Necromancer Bane of the Quantum Shadow

# The Lore of Necromancer Bane of the Quantum Shadow

Rumors of a powerful Necromancer have been spreading in the East.

Those closest to the Quantum Shadow say the signs have been unmistakable. Whispers of death, despair, and the name Bane have been heard in the tavern, whisked in by weary travelers. The very darkness of the Shadow itself seems to have been reanimated, an ominous blight roiling with ever-increasing intensity.

And then there were the Sacred Flames...  What were initially thought to be sources of purifying light from the heavens turned out to be tools of unprecedented terror. On All Hallows Eve, hundreds of powerful wizards were either consumed by their own flames or sacrificed their brethren in a terrible ceremony at the Tower.

As the flames burned, the Quantum Shadow boiled over, spreading through the downs that surround it and into the lands beyond. After that fateful night, ethereal spectres began to be spotted along the realms less-traveled roads, and the number of zombie sightings has increased to levels not seen in decades. Then just yesterday, it was said that an entire town was ravaged by a Ghoul of Insatiable Blood Lust.

Many have tried to harness the power of the Quantum Shadow, but all have failed.

This rumored Necromancer, Bane, could he have succeeded? That could be the explanation for all that has occurred, but without a first-hand account we just cant be sure.


Chronomancer Eden of the Cosmos

# The Lore of Chronomancer Eden of the Cosmos

Everyone that lives near the riviera knows with absolute certainty that it is not possible to steal from the Chronomancers, or at least not successfully..

They have been convinced of this fact by the local miners and their stories about the ancient skeletons they occasionally bring back from the most inaccessible locations. Skeletons still clutching the gold coins or precious gemstones that were stolen only the day before.

I mean how could you steal from someone that can control the flow of time itself. There is however a rumour that it did happen once, or indeed is just about to.

The legend tells of a village sweeper named Eden who cleaned the dust out of the spinner room every day, listening to their stories filled with adventure and excitement as he went about his chores.

You see dust is naturally generated by the process of controlling time, particularly from accidents which combine both temporal discharges and novices that are lacking in talent.

According to the legend on that particular day something important was happening, the different versions do not agree on exactly what, but they do all agree it was something so important that as soon as the Chronomancers heard it they immediately rushed towards the great hall, leaving the sweeper alone in the spinner room for the first time.

He diligently continued his path across the room, passing the man sized spinners as he went, until he reached a partially closed cabinet on the back wall. This particular cabinet contained the small portable spinners which even at full charge only store a few hours at most. He stopped and stared, not even daring to breathe.

At that moment the first novice returned to the room, still smiling at the good news he had just heard. The smile turned into a look of horror as he spotted the sweeper making his choice, grabbing the closest one and vanishing.


The novice ran to the far end of the hall, hoping the whole time, but there was no pile of dust..


of the Road

# The Lore of of the Road


Sage Keziah of the Grotto

Sage Keziah bears a light in dark places, including her own self. Artwork kindly provided by the talented mafriends


Archmagus Eden of the Marsh

# Myths from the Marsh

You may have heard some rumours coming out of the marsh.

Tales of strange occurrences and odd disappearances, things that are only mentioned in whispers.

Stories of family dogs gone missing, only to be found days later completely decayed. Nothing left but withered bones wrapped in rotten pieces of mummified flesh. Name tags rusted with age, fallen between the brittle vertebrae that once raised this beloved animal's faithful head.

Myths of massive bonfires in the night, flames so tall and bright they lit the main streets of town. Fires that left the surrounding trees with black trunks and grey leaves.

Legends of named criminals found standing in the woods, frozen like statues. A lit pipe dangling from their mouth, and their bloodshot eyes burnt with a thousand yard stare.

Campfires that burn out in an instant, but leave embers that never extinguish.

Streaks of yellow light in the night and enchanting whispers coming from the darkness.

Candles that burn down in seconds and trees that sprout up in days.

These myths and legends can not always be trusted, but for every rumour there is a sliver of truth. I am here to tell you that in this case, Archmagus Eden of the Marsh is that sliver of truth.


Sage Cassius of the Garden

# The Lore of Sage Cassius of the Garden

Cassius, the ginger-bearded sage with a softly-wizened presence that speaks
of a settled sense of wisdom. He spends his days tending to his gardens with
care and welcoming to all who would seek reprieve in its tranquil shade.

All know and speak fondly of Cassius and his gardens, and yet... only a careful
few (perhaps even none at all) can upon closer questioning recall any
particulars of occasioning his calm oasis, nor even where it resides.

Where suspicions ought to have grown over time, oddly none have ever
sprouted, as if the very mention of the sage and his gardens conjurs a powerful
kind of sedation, a dampening of doubts.

Despite this strangely unconcerned acceptance of the wizard's cloaked
existence within the realm, some had taken notice of his coming as the first
known observance of a ginger-haired inhabitant among them, along with the
subsequent blossoming of inumeraby more folk with the same fiery tint to their
locks.

It is commonly said that gingers have no souls.... in jest amongst all but Cassius
himself, who alone amongst all living gingers can recollect the dreadful self-inflicted genesis of his own gingerness. Only Cassius retains the true name of
the monstrous organism that grew of his own botanic castings, experimental
graftings gone terribly awry, then sprawling uncontrolled into soul-consuming
tendrils of alluring flora:

Gard'lien, the green eater of souls.


Gard'lien, the green eater of souls.

From its very moment of germination, Gard'lien took to sprout within the vitality
of its creator with a thirst so searing that it scorched the poor wizard's bodily
vessel down to its very follicles. Its host left gingerly on the verge of complete
consumption, Gard'lien was struck with its first cognicanze: a fear of self-cannibalization.

Only then (and only this once) did Gard'lien restrain its appetite,
instead cradling the unconsumed leftovers of the wizard's soul within its
spreading roots, and nursing Cassius back to a bound state of.... liveness.
Sufficient to serve as the sage-yet-nearly-soulless siren of the gardens, a voice
to lure others into Gard'lien's foliage.

Those so lured depart melted of their very essence, utterly drained and
expelled back into the common realm as physical shells that persist until expiry
only as wound-up automaton, marching among their living counterparts in
indistinguishable likeness - other than their their sudden gingerness. Gard'lien
leaves behind this trail of crimson as the only markings of its monstrous hunger
for souls, with only broken remnants of Cassius to bear conscious witness to its
sprawl.


# Grave Robbing Kobold Poppy of the Technicolor Nightmare

## Chapter 1

> _While not the most intelligent species of all the lands, by a fair margin I may add, your average Kobold still has an intrinsic way of resourcefulness about them, and a deftness of skill and self-preservation not often found in other lesser species. Interestingly, this does not extend to their ability to barter or accrue wealth - ideal marks for a table of cards, for instance - or perhaps they simply have an entirely different system of valuation._
>
> _Their heightened senses make them exceedingly difficult to corner, their wiles and tendency towards tricks making them difficult to predict. This may or may not be accredited to their relatively low intellect, but for the most part they make for the most exquisite prey and present the most rewarding chase, pushing both hunter and hunted to their limits. It is after all the fruit whose skin provides the most onerous obstacle which offers up the sweetest of flesh._
>
>
>
> The Hunt
>
> _Master of Spots Hunter_

Poppy had never been a good Kobold, not like his brother Peppy who could do no wrong. Where Peppy seemed to possess the Midas touch, finding luck at every turn, Poppys tale was a sad string of one bad turn after another. Which had ultimately led to his quite spectacular death, ironically turning out to be the change in fortunes he had always sought in life yet had never found.


The Sacred Flame had not been meant for him of course, though find him it had. His attunement to all Colors had consistently been his most favored trait, and while it had made him a pariah as a youth, his iridescent ability to mix, fade, blend and otherwise bend Light was what had granted him this final journey on behalf of a peculiar and penultimate client. The details were fuzzy, apparently dying does that, but Poppy remembered dancing flames, moving shadows, and a high-pitched scream.

 Be gone ye filth! he exclaimed, swinging his scythe in a lazy arc towards the malodorous zombie in his path. This bounty belongs to me you pile of pus, he continued as the disgusting being stumbled aside, leaving his path open to the tomb ahead.

As crypts went it was rather unremarkable, but if Poppy was good at one thing, it was following his nose and ears  well what passed for nose and ears now - towards the scent of treasure. And what a fortuitous run he had been blessed with, after his accidental stumble through the Fire and consequent eviction from The Quantum Shadow. After shedding his old mortal self and being resurrected something else, his unique and multi-colored bony form had become his new sigil of status and renown.

Reaching into his pouch, he withdrew a rancid strip of flesh and dangled it in front of Sniff. His familiar had not fared as well in their metamorphosis; however, Poppy was not one to waste potential and had discovered that, with the right kind of motivation, his zombie rat could still sniff out nearly anything.


Go on Sniffles, find what I seek, and this fabulous feast will be yours! He waved the putrid meat once more before stuffing away, and watched the disgusting thing amble away, burrowing into the grave. Channeling a trickle of magic to let the light bend ever so slightly around him, he sat down to relax and have a well-earned rest while his familiar did all the hard work. He had a very good feeling about the potential of this looting, perhaps even something worthy to present to the High Lichs? Lost as he was in these delightful thoughts, he was somewhat baffled by a sudden presence before him, peering down as if they could penetrate his illusion.

Ah yes, here you are little Kobold, came the deep voice from beneath a deep dark hood. Oh yes, we can see you quite well, despite your tricks. No need to stand, this will take but a moment. Scrambling nonetheless, Poppy stood and took two steps back.

What devilry is this? he asked unsteadily, shaking his scythe menacingly.

Fret not, Refracted One, we are not here to do you harm, the figure said still motionless. We have been following you, and my Master sees great potential, should you be willing to aid us. In a few moments your pet will return to you bearing a seemingly unremarkable bauble. All we ask is that you keep it safe for now, and when the time comes you must bring it to a very specific place. Fail to do so, and you may find your future less fortunate.

How do you know me? asked Poppy, looking around. The mindless zombie nearby had lost interest and seemed not to notice the ethereal figure.


My time here is short. You must make your choice. I can only advise you, do make the correct one, for my Master is as generous to those who obey as he is intolerant of those who do not. With that the figure popped out of existence in a shower of purple sparks.

Startled, Poppy jumped back with a squeal as something nibbled at his skeletal toes. Sniffles! he cried out, swatting at the damned thing. Looking indignant, his familiar beady eyes looked meaningfully towards his pouch, something gleaming between his petrified jaws.

