Chapter 1  (page 2 of 6)   -   Chapter 2    -   Chapter 3

         A bell rang, low and tonal. His presence was required.
         The doors opened before him, and he found himself within a domed chamber, circled with small, dimly lit alcoves harboring leatherbound tomes and rune-laden scrolls. And between these, what he at first mistook for intricately painted murals, large windows, each looking onto what appeared to be different landscapes at varying times of day. At the center of the room, bathed in a bluish pool of light, was a large desk strewn with papers and texts, and behind that desk, both ancient and ageless, sat Simeon Tor, the most powerful mage in all of Arcanum.
         It was enough to unnerve even the most properly mannered of men, and the young mage found himself staring and unable to move.
         "Come, come, young Perriman," said Tor, standing, his voice deep and resonant. He was dressed in a simple, black robe, striped on both sleeves with a single ribbon of red; the college of Summoners. His hair and short-cropped beard were completely white, set upon and around craggy features. His eyes shone blue crystal and severe, with a small touch of what might pass for paternal amusement in the wrinkles around them. He was, by some counts, more than three hundred years old, although none truly knew when he had worn the apprentice's robe.
         Perriman cleared his throat, walking briskly towards the old mage, footfalls echoing hollowly on the marble floor. "Master Simeon, please forgive my oafishness. Its just that I was taken back by the sight of windows here in your study. None are visible from without."
         "A boyish pleasure I indulge only here," he said, smiling.
         "Are all of these windows portals to different places? Is that the Isle of Despair? And there, castle Caladon?"
         "Right on both counts, Perriman. Have you been to either one?"
         "Oh, no, master. I've actually never been outside the walls of Tulla, not that I can remember, in any case. I was brought here very young. But the last year of my studies was spent with Master Oakwood, the map-maker. It would seem his renditions come very close to the real thing."
         "Yes, quite. Very good then. Take a seat, Perriman. I've brought you here for an important reason. A mission, of sorts. I realize you've been recently raised to mage within the college of Phantasm. Congratulations."
         "Thank you, sir," said Perriman, taking a seat in front of the desk. "I'm ready to do whatever is necessary for the greater good. All my life I've waited for the opportunity to serve you, and I'd just like you to know that…"
"Sometimes," interrupted Tor, smiling, "what is necessary is to do nothing and listen."
         "Of course," said Perriman, abashed. "Please continue, Master Simeon."

         The old mage came around the desk, walking slowly, hovering near the edge of the light. "We mages are an old people, and our practices older. I myself have seen more turns of the moon than I can remember, and yet all those years are but a moment in our great history. And during those many years, we have acquired a particular responsibility relating to things outside our walls. Maintaining the balance, helping…no, guiding…those not blessed with our special wisdom and insight."
         Perriman nodded, saying nothing.
         "Much of our time is spent living up to that responsibility. Being a mage often means doing just that." The old man came in from the shadows, standing over Perriman, piercing him with those eyes of blue. "Do you understand?"
         "I think so, sir. I know, at least, that I'm ready to begin learning."
         "Right. Good, then." Tor turned again, hands clasped behind his back. "It's to Tarant that I mean to send you, Perriman. Do you know of it?"
         "Only what I've read, sir. I know it is an important center for trade and commerce, and that it's a relatively new city in comparison with those Dwarven and of course Qintarra. Large human population, if I remember correctly."
         "Yes, well done. It has become a very important city in the last few years. Much of what is done elsewhere finds its cause in Tarant. Such a place might need special attention."
         "I've also heard other things, master," said Perriman, almost under his breath.
         "Yes? Out with it, then."
         "Some of the older mages speak of it, but very rarely and not at all when they think I am listening." The young mage shifted in his seat, eyes averted. "It sounds to me an ugly thing, and I wouldn't mention it except that it seems invariably paired with the city of Tarant."
         "Well?" said Tor, sitting again behind his desk.
         "Technology," he whispered, almost fearfully.
         The old mage leaned forward, spreading thick hands on the polished wood of the desktop. Perriman wouldn't have thought it possible, but his eyes became even more intense, suppressing a flash of anger. Slow words, and deliberate. "Be careful to what you give a name, mageling. To name a thing is to give it power and substance, a purpose. Some things are better left unspoken."
         "I'm sorry, master." The chair would allow him to sink no further.          "Conversely, only a blind man suffers nothing when his eyes are closed." His features softened, if only a little. "And I mean for you to keep open a watchful eye when you are in Tarant. You leave at first light."
         "And my mission, sir?"
         "Very simple. There is a certain individual with whom you are to meet, under the pretenses of diplomacy and good will. You will be given some documents with which to familiarize yourself. But you are to observe what comes from this meeting, and report all that you find."
         "And who is this man, sir?"
         "A gnome actually. He represents a large interest in quite a number of Tarantian undertakings."
         "A gnome? Surely he must be a servant, then. Is he an agent of one of the noble families? Or perhaps even the King?"
         The old man smiled wanly. "There are Kings and there are rulers. In these days, they usually are not the same. Be wise, young Perriman. The world, when you're in it, will be much different than one of Oakwood's maps." A gesture of closing, his hand passing lazily in the bluish light. "Enough talking. Let us think on things. College of Phantasm. Clear your mind. There. Rune of Light. See the form, light flows, born of shadow, do you see…?"

Continue the adventure . . .