Welcome to Magus: Betrayal!


You are known as Uriel, master elementalist and accomplished magician of the Acadamy of Alzur.
The Spark, the talent to manipulate the essence of the elements in everything, has enabled you to live a youth far away from the spears of the soldiers, or the toils of the peasants.
A findling you are, born to unknown parents and found on the steps of the Academy, but this is not a fate unusual, for the times are harsh for those without the privilige of noble heritage, and few can spare the resources to feed yet another crying mouth.
If the Magi of the Academy had not found the Spark in you, they would have turned you over to one of the servants to grow up as one of them, a practice that comes closest to local charity, and ensures that the servants are loyal to the Academy.
But this fate was spared to you.
From earliest childhood you learned the arts of the scribe, the arts of the rune and the arts of the Elements.
Your life has been one of scholarship, and learning, and even though your thoughts sometimes turned towards the parents you never had, you soon accepted that the Academy was your family, never knowing anything different.

However, a restlessness in your soul worried your teachers. You were sharper than most of your classmates, and thus began to find the lectures boring, often huddling alone in your study with an ancient tome borrowed from the library with the librarian's grudging permission, learning on your own faster than your teachers could hope to achieve.

Finally, the master magicians admitted defeat. They no longer could teach you anything, and thus it came as a relief to them, that you were chosen, with two other magicians, to fortify the guard of an Alzuran emissary on the dangerous, bandit-infested road to Khofte, a coastal city in the far south.

The council of magicians apparently thought that a bit of adventure would help to dull your restlessness and sharpen your practical skills.


To begin with, you must choose to specialize in one of the five elements: Fire, Air, Water, Ice and Earth.
You may still manipulate the other four, but you can only hope to access the powerful effects with the element of your specialization.
Furthermore, specializing in one element also slightly affects your character. Ice elementalists are known for the cool and logical mind, while Earth magicians tend to be protective of their charges.

Choose your Specialization.

You choose to specialize in Fire, the element of Passion, Heat and Destruction.

You quickly, and with passion, learned everything you can from your chosen element, regarding little else.

You especially have disregarded the lessons of Water and of Ice, having nothing but contempt for those who have to think through every situation when, obviously, there is need for speed.

You possess a greater physical prowess than most of your classmates, and since your inborn arrogance left your without many friends but quite some enemies, you had to use your quickness and strength to avoid being the target of constant ridicule - noone dared to ridicule you after a while.
Instead, you became something of a loner. You simply know you are a better magician than the others, and you are willing to prove it.

The specialization of Fire enables you to aquire a deadly arsenal of combat spells, far superior to that of other magicians. You are also able to command the element of elements, the Flames themselves, to do your bidding. Also, you are somewhat resistant to their heat.


Make a note somewhere that you have specialized in Fire.

You are ready to begin your journey!

It is early summer in the world of Thyr, and the smell of spring has not yet left the air.

The emmissary's trek consists of two coaches, one for the magicians, of which there are two more on board, and one for the emissary and his bodyguard himself. Furthermore, there are two dozens warriors on horse accompanying the trek, some of which are scouting ahead.

It has been two days since you left the Academy of Alzur, and by now you have left the city's military influence, as can be witnessed by the steady growing worse of the road.

You know close to nothing about Fahan Brownhand's - the emissary of Alzur - orders, or about the man himself, save that he is known to be a devious mind and a quick judge of character, abilities well received within a politician.

Also you know that your trek is carrying valuable gifts in jewels and gold for Khalar, the citystate you are destined to reach within the week.

Your two magician-companions are no strangers to you. Opposite of you is sitting J'Arel Whitefang, a young man emitting an aura of arrogance that is barely to bear in the confines of the coach. He is, as you know, a capable Fire elementalist.

Currently on top of the coach, unable to bear the presence of J'Arel any longer, is Lucius Tarchild, an Air mage of some renown. Unfortunately, Lucius is somewhat senior to you, and thus he has the right of first choice, as he explained to you with a wink.
Already weary by the long trip so far, you did not argue.