Ah, sorry old chap, something has me on edge, here, a trade then, he said as he took out the rancid treat again, Sniff dropping what appeared to be a medallion of sorts into his outstretched hand.

Slightly larger than a typical coin, it was wrought from a dark metallic metal, engraved by a single rune on both sides; one showed Infinity, the other Omega.

Hmmm most peculiar, he muttered stuffing it into his pouch setting off after Sniffles who, after quickly devouring his snack, had run off again, his undead nose catching a whiff of yet another prize. _Yes, this is most certainly going to be a fine day_, he thought as he followed his familiar, the thought of more loot pushing the arcane encounter to the back of his mind.


Enchanter Calista of the Capital

# The Lore of Enchanter Calista of the Capital

Calista is an ornament to the self-growth, discovery, and transformation journey. Her toad, itself a symbol of transformation, accompanies Calista on her quest which is guided by her Stellar Staff.

Rumour has it, each gold chain contains an artifact from the character's ancestry, only time will reveal what Calista's holds...


Edward Marauder of all that is Evil

The story of 'Edward the Marauder of all that is Evil' begins in the middle.  The middle of his career, that is.  A time that would change Edwards focus and prove the pivotal moment in redefining a lost warrior into a local legend fighting for good.

You see, although from a challenging upbringing, Edward had managed, through quirky charm and infectious energy, to land himself among the privileged society by the time he reached his mid twenties.  He had received battle training from the kingdoms finest and had developed a podgy gut via a life of decadence.  Having spent  those years among the towering mountain peaks, enjoying the crisp, rarified air and regular long swims in the shallow, turquoise waters of Eib Lagoon, it may come as a surprise to learn that Edward soon found himself alone.

Just how he came to find himself on the road, stretching further from home to ever more remote outposts, is perhaps a tale best left for another time.  The life of plenty now a distant and hazy memory.

That he spent almost four years resorting to ever more callous acts, is indicative of the chararacter he was becoming.  A hard life on the road had honed him, both physically and mentally, into an efficient fighter loaded with guile and deadly tricks.

The day that Edward transitioned from Teddy the Marauder, the feared nomad and ruiner of local livelihoods, into the celebrated yet equally feared Marauder of all things Evil, was a day that ended with death.

Edward collapsed into the scolding sand, the beating sun glinting off his nearby sword. He had lost the battle and lay in a heap, resigned to his fate.


His helmet, removed by his victor to allow her to look into Edwards eyes as she finished him, was dangling in one of her hands.  She towered above him, lifted her spear in the other and moved in closer.  A bead of sweat fell from the tip of her nose and landed in Edwards right eye, the saltiness causing him to squeeze both eyes closed.

Edward heard the shuffle of limbs, a clatter against metal and felt the heavy form of his attacker crumple upon his own body.

A broad snake, startled by the attacker, had appeared from beneath the surface of the sand, beside Edward and had lunged as the spear came down, shattering one fang against her protective wrist guard but landing the other fang deep into the flesh, exposed between glove and arm.
Laying embedded in the sand, Edward slipped from consciousness, physically trapped.

When he came to and opened his eyes, he saw nothing.  The vista was pure black.  It took a few moments to acclimatise and recognise a few shimmering stars in the night sky.

With his exposed face severely burned and blistered from the sun and his mouth clamped shut with shrivelled lips, Edward managed to roll onto one shoulder with all his strength, edging the body from upon him.

He gathered his weaponry and helmet and went to set off.  The serpent had lain nestled against his armour, grateful for the body heat.  As they made eye contact Edward sensed a connection with the rattle snake and leaned a hand down toward it.  The snake happily allowed itself to be cradled in one arm and off they set, to meander through the sands, guided solely by the stars.

Plodding onward, relentlessly, one stifled footstep at a time, it was only as the first sun poked above the undulating horizon of rolling dunes that Edward started to regain hope.


An abandoned market stall stood, not far ahead, on what must be the outskirts of Zaros Oasis.  The stall carried the name of the wizard @wizard4698.  It housed a series of unlabeled vials, mostly empty but for dregs of varying shades of green, but that undoubtedly gave Edward the chance to live another day.

Over the 27 lunar months that have followed since that bittersweet battle, he is yet to remove the helmet.  The blistering left behind permanent scars, like crevices etched into hardened skin, mainly around his forehead and eyes.  But with helmet donned, he went on to make a name for himself, no longer as a force for destruction and pain, but for defending those in need and battling the scattered tribes of evil.


Arcanist Angus of the Astral Plane

# The Lore of Arcanist Angus of the Astral Plane

Arcanists are extremely powerful, they are curious and innovative, always on the leading edge.

Angus holds great power, both physically being a strongman, but also politically. The Celestial Sash identifies political sway and stature  he holds, and grants Angus entry into meetings many will never even hear about.

Being very spiritual, Angus keeps a Giant Ladybug by his side, hoping to receive luck and fortune.


Void Disciple Zagan of the Catacombs

# Void Disciple Zagan of the Catacombs

## Prologue

> _[..] and while more ignorant and inexperienced minds would contest their existence, dispelled as the marvels of a wayward imagination, I have myself seen them. Though admittedly I wish I had not, for now I am unable to escape the haunting memory of those empty eyes, that unending grin, taunting as if those vacant sockets pierced me to my very core, beheld my most intimate self, and found it lacking._
>
> _Perhaps I was left alive for the same reason I dont simply squash every insignificant insect I happen upon, or maybe they, as the powerful often do, enjoy maintaining a certain notoriety  and as such I, as I write these words, would be fulfilling that purpose most perfectly._
>
> _Regardless, they do seem to exist in two variants these unlikely animated dead; There are those who take auric forms while others are argent, the meaning of their distinction unclear, any hierarchy or significance mere conjecture on my part._
>
> _Despite my research and experiments, I have yet to conclude as to their nature and aspect; Have they, as you and I, once been chained to flesh and bone, destined to expire, and by hook or crook found a way past this fleeting mortal coil without passing beyond? Or are they mere puppets, dancing on strings unseen, mastered by hands powerful beyond ken?_
>
>
> The March of the Perished
> _Edwyn Lymp_

_Peck-peck._


_Peck-peck._

You know Id grant you an eye had I still one to give, Zagan muttered to the crow perched on his shoulder. It had the delightful habit of pecking at his empty eye sockets with its shiny black beak, an act of affection surely since eyeballs, preferably ones suitably bloated and ripe, were after all Corones favorite indulgence. Not that they had enjoyed the pleasure of walking the wake of great battlefields for a lifetime or more, he mused, bony feet clacking away on the eldritch stone underfoot.

_Click-clack, peck-peck,_ they echoed in the still musty air.

The endless maze of the Catacombs had no shortage of bodies, ensconced at regular intervals, all stripped of flesh, reduced to bone, fragile as the final notes of a love gone sour. This legion of dead was brittle and frail, each one epitomizing the lonely path from vitality to oblivion, symbols of the futility of life and the superiority of death, reminders one and all of the transience of existence. Yet, for a select few, a deal had been struck, a path bludgeoned past expiration, and none of the skeletons refleced the torchlight with flaxen hues as did his sturdy aureate skeletal figure.

These familiar surroundings - the musty smell of death long past, the gloomy corridors which, to anyone else, would look entirely similar and invariably lead astray  were a comfort now as it had been a confinement then. Yet he had returned not for sentiment, but for a very specific purpose.

_Peck._


_Peck._

Indeed, my insatiable Corvus, this is the place. Turning left, the tunnel soon became a dead end. Slowly walking up to the stone wall, Zagan placed a shiny bony hand over a barely perceptible inscription and muttered a sibilant spell. To the sound of stone griding on stone, a section of the wall moved aside, as the widening crack allowed more and more flickering crimson light escape from within. He was no geomancer of course, but these were ancient constructs from a different time, marvels of magic and technology entwined in ways not seen for an age.

There, on a dais in the center of an enormous chamber riddled with stalagmites and stalactites, the crystal floated beneath ravenous arcane flames, as if - should an eternity pass - it would be crushed in the jaws of a titanic beast. The Sacred Flame, placed in his care and entrusted to him, sent shivers down his golden spine.

Kraa? came the hesitant croak from Corone, sensing his masters volatile aura.

Keeping silent, he strode forward, making his way through the jutting forest of stone teeth. I am done with waiting, and I am done obeying, he thought. I am done letting others bask in glory and reaping the rewards.

The time had come for action, after all Zagan was as intimate with death as he was with life, and he was prepared for change, ready to embrace the consequences, he had decided to Burn.

_Peck-peck, click-clack._

_Whoosh!_


Druid Eyolf of Arcadia

# Druid Eyolf of Arcadia

# Prologue

> _Life in nature has often been said to be red in both tooth and claw. This common belief then, as imagined from the comfort of a warm cot, or settled peacefully by a fire would, ever eager for absolutes, paint the world in stark hues, rendered in black and white; All that which is unordered and entropic, the intangibles neither shackled nor controlled, would - without the barest hesitation  thus see you bleeding, mauled, become prey._
>
> _Probably not far from the truth, all things considered. The flawed nature of this most favoured sentiment becomes apparent, blurring truth, distorting reality, when the honesty of brutality is equated to the hateful touch of wickedness. Was the mountain lion, searching for sustenance for the seasons litter, somehow evil for relentless pursuits of the startled buck? And what of the tree, ruthlessly stealing the warm suns rays from the struggling bush below?_
>
> _No, surely the Wild is not inherently wicked. Man, however, with cruel intent and selfish convictions, insatiable and indomitable, cannot so easily be absolved._
>
>
> The Dangers of Duplicity
> _Sorcerer Ilyas of the Fey_

He dreamed of the pack. Loping alongside his litter, playfully snapping at each others flanks, working off some of the left-over energy from the hunt. Finally, driving the proud prey to the ground exhausted and spent, they had basked in the glory of the feast of the felled buck. As always, the strong had fed first, however the meat was plentiful and shared among them with nary a disagreement, as much for the esteem they held for one another as the intrinsic knowledge that the pack was only as strong as its weakest cub.

_Crunch._


_Crunch._

The impact took his breath away, as he was rudely roused from his slumber, for a moment bewildered and expecting the next blow. Catching him unawares, even in sleep, was no easy feat and scrambling to his feet, back to the low firepit he had dug earlier, Druid Eyolf  possibly one of the last remaining Wolfkin  scanned his surrounding with eyes that had no trouble piecing the dark forest.

