaming—whether in agony or spellcasting Tara could not tell.

“Can you stop him?” the ranger ignited his sword with a flick of his wrist.

The sorcerer nodded. “Of course I can.”

“Fete thr’yda!”

A column of fire blazed from his staff, burning a trail towards the LoreMaster. Without looking, the librarian caught the spell. The fire hovered less than a foot away from his face, but Tara could not push it farther. The two spellcasters locked in a mental duel, neither able to defeat the other.

Loosing one hand from his staff, Tara summoned a wind that ripped at the LoreMaster’s face. He made no move to block it—instead he concentrated on working past the attack.

Tara pressed his advantage, turning the wind into a freezing gale fraught with slivers of ice. The man screamed as tiny cuts appeared all over his body, seeping blood.

Agrathan stood beside his sorcerer friend, desperate to help but unable to defend himself against the LoreMaster’s magic.

Drawing the last vestiges of his strength, Tara conjured a third attack, hoping to overwhelm the LoreMaster’s defenses.

“Mitros dris’ke ve kre’schak!”

Seven nails of stone appeared at his side, slicing through the air at his mental command. The librarian anticipated the attack and moved one hand to stop the spells. The white sheen of energy—and the violet power pouring from his body—flickered as the sorcerer began to wear down his strength.

“Now!”

The LoreMaster jerked again, dropping the Orbs of Power, as the unearthly voice ripped from his throat.

“The time is now! I will have my body! I will rule Aduil once again!”

Purple flame erupted from the librarian’s body, banishing the wind, destroying the stone nails, and consuming the column of fire. Then, the fire plumed into the air, reaching and enveloping the dragon corpse.

With his spells destroyed, Tara staggered backwards. “I… he’s raising the dragon!”

Agrathan panicked and raised his sword. “I can see that!” he screamed. “Do something!”

“I’m trying!” Flinging his hand forward, Tara shot a pulse of energy that caught the LoreMaster off guard, hurling him to the ground. He leapt to his feet, still blazing purple energy from his mouth and eyes, and raised one clenched fist.

The LoreMaster’s power overwhelmed Tara’s defenses, splintering his staff into a thousand pieces. The sorcerer stumbled back, gazing down at his bleeding hands.

The dragon corpse began sprouting flesh, scales that moved to cover the naked bones. Snapping its jaws, the wyrm writhed and snorted purple flame into the air.

The LoreMaster brandished the Orbs of Power in triumph, raising them to the almost-living dragon in the sky.

Agrathan’s gaze shifted from his friend, to the LoreMaster, to his burning sword. Staying his trembling hand, he acted.

The ranger sprinted across the barren sand, waving his sword above his head. Purple fire flared around the librarian, inadvertently hiding Agrathan from his side. He turned to face the dragon, shouting another incantation that created horns and claws to line the beast’s skin.

Agrathan bounded up the broken steps that led the fallen abbey’s doorstep. The LoreMaster saw him coming too late; he raised a hand to throw him back with magic just as the ranger’s burning brand cleaved through his wrist. The librarian dropped the orb of power, collapsing in pain.

Without mercy, Agrathan’s blade slashed through the exposed flesh of the LoreMaster’s neck. His head rolled to the ground.

The purple flame extinguished, first from the dragon, then from the LoreMaster’s lifeless eyes and throat. The skin already growing on the wyrm’s corpse turned to sand as the corpse shattered and tumbled to the ground.

Amidst the shower of bones, Tara MageBorn staggered forward, clapping his hand on the ranger’s shoulder. “By the God’s, Agrathan…”

Before the ranger could respond, the sorcerer gasped and clenched his first. Through his spiritsight, he watched as the violet dragon spirit coiled around the LoreMaster’s dead body again.

“Three Gods, what is it?” Agrathan asked.

Tara fumbled for a wand stuffed in his belt. “It’s the dragon spirit. It’s still here.”

“I will have my body, even if I must posses you to take it!”

The spirit shot forward, wrapping around the hapless sorcerer as he conjured a spell to defend himself.

“Tara, it’s a spirit, right? Just use the Rite of Passing. You were a Master. You still have that power.”