You wish to pass the time and speak with J'Arel.

J'Arel looks up from some thought in surprise, as you cough to catch his attention. His cruel eyes narrow themselves, and he pierces you with his look.

"What is it that you want?"

You say "Do you know anything about the road ahead?"

His eyes narrow even further as you ask him about the road ahead. Then he snorts, and shakes his head, while saying:

"Only as much as you, I suppose. The road will be getting a lot worse the next days, and when we reach the outskirts of Thalun Forest in two days, who knows what will await us in these ancient, dark and magical woods..." His voice is getting dark and foreboding, and then he suddenly breaks into laughter.

"Peasants' superstition. Likely some bandits roam the Woods, and that's the reason why lone travellers sometimes are never seen again."

He grins, and forms a magical gesture with his left palm, upon which a blueish flame appears there, a ball of pure energy powerful enough to burn through a tree when hurled with enough force.

"However, we are no lone travellers", he adds, his malicious grin broadening. Then, he claps his hands together, and the flame vanishes.

"I doubt that some ragged band of bandits is going to choose us as our target anyway," he says, sounding disappointed. "Those soldiers look like excellent fighters, and I am certain the bandits will see this as well."

You continue...

Suddenly, the coach shudders to a halt. Voices call out, but your first reaction of worrying is soothed as you recognize them as your scouts' voices.

The captain of the scouts, a burly man in leather armor, approaches the second coach, which is occupied by Master Brownhand, the emissary of Alzura. The captain dismounts his gelding, and appears to speak agitatedly with someone inside the coach - which is all you can make out. Unfortunately, they are too far away to understand a word.

You will do nothing but wait.

The captain of the scouts is arguing agitated with someone inside the other coach, but you cannot make out the words, nor interpret the gestures. Probably nothing important.

You lean back against the hard wooden seat of the coach, wishing for something to break the monotony of the trip. Already you wonder when you will arrive at your destination. Or at least return to the comfort of the Academy.

Suddenly the door is opened by Lucius, who had been riding the top of the coach.

You continue...

Lucius is a tall, slender man. There is always the sly grin on his face, and his hair looks like he has been in a tornado.

Right now, looking at J'Arel and you, his grin nearly splits his face, causing J'Arel to scowl back.

"Well, look who's here. Not suffocated yet, I hope", Lucius grins. J'Arel only snorts with disdain, throwing you a meaningful look as if the journey would have been quite pleasant without your companionship inside the coach.

Before you can think of how to answer that challenge, Lucius continues as if not noticing the tension between the two of you: "Looks like we got ourselves some trouble coming. The captain of the scouts just raced his horse nearly to death coming here, then barely pauses to take a breath before arguing with old Farhan. Seems like they want us to make camp here, instead of driving on, but Farhan doesn't sound too happy about that."

Lucius gives the countryside an appraising glance.

"Can't say I blame them. It's a good position here, with the hills in front and the plains at the back. At least if anyone's sneaking up on us, they're doing so from only one direction."

J'Arel interrupts: "Phah, let them come, so we can finally have some use. I don't see why..."

Lucius holds up a hand to silence J'Arel, cocking his head to one side and closing his eyes, as if listening intently.

As you strain to hear anything untowards yourself, you notice it... the silence is unnatural. Where the journey was accompanied by the rustling of leaves and grass, the chirping and buzzing of insects and the caws of birds, there is now silence... even the horses of the guards seem to hold their breath.

Then suddenly the first volley of arrows hit the group. Lucius curses and hurls himself into the relative but crowded safety of the coach, but a few of the guards do not have as much luck.
The air is filled with the rearing of horses and the screams of the wounded. The captain of the scouts turns to face the enemy, but gives only a gurgle, as you can see the black arrow protruding from his neck.