But the night was quiet, his exceptional hearing catching naught to cause alarm - the breeze, the buzz of miniscule insects, leaves rustling and the occasional small prey, scrambling for cover  nor could his eyes discern any threat. Gingerly probing the back of his head, expecting to find blood or swelling, he found merely his silky fur, no pain, no damage. _Perhaps but a dream then_, he thought, relaxing his grip on his Big Magic Stick and sitting back down slowly in front of the dying embers of the fire.

_Flee!_

The impression exploded in his head, vivid as it was chaotic. His vision swimming, heart hammering, he felt frantic breaths come fast - too fast - frothy with blood and sputum, and there was something wrong with his left eye. Scrambling for purchase on the forest floor, his familiar rabbit fled for its life from an unseen foe.

Slamming back into his own mind, Eyolf set off at a run, his magic flaring to life, Steel rune boldening and strengthening him stride by stride, his stave thrumming with wild magic.


Being a Druid had its advantages, and as he ran, he extended his magic enhanced senses outwards  his will permeating the earth, sinking deep and, saturating the vast network of roots below, he quested outwards in search of his familiar and his veiled assailant. Trees had awareness, as all living things did, however their perspective and perception of time was entirely alien. Thankfully Eyolf had a lifetime of experience, and in mere moments he picked up an unfamiliar presence, an unnatural scent, and increased his pace.

Bursting into a clearing, magic at his fingertips, he barely had time to register his familiars still form next to a floating crystalline structure dead ahead, before a shadowy form struck at him from behind, pain flaring in his back, sending him tumbling forward. The crystal suddenly flared to life, bursting into flame, and Eyolf, unable to stop himself caught a last fleeting glimpse of moving shadows all around, before falling headfirst into the conflagration.

_Hooooooowl._


Chaos Mage Milo of the Heath

# The Lore of Chaos Mage Milo of the Heath

Journal Entry - 31Oct2021

It's been a few years since I stumbled upon this power buried deep in the corn maze.  I can't take it anymore.  I feel like dying.  This flame tells me in can help control it, I hope it is right.  Goodbye world, for now.


Shaman Xerxes of the Realm

# The Lore of Shaman Xerxes of the Realm

"I am of the Realm: Shaman Xerxes, eldest of the Realm Protectors, who was born on the 12th day of the 12 month before the Undoing. My purpose is one: to protect the Realm from the corrupting forces of the Flame and the destructive evil that hides behind its existence. Wielding the feather of transcendence, I am tasked with merging the spiritual and physical Realms into a single coherent reality.

But I grow disillusioned with the mortals whom I am sworn to protect. I see darkness in their souls which dangerously mirrors that of the Flame. They wish no peace, no harmony, no balance. Instead, they become increasingly corrupted with greed and loathing for all that is natural and pure through their own choice.

I am left with no other path but to use the power of the Flame against its own corrupting influences, for a great reset is the Realms survival only hope.

I sacrifice myself for the Realm.

I burn."

-Shaman Xerxes of the Realm (1:1)


Sorcerer Silas of the Platonic Shadow

# The Last ritual of Sorcerer Silas

It was late on the day as the setting sun illuminated the sky with dark orange light.

Sorcerer Silas had waited many months for this moment; the seven planets had to be located at the right angles in the zodiac for the Ritual he was about to perform to succeed.

Now, he was standing in the wilderness somewhere in between the Wired House and the Sacred Pillars.

His rune, the one of the Sun, was drawn on parchment and laid out in the South, a Red Frog, the familiar he conjured during his Thelemis initiation ceremony, was sitting at the centre of the rune. In the North lay a basket with a single giant green quantum mushroom.

He looked to the West; the Sun was creeping below the horizon. He waited until the last ray of light hit the sky above the sacred space he had prepared. Now the ceremony could start.

He began by facing the East, looking towards the Sacred Pillars, a place of tremendous power, slowly reciting the incantations taught to him by his master **Aleister Crowley\**. A large flaming pentagram appeared floating a few inches above the ground as he spoke in ancient tongues. Silas kept his focus strong and moved to face the South, the Sacred Tower reaching high up in the distance, continuing to speak mysterious words only Thelemists knew the meaning off. A second flaming pentagram appeared before him. Slowly, he moved to the West, a fresh breeze of air from the salty sea brushed his face, he noticed it but kept his concentration firm on the ongoing Ritual, a third flaming pentagram appeared before him. He finally moved to face North, the snowy peaks of the large earthy mountains were still illuminated by the now set sun; he recited a last secret four-letter word. With this, the last flaming pentagram faded onto the material plane in front of him.


Silas was now surrounded by four human-sized flaming stars, one in each direction. He was ready to start the summoning part of the Ritual. He took the green mushroom out of the basket and looked towards the South, where the Red Frog was still calmly sitting on the rune behind the pentagram.

He cut the quantum mushroom into five equal parts, placing four of them on the ground in each of the four cardinal directions. He ate the last piece, chewing it for a long time while trying to ignore the bitter taste. He swallowed it and immediately felt great power rising in him. He remembered from \*\*Magus Devons\*\* instructions that this power does not last long, so he now moved on to the last part of the Ritual.

He intently stared at the Red Frog, slowly whispering the evocations found in an ancient book written by a **Void Disciple named Faustus\**. As he channelled more power into the familiar, the rune on the ground started to glow and release smoke and fog; he kept whispering until the frog could no longer be seen through the dense white cloud that formed around it. Then he knew. The Ritual was successful. He stopped making any noise and froze still while staring into to fog.

As it slowly dissolved, a tall figure was revealed. It had a pointy red cap covering the head with pointed ears and a pointy moustache. A long red mantle was hanging over a brownish vest; in its right hand, the figure held a skull that itself was releasing some sort of smoke or foggy glimmer, around his left arm curled up a red snake with its head resting on the shoulder.

Silas gasped for air as he realised that he had finally achieved a great Ritual; only a few wizards ever dared even to try. He had summoned Mephistopheles, the devil himself.


While Silas tried to find some words to say to the ruler of the underworld, Mephistopheles spoke with a thundering voice:

_Here I am, oh you who have dared to Summon the Devil._

_I shall not answer those not willing to see chaos unravel,_
_I shall not serve those who know just the magic of light,_

_If you worship the Abyss, you may now prove your might._

Suddenly Silas felt himself crashing to the ground, his sight was fading into darkness, and the last thing he saw before losing conscience was a slight grin on the devils face...


Null Mage Drusilla of the Oasis

# The Lore of Null Mage Drusilla of the Oasis


Marie Laveau

# The Arrival of Madame Laveau

The meal was incredible, the music transcendent.. and the way she danced with her wings as much as her feet! Angus grinned as he recalled the festival. It had been two years since he was accepted by the Fey, they were his family and his tribe now. He had no regrets about his choice.

Ever-eager to please new friends, he had spent the better part of the evening englamoured, offering a complete menagerie of mythical beasts to the raucous laughter of the audience.

The sphinx was his personal favorite and he took that opportunity to share a few of his favorite riddles for the Fey- who were long-separated from the taverns where Angus had first heard the puzzles spoken.  This mixture of new jokes and extravagant forms made him briefly famous in the hall, and they were greedy for more display. He relished in their chants of Angus! Angus! and gave a final encore as a bubble-spitting hydra before wishing them all a restful sleep.

That would be the last time this human of the Fey was received warmly. The woolen blanket had slipped to the floor, and his legs were unnaturally tensed. Angus now stood with his mouth agape.

His bidden legs left the dwelling-home of the Fey and once deep in the woods, his hands ensorcelled to hide his form as a mundane snake, then to slither a several-days journey to a tower long-forgotten.

Once arrived and with human hands again, a small stair he would climb, and then in through a window where a force from outside of his conception would bring forth a mighty fire.

Into this strange pyre, Angus silently committed himself and was consumed.


Into this strange pyre, Angus silently committed himself and was consumed.

An imperceptible rift opened as the last dust of his bones struck the ground, the sacrifice and negotiation complete.  From the flames first slithered a massive snake, eyes golden and alight.

The unlit candle next followed the python, yet the wick quickly inhaled the heat of the pyre. Now with a fierce but small flame, the unassuming face of the holder was illuminated. This being of another world, a queen of her skills, smiled delicately at her success. Marie Laveau now walks, and Angus is no more.


Sorcerer Cosmo of the Sacred Pillars

# The Lore of Sorcerer Cosmo of the Sacred Pillars

_Whatever the upheaval in his life, it had left him living entirely in the present. He was compelled by the past and oblivious to the future.

Little is known about the past of Sorcerer Cosmo. He has gone by many names, Cosmo, Raven, The Black Breath, Dorbie._

_Dorbie was described as not very tall, with checked and pocked skin, and a slim body. In town, he was not well-liked and frequently under suspicion for trickery, theft, and murder. Dorbie enlisted as a sorcerers understudy by a passing mercenary military company after the famed drooped-hat wizard took an interest to him.

Abandoning his wife and two children, he served as part of military arcane enforcement for four years. There he fought many battles on behalf of well-paying imperialists, learning the sorcerers ways, and eventually taking the name Cosmo. His ruby staff would come to be feared at the rear of the battlefield by foes as their ranks would thin to his engulfing magic spells.

Cosmo eventually abandoned the structured military ranks to pursue a solo life of chicanery and deceit, bringing only his prized companion dog, Kina. He roams the lands in search of unwitting targets to fall under his mischievous spells.

Cosmos preferred tool of disposal is not of the arcane, but a simple well-honed knife, as it brings him back to his humble roots. He is however, a renowned tracker and archer, benefitting from his practiced sorcery and Kinas canine prowess. Known for exception combat skills and cold-blooded sorcery, Cosmos is feared by both his friends and enemies. Though he does not keep many friends._


Alchemist Delilah of the Valley

Children understand that 'once upon a time' refers not only--not even primarily--to the past, but to the impalpable regions of the present, the deeper places inside us where princes and dragons, wizards and talking birds, impassable roads, impossible tasks, and happy endings have always existed, alive and bursting with psychic power.


Alchemist Chyou of the Steppe

# The Lore of Alchemist Chyou of the Steppe

Chyou is a young wizard who originated from the Alchemist Archepeligo. Despite her youth she has seen much already and is worldly wise beyond her years. She is incredibly altruistic and kind, headstong and bold while also very inquisitive in her nature. The Steppe she now calls home wasnt always her home. Originally from the Archipelago, she left with her mother shortly after the mysterious disappearance of her father, an incredibly powerful Alchemist who was a prolific user of magic. He had locked himself away in his workshop and had not been seen for months leading up to his disappearance. Rumours swirled that he had become so prolific in his magic use, it had started to change even his physical form. One morning he was discovered missing, the only lead in his disappearance was rune burnt into the wooden floor of the workshop. The rune was unidentifiable though and he has never been seen or heard from since.