Tara glared at his companion for several seconds, until the dragon soul snapped its jaws and slithered around his head. “The Rite of Passing…” he mumbled. “The Rite of Passing…”

Grasping the spirit with his mind, the sorcerer cast a dark spell intended to speed the soul to its eternal rest. “Dragons…” he gasped, “the spell only works on humans. This… it can’t work on dragons…”

The violet soul wrestled against him, trying to manifest itself bodily and destroy the sorcerer. Tara raised his wand and summoned a ball of holy light that exploded on contact with the ethereal wyrm. The dragon shrieked and recoiled.

“I will not be denied!”

Tara raised his wand and prepared another holy spell. “You will leave the land of the living and rest. I am the Master of Passing. You will obey my voice.”

The defiant soul snapped forward, forcing the sorcerer to flinch back.

“You laid down your mantle as Master of Passing. I will not obey you.”

The sorcerer conjured a sheen of white power that enveloped the dragon. “I will take up my mantle to defeat you. You will obey me. I am the Master of Passing.”

The white haze surrounding the dragon shrank; squeezing the soul and forcing it to retreat. “Obey me! Depart! Leave us!”

“I must… obey… the one who gives the Rite. I must obey the Master of Passing.”

The haze morphed into a white ball that exploded, blinding Tara sending Agrathan tumbling down the stairs.

When the painful glare abated, Tara MageBorn found himself alone with his friend. The dragon was banished.





Alixander Fey -> RE: The LoreMaster (12/30/2008 12:50:23)

And so, breaking my oaths and drawing on the powers of the Master of Passing once again, I banished the spirit.

To the extent of my mortal knowledge, this is the end of the LoreMaster’s story. I have found no record of his name, his birth, or anything about him beyond what he wrote of himself in this memoir.

He was not an evil man; he was a man obsessed with knowledge. Ironically, it was his lack of knowledge that destroyed him. He never knew about the dragon corpse—or the volatile spirit—looming just below his own feet. He never understood the dangers of cheating death.

As my companion, Agrathan Thoulurd, told me when he saw the abbey: “It’s never right to cheat nature.” It is in our nature to die. In “healing” death, the LoreMaster invited the attention of an evil beyond my comprehension.

Somewhere in my heart, I know that the LoreMaster is here, looking over my shoulder as I write. His only obsession was his books: and I pray that with his books he will remain.

If you can see this, LoreMaster, I wish you the best. Perhaps when you are finally finished reading, I will return as a Master of Passing and send you into the world beyond.

With a sigh, Tara MageBorn snapped the book closed. He stood, gathered his robes, and moved towards the door. Only then did he see Agrathan standing in the shadows.

“What are you doing here?” the ranger asked. “I thought you put this place behind you.”

The sorcerer averted his eyes. “I… I wanted to finish to LoreMaster’s memoirs. It seemed like the right thing to do.”

Agrathan pointed to the door that had led to the library. It led to a stone wall. “And what is that?”

Tara held the ranger’s eyes, his own jade orbs pulsing. “The library is not here. That door was a spell-portal.”

“Did you destroy it?”

“No.” He fished a small crystal from his belt. “I copied it. I can cast the spell again, on a door in my mage tower. I left the second door—the door that leads to the library’s lowest level—intact, so that travelers who come searching for knowledge can still enter the library.”

The ranger took the crystal and examined it. “Why? I don’t understand…”

“Someone has to be the new LoreMaster. Someone has to watch after all these books.”

“Who are you kidding? Do you really want to be trusted with all that responsibility? Who’s to stop you from doing the same thing the LoreMaster did?”

Tara glared at the ranger and took his crystal. “After what I’ve seen? Do you really think I’ll make the same mistakes?”

Agrathan shook his head. “No, I don’t.” Stepping past the sorcerer, he fingered through the last pages of the memoir. “A good man, huh? You believe that?”

Closing the book, Tara guided his companion to the door. “Yes, I do. Now let’s go. I’m done here.”

The ranger followed the sorcerer out the door, into the main chamber, and outside of the abbey. “I have a question for you, Tara.”

As they stepped onto the sand, Tara MageBorn lowered his cowl and turned to regard his friend. “What is it, Agrathan?”

“I was thinking about some of the things he said in the locked chamber. Things like: ‘You’ve come to stop me, just like the priests before you!’ So, if you think he was innocent until the dragon spirit corrupted him, what happened to the other priests?”



Page: [1]

Valid CSS!




Forum Software © ASPPlayground.NET Advanced Edition
0.234375