Blood runs out of his mouth, and for a horrifying second, he seems to stare at you with the paincrazed eyes of the already dead, before falling from his horse only to be gored by the panicking beast.

When you catch yourself again, you see that J'Arel and Lucius are already preparing spells, even if they cannot yet see who is attacking you.

You will wait until it becomes clear who is attacking you and wherefrom.

You decide to stay in the relative safety of the coach.

J'Arel, suddenly engulfed in an aura of sizzling flames, jumps out of the coach and hurls a ball of fire in the general direction of the assault.

Lucius leaves the coach on through the other door, and immediatley the carriage is rocked by gusts of wind, which also cause the arrows to stray.

One arrow, however, flies straight at J'Arel's head - but it bursts into flame upon touching his aura.

Someone bellows a command over the screams of the guards, and those that survived the initial deadly onslaught charge off into the direction where the volleys came from.

You are considering your options, when suddenly a lightning strike that turns you blind and deaf turns J'Arel into a cinder, but not before you hear his piercing death scream and see, in minuite detail how the fire mage's skin peels off under the tremendous energy of the lightning.

Shocked, you decide to join the combat as quickly as possible, before the next strike perhaps hits the coach.

You continue...

Desperately, you attempt to get your bearing.

From the twoscore warriors that accompanied the emissary's treck, only one dozen survived the initial deadly volley of black arrows.
However, the guards are rallied and charge the enemy, apparently a group of about half a hundredship ragged looking beings you immediatley recognize as large goblins, led by a couple of their shamans. While a single goblin is no match for a human warrior, the shamans double the goblins' threat, and they make up in numbers what they lack in size.

Lucius is using his powers over the wind to make arrows useless, and most goblins have thrown their bows away and now wield evil looking barbed knives.

One guard, trying to charge through the goblins to strike down a shaman, is dragged from his horse, and both the guard and the poor beast soon disappear und the goblin's small twisted bodies.

You are an adept of Fire.

The flame of the Spark is strong within you today, and your fingers itch with the desire to channel your magic.

This is it... this is how it feels to have an adventure! If not for the seriousness of the situation, you would laugh with delight.

You will use your powers over Fire to rain destruction down the goblins!

You climb up the coach to get a better overview of the battle, trusting Lucius to do what he's best at, and turn away any stray arrows from you.

You close your eyes, drawing deep from the burning energies within you provided by the Spark.
When you open them again, they seem to be ablaze.

In your hands, a powerful ball of flame forms, and you hurl it directly where the goblins' throng is thickest, where it explodes with a deafening noise.

About twenty goblins remain on the ground, charred.

Another ball of flame takes out a dozen more of the wicked creatures, and this is sufficent to break their morale, and they turn to flee.

The soldiers cheer, and strike down the fleeing goblins as they run back to the hills from where they came.

Suddenly, Lucius screams in pain. With another ball of flame formed in your hand, intended to speed the goblin's flight, you turn to see that Farhan Brownhand, emissary of Alzur, has stabbed Lucius in the back with an evil looking sword that protrudes from the Air adept's chest.

He grins wickedly at you and makes a gesture with his offhand. Instinctively you hurl your fireball into his general direction, and throw yourself from the coach.

Just in time, as it explodes under you, smouldering splinters burying themselves into your robes and into your flesh.

Shaking, you stand up, turning to Farhan and the spitted Lucius, and prepare another spell...

You continue...

You stare disbelieving at Master Brownhand, and before you can launch a spell at him, he uses your hesitation to weave a quick strand of fire at you.

You barely dodge the small bolt of fire that jumps from his fingers and flies past you.

Seeing he missed you, he curses and prepares another spell. You have to act quick.

You attempt to sever or unravel the spell's weave when Farhan casts it, thus countering it.

You concentrate, and your mental eyes follow the Farhan's weaving. He uses Fire, and mixes Earth in it, but when he leashes it out, you already took hold of one of the strands of magic with your mental touch, and the spell already unravels itself as it is cast.