After leaving the Archipelago her mother remarried while Chyou was still very young, this time to a warrior. Her stepfather was a man who was incredibly skilled in his chosen disciplines and had been a fierce warrior on the field of battle. Away from that, he was a wildly different person. Kind, devoted and passionate, if not for his scars and physique youd never have known his roots. He took Chyou immediately and doted on her, always firm but fair in equal measure. While Chyou was an alchemist at heart she was also an avid student of her step father mastering swordsmanship and hand to hand fighting as well as developing the softer side of warriorship, meditating, healing and mental strength. Despite her slight frame, Chyou had became a fearsome opponent with her sheer speed and agility. The skills and lessons learnt from her stepfather influenced and drove her life heavily.


It was her skills as an alchemist though that brought her to the attention of a local Lord who took her in to produce the fine metals he needed for a plan to modernise his lands and bring prosperity to his people. Chyou had jumped at this opportunity, to be able to help so many with her talents appealed to her greatly. She later came to realise however, she had been tricked. The Lord was in fact a Lich and was using the resources she produced to expand his lands and crush the people. Distraught by this she refused to continue her work and was imprisoned in the castle dungeon. The dungeon was a dark forboding place, cold, damp and in complete darkness. The lessons in meditation and training her step father had taught her were the only things that kept Chyou going through this torment. She eventually escaped her confinement with the help of her familiar, whom she found in the darkness and fled the Lords lands. Once safe, she searched for her parents for a time, but they had long since left for the safety of lands far away believing her dead.


For now her home is the Steppe, a small house with a little workshop in a secluded location. In the summer she travels and fights with the armies marching against the Lich Lord that imprisoned her. In the winter, when the fighting seasons are done, she returns to the safety of the Steppe. Designing and creating swords made to order with the fine metals she produces, she makes a living through the long winters. The swords she produces are no ordinary swords, they are bespoke swords created for use against both the living and the dead. She puts aside the profits she needs to replenish her stocks and keep her going through next the summers campaigns. Then, when times are tough and hope seeps from the Steppe in the deep midwinter, she sets to work distributing the rest of her profits to the villages around her. Delivered to the villagers in the dead of night by her familiar. Never much, but enough to see them and their livestock through the winter.

This his her life for the near future, but one day soon when Lich Lord is finally defeated, a great adventure awaits her travelling to the far off lands to find her parents once again

Credits:

Special thanks to 0xsharon & PineappleLord for their assistance and guidance in the writing of this lore.


Eden of the Veil

# The Lore of  Eden of the Veil

Eden of the Veil is a very old wizard, from the deep woods of the Pacific Northwest. He is a lover of mother nature and father time.

When having a pint at the local tavern, he can often be heard saying "all we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."


Archmagus Aleister of the Mount

# Aleister and Cirro

_~ The clouds call to Aleister. The storm is soon to come, he's sure of it ~_

From Atlanta's Pool, Aleister and his advisor-pet, Cirro, wander deserts east of BattleMage Mountains. In years past, he studied physical forms of the arcane. And studying seemed all that he needed.

But something to Aleister feels different. A recent tavernkeep told him rumors of a land far to the north where reality frays. A land where the clouds are born. Suddenly the physical seems less interesting. It's time to discover something new.

He's sure to find it.

_~ And off he goes. ~_


# The Lore of Ethereal Spectre Basil of the Death Cloud

The following depicts the moment when the entity known as Ethereal Spectre Basil of the Death Cloud was burned into existence.


# The Lore of Veiled Phantasm Aldus of the Ethereal Realm

Chaos Mage Miyo and Spellsinger Aldus retreat to a distant floor of the secret tower, away from the howling multitudes, eager for a spectacle.

Thank you Miyo, for accepting my request to do this in a more...secluded location, Aldus said.

Hmph, yeah well as long as I can see what happens, I'm content, Miyo replied.

Aldus scanned the room one final time. I am glad that Baozhai was not present. She's a smart girl.

Ok, ok, enough waiting, I want this burn to happen NOW! Are you going to go through or am I going to have to push you?!?

Aldus composed himself. As he slowly walked toward the flame, he began to sing a requiem befitting of a spellsinger. Although it is too low to make out the words, the tune carries both melancholy and power.

The flames are stoked and burn brightly as Aldus enters without hesitation. The song continues, but it begins to warp, as though it is being warped by unknown forces. Finally, it fades away in sync with the flame guttering out.

The being that is revealed is very different from the red wizard that had entered moments before.

Miyo chuckled. Aww, look at you! All purple now just like your daughter. You don't look like you can do much anymore on this plane. Still, it's an intriguing result. And I still have my other flame that was supposed to be for troublemakers. Should I use it....

Miyo walks off, deep in thought. The veiled phantasm slowly fades away to the Ethereal Realm.


Void Disciple Voidoth of the Mist

# **The Adventures of Void Disciple Voidoth of the Mist**

_Scritch scritch,_ sounded the pen as Voidoth wrote down the ingredients for his latest failed attempt.

"We almost got it that time, eh, Alkahest?", Voidoth murmured idly to the fox who stood perched on the side table near the workbench. His familiar made a soft disgusted noise as he sniffed at the vapors coming out of the alembic.

"Don't give me that look" said Voidoth. "If only the bezoar we bought from that damn merchant was actually from a proper white dragon, instead of what was obviously just an overgrown frost wyvern" he added sadly, then frowned. "Actually the wyvern probably could have allowed us to get the right result that time, if we had calcified the dream ether to the right consistency, but you probably already know that."

Alkahest gave a bored huff, then turned away from his master to groom himself.

"And you" continued his master, "don't think you aren't also to blame. This is, what, the one hundred and fifty-seventh time we've tried to make a greater Mandrake potion? You know, when the results are always the same, I'm not sure how much longer we can keep making excuses."

"Practice makes perfect, I suppose" said the voice of the fox dryly in Voidoth's mind,  before the familiar resumed licking himself.

Suddenly, the deafening boom of a door exploding off its hinges filled the small chamber, and Voidoth and Alkahest turned towards the noise in surprise.

Through the door came a hand made of a dark fire, which grabbed Voidoth by the head and lifted him into the air.


"Ahh, you are betrayed, Voidoth" said the voice of the being who held him in place, "Betrayed by your own greed. The Lich Lord of the Nightmare Dominion is not so easily taken in by the foolish promises of the damned."

Voidoth's head ached painfully, and he could feel the blood flowing down his face. The being who held him was dressed in a hooded black robe, and the flames flickering in the depths of his hood seemed to have no source, but the flames did illuminate the skull of a man.

Voidoth licked his bloody lips, and tried to think quickly. "Flamos, how nice to see you too. Can I offer you some ale?"

Flamos sneered. "Don't play games with me, Voidoth. You failed to deliver the potion you promised the Lich Lord, and you know well that his sponsorship of your experiments requires prompt payment, which is now payable in blood".

Voidoth reached through his mind link to Alkahest, and invoked his ancestral powers. A sudden darkening overtook the room, as though heavy tapestries were covering the windows of the tower, blocking the noonday sun outside. Voidoth could no longer see Alkahest a few feet away, but he could feel his focus channeling mana into their shared connection.

"Come the void" intoned Voidoth, "Come the mist that rises in the morning, the shadow in the light, the shadow from the dark. Come the quiet of an evening shade, the silence of the stars, and the emptiness of the forgotten nothing. Come the void."

There was a great echo, and the pressure of a howling wind, and then the flaming skull was gone. In the silence that followed, as the air rushed back to fill the empty space, and light returned, Voidoth could hear Alkahest sigh.


"I guess we're running again?" said the fox. "Yes, my old friend" said Voidoth. "It's time to pack up and look for a new sponsor." But slowly, a smile crept over the rogue arcanist's face. "I hear Dream Master Lake is quite nice this time of year..."


Summoner Casper of the Keep

# The Lore of Summoner Casper of the Keep

Casper would give anything for a glimpse of real magic.

Years of accumulating tradional power, land, influence, capital have left him feeling empty:

Not happy playing tricks and summoning sprites, he yearns for the ability to summon powerful supernatural avatars onto this plane.

All these things  places and people are nothing compared to the ability to summon these creatures.

What ghoulish things will Casper get after in his lust for magical power?


Archmagus Udor of the Tower

# The Lore of Archmagus Udor of the Tower

### In a village, there lived a man named Archmagus Udor of the Tower, who's home was a tower, not one where he was locked though, he was free to go wherever he liked. He once had a battle, and since then, his eyes looked weird. So he covered them up with some cloth. Once he had done that everyone in his village congratulated him for saving the village, they decided not to ask why his eyes were covered.

### The very next day, Archmagus was just walking, when he found a rat, with very strange colours, looking at him with its red, bold eyes. Archmagus didn't know what else to do except adopt it, so that is what he did.

### One day, Archmagus was doing something when suddenly, the rat he had adopted squeaked at him as loud has he could, and then ran, so Archmagus  decided he would do the same. A few seconds after that, he spotted someone trying to rob him. And that's when something extrordinary happened...

### The rat, had a beam of light coming out of its hands, and that damaged the robber quite a lot. The robber ran away and was never seen again. The rat, after that day, shared some of its powers with Archmagus.

### That is the story of how Archmagus Udor of the Tower got his title and became famous. People say he is still famous today. And that is quite surprising as this happened a very long time ago.


Sorcerer Ifran of the Ether

# The Lore of Sorcerer Ifran of the Ether

Overview

Sorcerer Ifran is a mysterious Dream Master that hails from the Ether. Not much is known but by some accounts he appears as a guide in the dreams of new initiates. What is known (and claimed to be verifiable by drunkards) is that he appears to wise men after consuming heroic doses of strong spirits.
Many wizards try to walk the path of Sorcerer Ifran but go mad with drink before they can recount their tales upon breaking fast.
As such, field study of Sorcerer Ifran has largely been abandoned with scholars preferring to not drink themselves to death.

Magic

His Mandrake Potion is reported to have a trans-dimensional ego-shattering effect. Those that drink of it are said to be transmuted by fire.


