A Wizard's Tale

A Wizard's Tale Part 1

It was like any other mid autumn day this side of the Pass of Bier'Hadeen, through the Mountains of Karkaross. It was just barely cold and the trees were a sea of orange, red and brown; the occasional stiff breeze ruffling the drying, dying leaves like a hurricane of shuffling papers. A flash of light and a resounding boom betrayed a large storm cloud rumbling towards town.

The cloaked woman riding down the dirt road, drenched and holding her barely conscious son wrapped in blankets, could not break the edge of the storm no matter how hard she urged her horse onward. The sounds of pounding hooves had long since been drowned out by sheets of rain and surges of lightning. The mother knew the old horse may not survive the journey. Celestina was quite surprised the old, bloated brown mare had made it this far. Starrvog hadn't been out for a proper ride in the better half of a decade and had grown, for lack of a more delicate phrase, fat and lazy. More importantly, the glow emanating from her son's eyes was growing brighter, the blanket no longer able to hide his illuminescence. Onward she rode, a rebellious light in the dark of the storm, racing for the walls of Cyricene. Her vision was hindered by the increasing intensity of rainfall, and though Celestina could no longer see the walls of the city as she had when Starrvog crested the last hill she only let Starrvog's pace slacken for fear the old mare might topple over just ahead where the muddy dirt road gives way to slick cobblestone. Celestina spent much time here in her youth, and remembered an impatient young merchant whose horse slipped on the wet cobblestones at a full gallop. Without going into ghastly detail, it didn't end well for the merchant or his beautiful black stallion.

Years of regular horse-riding is how she could feel the difference, even with the lack of audible confirmation, exactly when Starrvog's hooves began hitting cobblestone rather than mud. Celestina allowed her aging mare to slow to a trot, his lungs expanding heftily in tandem with his now labored breathing. The gates of Cyricene were finally close at hand, and she would soon lose her son forever.

The laws here in the lands of Cyricene are quite clear: Any persons born within the lands of Cyricene displaying any natural connection to magic at all must be brought before the Council in the Crown City of Cyricene at the earliest possibility where their connection to magic will be assessed. If confirmed they will immediately be sent off to the Cyricene Mage's College where they will cease to have contact with anyone not living within the College. Magic is unpredictable and dangerous and these measures are taken to ensure the safety to all bystanders by any form of magic gone wrong from those who are untrained in controlling their abilities.

As Celestina came upon the gates at Cyricene a guard just beyond the shut gate opened a small round port, which he looked out through to speak. "Who go..." the guard's voice trailed off undoubtedly as he caught his first glimpse of the illuminating radiance emanating from young Christian's eyes. "I see, one moment." The small port hole slammed shut and shortly after the large gate began to swing open one of it's large doors. The same guard, already drenched from the rain, waved Celestina into the city and directed her over to a row of makeshift stables made mostly of wood and straw not twenty feet from the gate. "I'm going to need to ask you to dismount, ma'am. Just here out of the rain." The guard's face wasn't angry as he pointed out the area he meant; somewhat shouting over the pouring rain. Intrigued or afraid perhaps, but certainly not angry. "Is something wrong? I should be.." The guard spoke up over Celestina in a louder, but still calm tone; "Nothing to worry about ma'am, just standard procedure." With little other choice Celestina trotted Starrvog to the rickety temporary stables, and handed young Christian to the guard so she might dismount. He hesitated only for an instant, before apparently realizing the emanation was coming from a child. The guard went wide-eyed as her reached out for young Christian; "Well aren't you remarkable, little man?".

The expression on the guard's face didn't reflect what Celestina expected. She expected to see a guard giving her a stern yet sorrowful look that constituted a combination of pity, horror and internal conflict. What she got instead was a bashfully humble dip of the head followed by a warm smile; "Has it been a long trip? How's the lad holding up?"