When it reaches you, it is nothing more than a gust of warm wind that ruffles your hair.

Infuriated, sensing what you have done, Farhan pulls the black blade out of Lucius' body, and, brandishing it, charges you.

Out of the corners of your eyes you see that the guards are approaching the obviously crazed emissary.

You flee towards the guards, hoping that they will overpower the Magus.

Seeing Farhan approaching you with the evil-looking dark blade in his hand that is still glistening with Lucius' blood, you jump down from the top of the coach and hurry towards the surviving guards, knowing that you do not stand a chance against the master Magus alone.

Farhan laughs, and you hear behind your back the incantations as he prepares another spell.

He is only a precious few steps behind you, but the remaining guards, led by a scarred and blackbearded bear of a man, already charge at Farhan with swords drawn.

Suddenly, you hear a sizzle, and it is only instinct that saves your life. You throw yourself on the ground in midrun, just as the first guards pass you in the other direction, and, accompanied by a loud crackle, a searing pain blazes across your back, just before one of the guards in front of you emits a loud scream, and something bright hits him in the chest.

As you quickly jump to your feet again, bloodied and dirty, with a singed back, you hear another sizzle, a crackle, and then a double scream, as two guards that are running at Farhan are hit by more lightning.

You turn around, and the four remaining guards are about to swing their swords at the emissary, when suddenly, out of the shadow of the coach, Farhan's bodyguard, a bulky man that moves with the gracefulness of a cat, launches himself at the group of guards.

Farhan turns to flee towards the hills, as his bodyguard snaps the neck of a guard with his bare hands. You shudder involuntarily as you hear the sickening sound.

Before you can react, the burly man is spitted on the sword of the black bearded soldier, and Farhan, weaving a last spell, disappears in a clap of thunder.

You continue...

Farhan Brownhand, the emissary of Alzur, is gone and his bodyguard is dead.

Only three guards - and yourself - survived his treachery and the goblin attack. All agree that Master Brownhand had been probably in league with the goblins, but why he would attack the trek himself, noone knows.

The situation looks grim, reports Kor, the scarred and blackbearded bear of a man who led the charge against the emissary. He is a seasoned veteran, and you can see in his eyes the disgust for this treachery.

The horses drawing the coach are all either dead or have fled. Night is coming soon, and the road through the hills is known to be a dangerous way even in daylight. Bandits and bands goblins roam the area, as you were forced to experience yourself.

The plains are not much better. Any camp made on the way would be like a beacon to anyone searching for them, and neither Kor nor you have no doubts that Farhan will likely return - with or without help - to finish what the goblins had begun.

As a Magus, even a rather inexperienced one, the duty of leadership is on you, but Kor is ready with advice.

Basically, you have only few options. You might attempt to travel back to the Acadamy and report of Farhan's treachery.
Or, you might attempt to find him before he finds you. Teleport weaves, as Farhan has used to escape, are tricky: They are dangerous to pull off, because inexperienced adepts attempting to move their essence to somewhere else usually unravel themselves and get no second try. Also, the further away the destination is, the more difficult the spell becomes, and you know that even a master magician like Farhan Brownhand must have been tired after the spells he crafted during the battle.
Your guess is, that he fled to somewhere in the hills, and Kor agrees with you on this, for in the plains, there is nowhere to hide for several miles around, not even a light wood or a small village.

The only thing you know for certain is, that it would be wise to leave this place as soon as possible, as long as the enemy Magus is still weakened from his spellcasting.

You will turn back and attempt to make your way to the Academy to report Master Brownhand's treachery.

The guards pack their gear with some relief about the decision, and, lightly packed, you abandon the coaches in the coming twilight.

Happy to leave the scene of the slaughter, an invisible tension leaves the men you did not notice before.

Noone is happy to have Master Brownhand now in his back, but all of you are glad that he's not right in front of you.

The guards march at a good speed, and you, not really used to such sports, wondered whatever must have ridden you to ever complain about riding inside a coach.