Archmagus Salvatore of the Grotto

# The Lore of Archmagus Salvatore of the Grotto

Close to Dream Master Lake lives a wizard, in a beautiful grotto filled with crystals, next to the giant waterfall. It looks like a natural grotto but, in a land filled with magic, who can tell. All the local children know he is a wizard from his white hat, a dead giveaway, but he calls himself a gardener and you dont want to argue with wizards, even Zenlike ones.

The only time he lost his cool was when anyone approached the apple tree at the far end of his orchard. He had put a waist high wooden fence around it and a small sign which made it clear you should not cross it, or him!

One day, a few months ago, another white wizard turned up to talk to Salvatore and half the village found an excuse to walk past the grotto entrance trying to listen to their conversation. It was clear the second wizard felt something had changed and they needed to act now while Salvatore urged patience as they moved inside. The acoustics made it difficult to hear but they kept talking about knowledge as well as good and evil.

What was clear to me, as I had been the only person there when he first arrived, was the look of fear and terror in his eyes when he first saw that tree. What causes that reaction in someone so powerful I do not even want to know as I have enough difficulty sleeping these days with my bad back.

Anyway the very next day I decided I had a responsibility to my family to put some distance between us and that place in case whatever the wizards feared came to pass. I quickly gathered some apples from the orchard floor for the long journey while my wife baked bread and collected clean water.


On the journey, as we walked through the heat of the day, almost all the food started to spoil very quickly but to this day one of the apples sits in my sack, as red and shiny as the day I collected it. I know I should probably just throw it away, but I cant help but feel there is something else I am supposed to do with it.

- Note entered by clerk after being overheard in a Calistas Citadel drinking establishment.


Summoner Finch of the Event Horizon

# The Lore of Summoner Finch of the Event Horizon

"The egg must be protected." The last words of the old man before his untimely demise sent chills throughout his entire bean. Headed towards the tunnels, he knew what must be done. Now, he must summon the strength to do it...


Enchanter Larissa of the Wild

# The Lore of Enchanter Larissa of the Wild

Larissa hails from the far away lands of Mu'Gen. It is said the people of the lands of Mu'Gen possess a kind aura. They are skilled in the Arcane Arts, masterful merchants, and undyingly loyalshould you get through their initially reserved nature, that is. Once befriended, you can rely on a Mu'Genian to be there for you regardless the circumstance. As such, Mu'Genians make for powerful allies and lifelong friends, and Larissa is no different.

Larissa travels with Kaeru Rengoku, an Ember Frog familiar, at all times. As rumor would have it, after a few glasses of Hibiki, Larissa has been known to tell drunken tales of a "valiant, flame-breathing swordsman, slayer of demons," whom's spirit he believes resides within Kaeru. Pubgoers never dare to bother the frog, lest Larissa's claims ring true..

Prone to the Arcane Art of Fire, Larissa can be seen carrying the Torch of Prometheus; its brilliant flame evoking a strong parallel to his brave journey through the uncharted worlds of the Ethereum dimension. Much like the torch he wields, Larissa has been said to bring warmth and feelings of illumination to those around him.


Enchanter Magnus of the Secret Fire

# The Lore of Enchanter Magnus of the Secret Fire

Cast out from the Mandinka Tribe for unknown reasons, Enchanter Magnus of the Secret Fire travels the land with burdens of agony and pain. Donned in a black robe, he covers his scarred and hellish past. The Phoenix feather in hand is a token of immortality and a symbol of the fire that burns deep inside him. It is rememberance of his difficult past, but nonetheless, an eternal light he shall employ as a mode of great sorcery.

His tormented journey is one day confronted by a giant lady bug. She is considered an outcast by her own loveliness, but a delight to Magnus. As his companion, she ignites the powers of enchantment that have always lied within him.

His heart is truly lighjt as a feather. Together they are uniquely captivating to humanity. Through a sacrifice of self-immolation, Magnus devotes his energy to transforming dark to light.


Sorcerer Jerret of the Moors

# The Lore of Sorcerer Jerret of the Moors - Mushroom Healer

As a young boy Jerret would wander aimlessly, searching for answers, as all of his friends had powers yet he at the age of 16 still hadn't found any.  For years he wandered dejectedly through the forests, forlorn that he was powerless.

One day he sat under a tall tree and a streak of sunlight shone onto a magical fungi. He felt compelled to eat this magical spore and he then saw his future, he was to bring this plant medicine to all the others in the forest who were powerful but not altruistic.

Over time he cultivated a communication with the mycellium and was able to conjure up mushrooms at will to flower before him.

His mission was clear, to bring the right type of mushroom to each Wiz so that they could partake in the visions to see their ultimate purpose and to care for the lands and other fellow wizards, knowing that they ultimately were all ONE.

His power was bringing forth visions so that the Wiz community could all work together.   As the ultimate sacrifice, he went to the tower of Flames, to show his dedication to his mission of peace and love, so that his Soul could go on forever with his Magical Mushroom Vision, multiplying his abilities to reach every Wiz in the land.


Pyromancer Florah of the Steppe

# gm frens i do say
collecting items if i may

the dawn is coming, its almost here
within a fortnight, much will be clear

so prepare i must
in wagmi-san we trust


David of the Moors

# The Lore of  David of the Moors

Earth has been devastated by nuclear war and it has taken 2 million years for the radioactive cloud to once again allow sunlight to reach the surface. Only a handful of humans have survived the apocalypse, while the rest have turned into mutants roaming the radioactive wastelands. Finally, the true ancestor of mankind  the legendary sorceress reappeared and lived in a beautiful land in peace for three millennia.

While his subjects were celebrating 3,000 years of peace, their ruler of the Legendary Witches, fell into a trance and left the party. Confused, the black raven followed her to her house and found that she had given birth to a white witch and was named David of the Moors.
Because he was too old and already had the lineage of the legendary magician, he died and left a rare heirloom Goblet of Immortality (magic cup) to the crows who followed him.
so that it can be given to David of the Moors in the future.
and the white wizard grew up with the crow and began to explore the world with the cup,
David of the Moors is very powerful and cannot be defeated because he holds the cup
Day after day passed David of the Moors became more powerful and almost all of the earth was under his control
now he intends to fly to another planet and wants to take over too
Yes, the planet is called MARS.


Archmagus Ozohr of the Marsh

# The Lore of Archmagus Ozohr of the Marsh

Hello Wizard

pipi & kaka

2021~12~04


Sorcerer Ramiz of the Carnival

# Sorcerer Ramiz of the Carnival

Origins unknown, the first accounts of Sorcerer Ramiz can be traced back to his release from servitude by his unwitting merchant master at Zaros Oasis. Some say, Ramiz created the Oasis itself with past wishes granted, which as a powerful Water Djinni, would have been child's play for him. However, with one final wish remaining Ramiz tricked his master with a riddle for which the answer was actually a wish. Ramiz granted the merchant wine from the waters of the Oasis and was thus unshackled forever.

## Carnival Pass
From there, Ramiz wander far and wide finding his familiar near the Weird House, his Phoenix Feather in the BattleMage Mountains, and his Green Elven Cloak whilst learning from a rogue group at Dream Master Lake. With a flair for the dramatic and a high affinity for Purple Haze, his legend has grown from his exploits in Carnival Pass. Who knows, what lies ahead for this powerful being, but a word of warning to those who may wish to impede this freed Djinn.


Cosmic Mage Bathsheba of the Heath

# Cosmic Mage Bathsheba of the Heath

_"Who am I? I am the two hundred and sixth Wizard of the Light Incandescent."_


Pyromancer Charlord

# The Lore of Pyromancer Charlord

Age: currently unknown.

Origin: currently unknown.

**Act 1: The Awakening.**

As sudden as a spark, Charlord came to. He was in mid-stride and while his sight was clouded with a rusty green haze, he was able to barely make out the reeds and sedges of a marsh ahead. A sensation pushed from behind him. Nothing gravitational or barometric but a force none the less. He spun around and, through the bare treelined thicket he now faced, felt a pulse of darkness that caused his body temperature to bottom out. He turned back and picked up his pace.

Charlord edged closer to the wetland and noticed a bright amber hue glistening across the calm water, a midday sunrise. He trudged through the pickerelweed and button bush until he came upon the waters edge. He took a knee, dragged his hand through the cordgrass and stared emptily at the surface of the marsh. The creeping chill still festered underneath his sweater. For the first time since his awakening, as this unrecognizable reflection glared back at him, Charlord realized he had no recollection at all.

He stood up and gazed around. His senses gradually sharpened focus. He heard a faint whistle from the winds blowing through the forest just north of him. A crackerjack crow flew overhead and soared down into an open carving in the trees at the far edge of the marsh. He could feel the chill running through his bones.

With no possible plan, he marched in the direction of warmth. His body acting as an internal thermal compass. Was it the warmth that pulled him, or was it the cold that pushed? Nevertheless, northwest seemed to do the trick. He noticed a red snake keeping pace just behind him. Cold blooded, he thought.


As he entered the forest path, his legs steadily moved faster, from a hurried walk to a run. The quicker he moved, the stronger the flames seemed to burn. Before he knew it, Charlord was in a full sprint, a madman heading into the wild. And then something happened. In the black void that filled his mind, a small crack of light broke through. It wasnt much and it provided no information of use. But it was something. And now, Charlord was left to ponder what exactly that light would illuminate? Did he even want to know? Perhaps the black void was something he sought out...


Adept Carly of the Wood

# The Lore of Adept Carly of the Wood

Adept Carly of the Wood

travels the deserts of childhood.

Chasing the sun with her little red snake,

to visit her grandmama and deliver a cake.

After 3 days she is lost in the dunes,

Will somebody guide this Wizard of Forgotten Runes?


Zoe of Shadows

She eat borger


Chaos Mage Marceline of the Atheneum

# The Lore of Chaos Mage Marceline of the Andtheneum

~PROLOGUE~

     Sensations ablaze, Marceline stepped out from the roaring teal gateway. With the torn edges of space whipping by, her ears sang and eyes scintillated as the acrid yet nostalgic taste and smell of burnt bubblegum filled her nose and mouth. Nauseating vertigo snapped into a euphoric glow as her foot left the rimpled rind of Chaos and the teal gateway closed behind her with a sizzling pop - the mage was now somewhere else.