Soon, night falls, and the clear sky would be a beautiful sight were you in a mood for it. However, the moon is young, and there is not much light to see by.

Kor asks if you are capable of lighting a globe, and wearily, you agree.

Concentrating briefly, although much, much longer than you would usually need, you create a shining sphere between your hands and command it to float over your group.

Kor reaches out to you as you stagger, your mental exhaustion nearly complete, but you catch yourself, and although your dignity as a Magus takes quite a scratch by stumbling because of such a simple spell, you are too tired to rightly care.

Soon, the guards go off the road, and you just fall over on the ground when you hear that everyone agrees that now, you are far enough away from the place of the ambush to rest a while.

You are already asleep before you hit the ground and do not notice that someone wraps a blanket around you.

You continue...

The smell of fried bacon and spiced tea wakens you, and, although bleary-eyed because of a rest that was too short by far, you stand up to face a barely rising sun.

You are greeted by the guards, and handed a wooden mug of the hot water as well as a small plate of food, and then, it is already time to break camp. You agree to to travel with all haste back towards the Academy.

The day passes uneventful, although you find yourself in a very bad shape. You wonder why you could have ever complained about riding inside a coach, stuffy as it might have been. The guards march a fast tempo, and you are barely able to keep up, even though your packing is somewhat lighter than that of the others.

The next day, your back feels like a wooden plank... even despite the blankets that are part of your travel gear, sleeping on the ground is never going to be your preferred method of rest, and you already long for the comforts of life at the Academy.

Kor reports that you are likely to reach Alzur by midevening the next day, and you are happy to hear so.

The next two days pass uneventfully also, although tension grew because everyone was expecting Farhan to return, or another goblin attack. Suspicions rose when you noticed the increased military patrols around, but they ignored a group of travellers and your desire to reach the council of the Academy was too great to become entangled with the military.

Finally, after a journey you are glad to forget about, the sight of the walls of Alzur is very welcome to you.

But something is wrong. The gates, usually open all day and night, are barred, and the military presence has been more than doubled.

Kor apparently recognizes one of the guards and approaches him. The guard obviously expresses surprise and worry at seeing you return so early, but before you can question him what happened, you are immediatley led to the quickly roused council... it is past nightfall, after all.

You continue...

You are lead into the heart of the city, and something definitely feels wrong here. The atmosphere is tense unlike the teeming, bustling city you left only five days ago.

The huge ironwrought gates of the Academy are opened for you, and your group enters. Without even given the chance to refresh yourself, much to your dismay, you are led before the council's chambers and bidden entry.

The chambers themselves are somewhat in disarray, as if there had been a meeting recently and yet no time for the personell to clean, and three of the five High Magi look like indeed they have been roused from sleep. They stare at you, some with unhidden contempt, until finally Tharain Ironweave, highest of the Magi, steps forward and explains the situation to you.

There had been an assassination attempt on the wedding night of princess Jessamin of Khalar, the very city your treck was initially heading. This was exactly two days before.
And, apparently, evidences point towards Master Farhan Brownhand, Alzur's very own emissary sent there, as the assassin.

You begin to remark that this is not possible, your treck barely left Alzur's lands, but the High Magus interrupts you, that they knew this very well.

Yet attempts to explain that to the Khalifat of Khalar met only disbelief, understandingly so. They want some sort of proof.

You briefly relay to the council what happened to you on your treck, the attack of the goblins and Farhan's treachery, and are met by stoic silence.

"Do you, then, have any proof that could convince the Khalifat to take back their declaration of war?", you are asked.

Numbly, you shake your head.

"Then", Thalain sighs and suddenly appears much older than he is, "this war cannot be turned away..."


Wishing your first adventure would have turned out to be more successful, you retire into your room, but the longing for comfort leaves a bitter aftertaste when you think that Farhan Brownhand, the traitorous emissary of Alzur, escaped your grasp...