     "Robert!" exclaimed the toad in excruciating delight, pleased that the heft of its master had left it once again. The sudden noise vibrated the empty white space Marceline had stepped into, jaunting her out of her dream-woven state as the same unanswered questions returned to front of mind. It seemed, to her, impossible to figure how one could at once be so confused by their own existence and behavior and yet deeply nostalgic about the sensations that arose from them. Gate after gate were summoned with ease, but each step through the chaos got her no further toward answers nor away from those empty white rooms. Still, the nostalgia seemed helpful, for the memories (or dreams, who could tell?) it evoked brought Marcy closest to knowing her past - and it was in her past that she imagined she might find herself and see into her future. Perhaps a few more steps through the chaos and the bubblegum would remind her the way

     So, with a deep breath and a sigh, Marceline stepped once more on the chaotic toad whose warbling burp tore a new hole into space and summoned that liquid agate gateway through which she ambled, mumbling, "On Chaos, on"


Pyromancer Charlord

# The Lore of Pyromancer Charlord

Age: currently unknown.

Origin: currently unknown.

**Act 1: The Awakening.**

As sudden as a spark, Charlord came to. He was in mid-stride and while his sight was clouded with a rusty green haze, he was able to barely make out the reeds and sedges of a marsh ahead.  A sensation pushed from behind him. Nothing gravitational or barometric but a force none the less.  He spun around and, through the bare treelined thicket he now faced, felt a pulse of darkness that caused his body temperature to bottom out.  He turned back and picked up his pace.

Charlord edged closer to the wetland and noticed a bright amber hue glistening across the calm  water, a midday sunrise.  He trudged through the pickerelweed and button bush until he came upon the waters edge.  He took a knee, dragged his hand through the cordgrass and stared emptily at the surface of the marsh.  The creeping chill still festered underneath his sweater. For the first time since his awakening, as this unrecognizable reflection glared back at him, Charlord realized he had no recollection at all.

He stood up and gazed around. His senses gradually sharpened focus.  He heard a faint whistle from the winds blowing through the forest just north of him.  A crackerjack crow flew overhead and soared down into an open carving in the trees at the far edge of the marsh.  He could feel the chill running through his bones.

With no possible plan, he marched in the direction of warmth. His body acting as an internal thermal compass.  Was it the warmth that pulled him, or was it the cold that pushed? Nevertheless, northwest seemed to do the trick.  He noticed a red snake keeping pace just behind him.  Cold blooded, he thought.


As he entered the forest path, his legs steadily moved faster, from a hurried walk to a run.  The quicker he moved, the stronger the flames seemed to burn.  Before he knew it, Charlord was in a full sprint, a madman heading into the wild.  And then something happened.  In the black void that filled his mind, a small crack of light broke through.  It wasnt much and it provided no information of use.  But it was something.  And now, Charlord was left to ponder what exactly that light would illuminate? Did he even want to know?  Perhaps the black void was something he sought out...


As he entered the forest path, his legs steadily moved faster, from a hurried walk to a run.  The quicker he moved, the stronger the flames seemed to burn.  Before he knew it, Charlord was in a full sprint, a madman heading into the wild.  And then something happened.  In the black void that filled his mind, a small crack of light broke through.  It wasnt much and it provided no information of use.  But it was something.  And now, Charlord was left to ponder what exactly that light would illuminate? Did he even want to know?  Perhaps the black void was the end goal...


Mystic Silas of Xanadu

# The Lore of Mystic Silas of Xanadu

One of the strangest lands in the Runiverse is the land of Xanadu. It is a place that is difficult to find on a map, for those who claim to have been there seem to forget its location upon their return. This bizarre place seems to cast a blissful, dreamlike spell over those who come and go from it.

Though shrouded in mystery, it is widely believed that the most reliable information on this land comes from the renowned expert, Mystic Silas of Xanadu.

The plants and animals, the strange peoples and customs, and a thousand year history is all chronicled by the Wizard Silas. He keeps this wealth of knowledge in his master work: The Omni Codex of Xanadu.

The only problem is that this magnum opus is written in a language that only Silas understands. Scholars across the land have used many methods to decode this puzzling tome, but to no avail. The inscrutable nature of the Omni Codex has therefore furthered the impenetrable mysteries of Xanadu, and has ensured that only Silas remains its renowned expert.


Battle Mage Danny of the Light

# The Lore of Battle Mage Danny of the Light

Battle Mage Danny is what's known colloquially as a giga chad of the wizarding world. He is twin brother to Battle Mage Goliath of the Desert...rumor has it there were actually supposed to be triplets, except Danny absorbed one of his brothers during gestation to become even more powerful. His brilliance was evident even at a young age, he was already casting spells when other kids were learning how to walk and talk, with a particular fondness for fireballs and explosions. While his less accomplished twin was mostly ignored by the family, Danny was the pride and joy of his clan, an old and powerful family of martial wizards who passed down the secrets of combat magic from one generation to the next. Everyone in the village believed Danny was destined to become the most powerful battle mage to ever walk the Forgotten Runes, and he relished in the attention.


Most origin stories have some kind of tragic setback or coming-of-age dilemma, but not Danny's. If there's one phrase to describe his life, it is "up only." He received a full ride scholarship to the Pigmoles School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he ranked top of his class every single year and was also class president every single year. Most children with such a pedigree would be hated by their classmates and get beat up at lunch every day, but not Danny: he was perennially the most popular kid with a never-ending entourage of admirers. After graduation, he aced his battle mage entry exam with ease, and immediately landed a cushy magi-tech consulting job in Red Wizard Capital making a six figure salary in gold pieces every year. He shortly became even more wealthy (possibly ludicrously wealthy) from a series of prescient investments in the maritime trade. A few years later, much to the consternation of single women in the Forgotten Runes, Danny got married too, to a beautiful witch from a powerful aristocratic family.


Life is good for Danny, and he is basically the envy of everyone who knows him. He is a paragon of the wizarding world with the perfect life, a man who has it all. Is it possible that there are cracks in the facade? Some say he is involved with shady characters in the wizard underworld who help finance his deals. Other rumors abound that there's no love in his marriage, and it was purely a political alliance at best and a eugenic experiment to create a new generation of extremely powerful magic users at worst. Some even whisper that his dashing good looks are the result of a perpetually sustained transfiguration spell. If Battle Mage Danny is hiding a deep dark secret, it has yet to be uncovered...for now, his reputation is more pristine than a nuns underwear drawer after laundry day, and he's the kind of guy you would love to have on your team, but hate to have as an enemy.


Magus Ixar of the Hills

# The Lore of Magus Ixar of the Hills

A simple man Ixar loved to toke on totally legal herbs.

He would toke and toke.

 Such a well known toker Ixar became brand ambassador for a pipe company.

With success Ixar was introduced to a faster paced lifestyle.

Ixar started hanging with a shady crew.

 They talked Ixar into being an enforcer.

He did many jobs.

With success....

Brought more responsibilities.

 Ixar is now in charge of a whole warehouse.

Too much stress. Ixar started getting high on their supply.

A hit squad was sent to line Ixar out.

He tried to fight them off but only had one clip.  Ixar was caught.

Ixar promised to make it right.  They gave him 48hrs.

Ixar had no way to make it right. Only one option.

Ixar knows he has to disappear but has no money.

Ixar seeks refuge in the streets.

Not good. Ixar is introduced to a cheap powerful street potion.  He is hooked.

Using the sacred flame to smoke the potion.  Ixar knows he has hit rock bottom. He has an idea.

One big batch of this potion can give him funds to escape and try to go back to the simple life.

Ixar doesnt know what hes doing though.  There is a reaction.

Boom!!  Explosion heard for miles.

Nowhere to run now.

Fast life has caught up with Ixar.

Stay simple. Dont do heavy potions.


Sorcerer Celah of the Rock

# The Lore of Sorcerer Celah of the Rock

A particularly potent peyote button transferred Sorcerer Celah's consciousness into his monkey familiar, and likewise the monkey mind into his human body. Now the good sorcerer roams the land as a monkey clad in purple finery, followed by the spectacle of his human pet scampering around in simian fashion.


Necromancer Brown Cow of El Dorado

# Necromancer Brown Cow of El Dorado

# Founder of Brown Cow Psychedelic Cappuccino Bar

# Using all natural, organic Brown Cow Milk is of the highest importance at the Brown Cow Psychedelic Cappuccino Bar.

# We founded our bar so that the wizards, and warriors, from all the land could trip out on the highest quality cappuccinos.

# We pride ourselves in treating our cows with respect, by giving them free-range mansions, covered in the most delicious and nutritious magic grass.


Druid Ofaris out of the Blizzard

# The Lore of Druid Ofaris out of the Blizzard

Entry 1:

Here marks the beginning of Druid Ofaris journey (and the end of a rough one). I have successfully made it out of the Great Blizzard. I wonder if anyone even calls it that anymore?

How long has it been, I wonder? Nevertheless, at least I made it out. Time to explore this land. I recently crossed paths with the first set of living beings I have encountered in many, many moons. Strange smelling Wizards they wereif they can even call themselves that.

Regardless, I think it was Goblin Town they mentioned for some good trading and a much-needed tavern. I best keep a mindful eye, as they said it is known for pilfering. Not that I have much to take. yet.


Illusionist Leah of the Lake

# The Lore of Illusionist Leah of the Lake

On the eastern edge of Dream Master Lake, there's a little path that snakes its way twixt copse and tree.  If one were to meander for some several moments upon this trail, past shrub and bush, brush and fern... one might eventually arrive at a small yet charming little cottage.

A freshly-varnished white picket fence surrounds an incredibly neat little kitchen garden, replete with herbs, vegetables and modestly pruned fruit trees.  A latched gate sits appropriately aligned in the middle of the fence, open which a carefully carved sign reads "Briar Rose".

Were one to open said gate and walk up the garden path, under the arched trellis and up to the front door, one would be instantly drawn to the fascinating brass knocker in the shape of a woodpecker.  Let's suppose that upon striking the door with the woodpecker-knocker, the door sprung open (much to the alarm of the would-be pecker-knocker) revealing a lovingly tiled corridor leading into the abode.

Venturing carefully into the quaint cottage, a cosy living area filled with flowers of all possible description fills various jugs, mugs, vases and glasses.  What kind of gentle soul could possibly live in such a fragrant, calming atmosph...

"WHAT IN LUCIFER'S ARSE ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?", screams the young lady as she engulfs you in a strange green cloud of spores.

One's final senses are filled with a delicate smell of roses, as a surprisingly large fox begins to gnaw on your leg.


The Grey Pilgrim

# The Lore of The Grey Pilgrim


Sage Eric of the Canyon

# The Lore of Sage Eric of the Canyon

It all started as a joke, then the joke became more real. Then I thought, might as well get a unique poem done for my unique wizard that can interconect the virtual and non virtual lifes. Here it is:

Anywhere the calm of harbour ends past breakwater or cape or spell of peace youll find me, journey there or back. My friends are everyone who ventures for release or gold, or glory. I travel to find some frightful beast or magic word or scroll that changes everything. But I dont mind whether I win or lose, because the whole of life is stories, told over a crock of ale. Strange friends that meet once and depart forever. Theyre our spirits precious stock in trade. I carry secrets in my heart across the cold expanses of the sea to foreign shores, and tell themand theyre free.

Unfortunatelly, today is the day that Sage Eric of the Canyon will walk into the flames, hopefully his soul will never be forgotten.

A


Archmagus Ming of the Plains

# The Lore of Archmagus Ming of the Plains

Archmagus Ming is grand master of Shorinji Kempo and Nippon Kempo as well as a archmagus. She resides in Calista's Castle with her familia -- a green swamp bullfrog.

Ming planned to travel across the plain and arrive at the vampyre mist for a secret mission. She hasn't decided which route to take -- going up northeast (the Wild & The Fey) or going west by the edge of teh Quantum Shadown.

She figured that she would need a team and pick up some gears first. She rode to Red Wizard Capital on Dec 10th and stopped by the renowned 10ktf store in Red Wizard Capital. Shopkeeper Hideaki greeted Ming and tailormade a water magic enchanted rare hoodie with white cat ears for her.

Ming carried her spell book with her all time. Still, she needs a good magic wand and at least another capable wizard to form a team. After saying good-bye to Hideaki, Ming put on her new enchanted hoodie and head straight toward The Guild in Red Wizard Capital.


Basil of the Gnostics

# The Pearl

That sound, this wood creaking, intermingled with the subtle wind blowing, Ive heard it before. This musky smell tinted with mildew, very familiar. This sensation of itching, I remember, around my nose, this crust of salt, having filtered this air all night. On the walls, I can see, rays of light seeping from cracks, dancing and painting those ugly rotting walls. I can feel my whole body, rocking at this same pace. And then this feeling of dread.. Oh yes, its morning, and Im still alive.

 _I am Basil of the Gnostics, and weeeeelcooooome to a spectacle of optics, a night of might and magic!_

This sentence, I cant stand it anymore, but the worse is seeing their innocent reaction on their face. Like a canvas painted from honest emotions, amazed, eyes shining, pleasure running through their neck down to their toes, draped in their velvet robes. They look happy. For some, theyve been working days in days out for years to afford a ferry to The Pearl, and twice that time for a one-night ticket in my tower, a night of thunder and wonder. Most of them wont even remember. Most of them will go under.

The pleb will work all their life to come here in the hopes of making it big, or simply having a purpose, a goal to look into and convince themselves that, somehow, their everyday life of suffering will be worth it.


Of course, you also have the aristocrats, magistrates, Big Potion investors, sons of prince this, daughters of queen that.
Except, for them, there are no risks, the games rigged

Those prosperous, pompous _Landies_ come over here because for them theyve seen everything they need on land, theyve already experienced what mountains of gold can offer over there. Theyve seen, heard, ate, and felt everything there is ..at least on Land.
See, within the limits of the Realms, there is a certain code to follow, at least if you have a certain reputation to maintain. Certain experiences are not accepted over there, frowned upon. All a bunch of hypocrites to me, those who write these laws cant even stop coming here.

And therefore something like The Pearl exists, a wonder of the sea they say! Shining so bright in the darkness of the night. So bright that anyone can find it just by heading to the nothingness of the ocean and follow this beacon of light. Miles out of the nearest shores, in constant flow, where no laws exists, this self-sustaining marvel of engineering is so immense, no one calls it a ship, its a floating city, a multi-leveled floating city of lust and debauchery. It would take over a week for a _Landie_ just to visit all the casinos, arenas, taverns, cabarets or exclusive clubs like the one I run.

And thats just what theyre allowed to see, for all this majestic appearance is only a shell, hiding an underbelly of kitchens, steam rooms, slave quarters, and those chains ..those chains dragging against the ocean floor, reminding of us of what would happen if we were to disobey the Baron.

 _I am Basil of the Gnostics, and weeeeelcooooome to a spectacle of optics, a night of might and magic!_


At least Im one of the lucky ones, these dancing rays of light, a constant reminder that Im living above the sea line, unlike my best friend Grog, despite being the main chef on board. But alas, hes a Kobold after all. What would those pureblood wizards say if they knew their fizzle cake was made a dirty Kobold! Nonsense.. I may run one of the most exclusive club on The Pearl, were all equal in the end, a slave is a slave.
Oh, Im sorry, not a slave, a debtor..whatever..

See, remember when I said the game was rigged? Anyone is welcomed on The Pearl, as long as they have gold of course, and that rarely lasts long. This predatory ship will play with your mind, planting this seed making you believe you can win big at the games, and come back as rich as the local Lord of your unremarkable hamlet. You may win at first, but youll come back, you got the taste. And then all these substances youll inevitably end up taking will make you want more and more, until your pockets are empty. And thats when you get approached, _Oh sir, you could sell your return ticket and make it back_. Guess what happens if you lose that one too, the Barons servants, the mind flayers, will be happy to lend you some.

Then its over, they got you. Youll be forced to wear the Glyph and work here to pay back your debt before you can leave. Interest, accommodation tax, food fees, its one big trap.

And what did I do you might ask?

My ancestor Bergamot of the Gnostics, four generations over, decided to gamble a ship he didnt own like an imbecile, and here I am paying back debt for someone not even breathing anymore. Born on the Pearl, Die on the Pearl.


Some do try to escape, but they inevitably get the chain. Yes, those chains I mentioned earlier, hanging under the Pearls belly, dragging across the abyss, vibrating through the current, reminding us of the horror that would occur if we were to disobey. Thousands and thousands of bodies left to drown and rot, attached to those tentacles of death and sorrow.

They do serve another purpose, Grog told me to never repeat, as I am not sure the guests would appreciate where all their delicious molluscs come from. See, turns out that rotting bodies are an excellent source of food and anchor for hundreds of species of clams, mussels and other sea delicacies, all served directly onto the plate of oblivious Landies.

I guess thats the price to pay to have a self-sustainable floating city. For every marvelous, engineered innovation, you have a darker twin, hidden from most eyes. Anyone still awake before sunrise can head on the deck and see the hoist of the Collector, this giant contraption of nets, capturing moisture from the early mist. And for a brief moment, I wonder if after all the Pearl really is stunning with this giant white tree floating in the middle of nowhere.

Im then reminded of its dark twin. Every time, every time you marvel at something, you learn of another horrific contraption. Grog told me about the source of their Milk. It is said to be imported from the finest the Milk guild can offer, but then strangely, you never see Canaanite debtors roaming on the Pearl. Somewhat, somewhere, these poor beasts are prisoners of their own chains, being milked until they die so that a Prince gets to taste a fine cheese before heading to my club.

No, this ends, tonight.


No one has seen what the Baron looks like except for the Mind flayers, occasionally paying him a visit at the center of the ship. And Ive heard the rumors, about how he doesnt look like us, how he doesnt even talk like us. Arms as big as towers, a beak that could crush the biggest of galleons, an invincible beast of the abyss. Nonsense, that cant be, cant scare us with these stories. He must be like you and me, he must have a flaw.

Tonight, yes, tonight is the night.

Storms are approaching, heavy storms. They wont have a choice, wont have a choice but to conjure the orb and submerge the whole thing into the darkness of the ocean void, with occasional luminous spectacles of this glowing plankton, unaware of how they falsely shine a veil of beauty on this vessel of misery.
This is when we strike, once everyone is too intoxicated by their own false happiness. Grog needs to know, he needs to have the stolen ingredients prepared for the feast, Ill send him my crow. As for me, Ive prepared too. Tonight theyll experience the most epic celebration of their lives ..a night they will remember, or will they?

_I am Basil of the Gnostics, and weeeeelcooooome to a spectacle of optics, a night of might and magic!_


Wraith Knight Judas of the Smell

# The Lore of Wraith Knight Judas of the Smell

# I spent my life as the butt of every joke in my village. No matter how hard I tried I just couldn't seem to fit in.  Constantly harrassed and abused, I sore that I would get revenge on those that wronged me. I would laugh at their funerals.

# Jeldor's abuses were the worst of all. It started off as just name calling, then stealing my things, followed by fights. Finally Jeldor took things too far when he killed my dog. NOW I AM BACK! AND STRONGER THAN EVER BEFORE! I WILL DESTROY THIS PESKY VILLAGE AND KILL ALL THOSE WHO WRONGED ME!

# All except Jeldor, of course, I will leave him alive and force him to watch as I destroy everything he loves. Those fools will wish they had never bothered little ol' Judas! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA


Arcanist Arcus of the Hills

#                 THE END IS NEAR

                          Let me tell you how stars are born

                                Or better yet, how they die

           Stars illuminate the cosmos and give hope to the living

                    Yet they only exist to fight the darkness

     A star can only fight for so long before running out of fuel and
  collapsing. A supernova of sorts, leaving behind emptiness and mass

But with larger and brighter stars, when they die they go out in all their
  glory. A reaction that can cause the only thing more trecherous than
                  darkness - the absence of darkness and light

##                                    Nothingness

##                                    A Black Hole

           Yet there is something magical about this desolation

 There is a being that embraces, or rather thrives in this nothingness

             A being of cosmic radiance, the horror from above.

#            Arcanist Arcus of the Hills

             The end is near, and not even the light will save you

                       Darkness consumes us all eventually...


Artificer Aleister of the Rock

# The Lore of Artificer Aleister of the Rock

Once there was a wizard whose life was like a mountain and he was like a mountain climber. When he started his journey he knew that he has to reach the top but many times he chooses the wrong mountain to climb and compete with others. He was unaware that everyone has a different mountain to climb. He has to adjust with the mountain as the mountain won't adjust with him. Finally, he found the mountain which was built only for him. His aim to reach the peak was freedom and the journey to the peak was happiness. There were a lot of ups and downs. He started to climb but failed again and again but he didn't change his aim, he only changed his way. The system he followed every day to reach that point was his vehicle. He learned to leverage technology to reach the peak and it was the accelerator of his vehicle.  The purpose to reach that peak and curiosity to learn was the fuel of his vehicle. When he reached there he made his wizard community proud.


Scryer Rodolfo of the Reach

# The Lore of Scryer Rodolfo of the Reach

**THE SCREEN IS BLACK.**

                        VOICE (O.S.)
            Wounded on the river

            The water and the blood

            And I'm dying with the thirst

            But will never give up

**EXT. MOUNTAIN RIVER - DAY**

An eccentric mountain man with tan skin and a bushy black beard that contrasts with his bright white polar bear hood proudly wears a huge gold belt buckle.

This is SCRYER RODOLFO OF THE REACH who appears to be dancing with a mug of ale that is splashing amber liquid everywhere.

On closer inspection, we see that he is talking to an unusually huge, grape-colored crackerjack crow thats the size of a large mountain goat. Hes named her

                        RODOLFO
             Come on Chatty Lilac! I know you can hear me.
             I just need you to give me a sign.

                        CHATTY LILAC
             Squak, bop, squawk, pop!

Rodolfos shoulders sink and he shakes his head in disappointment.

We see that Rodolfo has an arrow sunken into his right leg. He pours ale from his mug onto his wound in an attempt to sanitize it. Then he reaches down with his large hands with lanky fingers to yank the arrow out.

                        RODOLFO
             Im done searching for the cure if this is all for nothing.
             Are you nothing? Am I losing my mind? 10 years of this.
             I cant keep going.

Chatty Lilac hops forward on the ground, stops, and tilts her head to the side.

Rodolfo gives the crackerjack crow a blank stare and slowly his eyes well up in tears.


He yanks the arrow out of his leg. BLOOD GUSHES OUT like a carnival water balloon popping on his leg.

Rodolfo lets out a scream that sounds like a monstrous bear. His painful voice echoes among the mountains of The Reach.

He lifts up his mug of ale that strangely appears to always be full and brings it to his lips.

Then Chatty Lilac flies towards him and charges right into his face, preventing Rodolfo from taking a sip.

                        RODOLFO
             Was that a sign? Or are you just being a river pest?

The crackerjack crow soars towards the clouds and does a loop, then twirls into a forward summersault.

                        RODOLFO
            Im done with this crackerjack crow and her games.

Chatty Lilac dives back down towards Rodolfos head once again.

Rodolfo pumps his chest forward and tilts his head to the heavens.

                        RODOLFO
             (chants)
             The mystic spirits of The Wild

             The power of the Polar Bear

             Collector of Souls in a pile

             Accept prayers from the Scryer

Chatty Lilac spreads her wings as she barrels through the sky to slow down.

Rodolfos tan face turns chalk white.

Fur emerges from the spores on his face.

The nasty BLOODY WOUND on Rodolfos leg seals itself shut and white fur spreads over it.

Rodolfos head has shapeshifted into a POLAR BEAR!

                        CHATTY LILAC
             (unhinged)
             Squawk. Squawk, Squawk, Squawk!

Rodolfo the Polar Bear smashes the mug of ale into the side of his mouth and the magical amber liquid pours down his throat rapidly mirroring the wild waterfalls of The Reach.


Chatty Lilac attacks Rodolfo with her razor-sharp talons.

Rodolfo flicks his mug of ale at the crackerjack crow to drench Chatty Lilac with his magic amber liquid.

The crackerjack crow spirals to the ground and lands squarely on its feet.

Chatty Lilac ruffles her feathers, but cant get the ale off her body. She stumbles forward and plops down into a puddle of amber liquid spilled from Rodolfos mug.

                        RODOLFO (THE POLAR BEAR)
             (loud bear voice)
             My dear Chatty Lilac, what have I done?

Chatty Lilac is lying on her back in the puddle with her tiny legs in the air.

Drowning in ale, she goes into a trance.

WHOOSH!

**EXT. SUNNY GREEN OPEN FIELD - FLASHBACK DAY**

PURPLE LILACS are abundant in the field. We see a couple rolling on the ground laughing.

They stop tumbling to lay next to each other and look at the clouds.

Rodolfo is 10 years younger without his bushy black beard and white polar bear hood.

Next to him, is a delicate woman with peach skin and wispy reddish-brown hair. Shes wearing a blue skin-tight bodysuit with an orange hip pouch. This is ENCHANTER ARTIS OF THE WOLD.

                        RODOLFO
              Can the Enchanter handle a new magic trick?

                        ARTIS
              Can the Scryer hold his liquor?

Rodolfo sits up and hovers over Artis.

Artis props herself up too. The golden sunlight illuminates her reddish-brown hair and it now appears PURPLE.

Rodolfo is mesmerized by the Enchanter.


Rodolfo is mesmerized by the Enchanter.

                        RODOLFO
              (chants)
              The mystic spirits of The Wild

              The power of the Mug of Ale

              Collector of Souls in a pile

              Accept prayers from the Scryer

WHOOSH!

A mystical Mug of Ale now swings in Rodolfos fist.

                        RODOLFO
              (nervous)
              I cant think straight when Im with you.
              Time slows down and all my thoughts
              leave my head to float into the clouds.

Artis chuckles.

                        ARTIS
              I can tell youve been practicing that speech
              for a while, my love.
              (pause)
              But Im dazzled by the pictures you paint
              with words.

Rodolfo cracks a smile as big as a canyon.

He proceeds to take a huge gulp of ale from his magic mug.

                        ARTIS
              Time speeds up when Im with you,
              never a dull moment. Surprise me!

After pouring down a hefty amount of ale, Rodolfo lets out a monstrous exhale that appears to rustle nearby leaves.

He takes a deep breath.

Closes his eyes.

His heart pumps.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

                        RODOLFO
              (nervous)
              The magical spirits of The Wizzy Wild

              The pictures painted by the Polar Bear

              Collector of Prayers in a peculiar pile

              Accept wishes from the Super Scryer

Artis straightens up in anticipation of what comes next.

Nothing happens.

Rodolfo and Artis have an awkward silence.

Her purple sunlit hair blows in the wind and seems to emit MUSICAL SOUNDS like the strings of a harp.


Embarrassed, Rodolfo completely flips the mug of ale upside down to sink amber liquid down his throat.

                        ARTIS
              (smiling)
              Maybe you should take a break, my dear.
              Set the mug of ale down and be with me
              right here, right now.

Rodolfo is clearly frustrated.

Artis lifts both of her hands up and connects her top fingers together as well as her bottom thumbs to form a HEART SHAPE.

                        ARTIS
              No magic, just chemistry.

Rodolfos brow crunches, his eyes widen, and he opens his mouth as if he were possessed by the spirit of a lion.

His mug is mysteriously FILLED WITH ALE once again.

Rodolfo doesnt hesitate to violently devour the magic liquid.

                        RODOLFO
                (to himself)
                No, no, no, that wasnt it. I embellished

                the spell with a few extra words to impress

                my dear Enchantress.

Rodolfos body wavers on the grassy field appearing in sync with the many lilacs blowing in the wind.

He is clearly drunk, but his EYES EMIT AN UNNATURAL GLOW.

Legend has it in the Forgotten Runes, that the more power a wizard uses it results in them losing their minds. And as a consequence, they also lose control over their amplified powers.

Artis's hair becomes ELECTRIFIED. It grows fuller and appears to come alive.

She jumps to her feet and is clearly uncomfortable.

                        RODOLFO
              (slurred speech)
              The mystic spirits of The Wild

                        ARTIS
              (angry)
              Stop it!

                        RODOLFO
              (slurred speech)
              The power of the Shapeshifter of Souls


Artis bolts forward towards Rodolfo who is intoxicated with mystical ale and unwieldy magical powers.

                        ARTIS
              (interrupts)
              Stop it now, Rodolfo!

He stops.

Rodolfos legs stiffen and the top of his body leans forward as if he were an ancient tree swaying the wind.

His eyes are glowing.

                        RODOLFO
              (drunk)
              No, you stop!

With his free hand, he rubs his glowing eyes.

Everything is a BLUR to him now. He cant see clearly.

                        RODOLFO
              (to himself)
              My vision is strange. I must be dying of thirst.

He gazes at his mug of ale trying to bring it into focus.

                        ARTIS
              Just stop it right now, Rodolfo.

She grabs Rodolofos face with both of her hands to try and shake him free from his altered state.

                        RODOLFO
              You sound like you sound like a crackerjack crow.
              (mocking)
              Just stop it! Just stop it!

Artis slaps him across the face with an open hand creating a sound that cracks the wind.

                        RODOLFO
              (altered state)
              The mystic spirits of The Wild
              The power of the Shapeshifter of Souls
              Banish this voice in my head
              This crackerjack crow

BOOM!

A burst of SUPERNATURAL ENERGY engulfs both Rodolfo and Artis and they levitate for a brief moment.

Rodolfos mind is now as clear as the crystal Rivers of the Reach.

Artis's face is frozen in shock as her body pulsates within the ball of energy that has trapped them in the air.

The supernatural energy bursts like a soapy bubble popping in the sky.


The supernatural energy bursts like a soapy bubble popping in the sky.

Rodolfo falls to the ground with a thunderous drop and BLACKS OUT.

**EXT. MOUNTAIN RIVER - PRESENT DAY**

Rodolfo is back to normal and is no longer a Shapeshifted Polar Bear.

He is leaning over Chatty Lilac, his crackerjack crow, with its tiny legs in the air and feathers drenched in magic ale.

                        RODOLFO
              My dear Chatty Lilac, what have I done?

The crackerjack crow BLINKS.

                        RODOLFO
              Chatty, Chatty Lilac. Oh, how I miss our conversations.

He reaches down to pick up his crackerjack crow.

                        RODOLFO
              Chatty, chatty chatty.

Rodolfo shakes his saddened head and directs his gaze to the heavens in disgust.

Then he focuses his attention back on his delicate crackerjack crow.

                        RODOLFO
              Chatty, chatty enchanter.

He lifts his crackerjack crow to his face to peer into its eyes that glisten like lavender diamonds.

                        RODOLFO
              I just need any kind of sign
              Please tell me to stay alive
              Are you in this little body my love?
              Enchanter Artis of the Wold

A beam of sunlight on the crackerjack crows body lights up her purple feathers.

                        RODOLFO
              I need you to say something.

The crackerjack crow remains silent.

Rodolfo lifts up the mystical mug of ale in the air.

                        CHATTY LILAC
              Squawk!

Downtrodden, Rodolfos trembling hand brings the mystical mug of ale directly to his cracked lips.