View profile

The Otthroite Gems

Chapter 1

Torgen, a seasoned miner, was a living testament to the dwarves' unwavering dedication to their craft. His rugged appearance, bearing the marks of a life spent in the mines, was a testament to his commitment. His quarry? The Otthroite Gems. Torgen was aware of their value and the substantial reward that awaited him if he discovered one while mining. These mountains, renowned for their abundance of precious gold, crystal, and rare Otthroite gems, were his domain. Generations of dwarves had delved deep into these mountains, unearthing treasures that had supported their economy and way of life. The most prized of these treasures were the rare Otthroite gems, known for their unique properties that could bind the essence of a person for magical enhancement. These gems were sought after by enchanters from far and wide, highly prized for their rarity and potency.

The cavern was a sprawling, awe-inspiring expanse, illuminated by the faint glow of bioluminescent fungi clinging to the jagged rock walls. These fungi emitted a soft, ethereal light in shades of blue and green, creating an otherworldly atmosphere that bathed the entire chamber in a ghostly radiance.

The air was damp and cool, carrying the faint scent of earth and minerals, a reminder of the ancient forces that had shaped this subterranean world. Moisture dripped rhythmically from the stalactites hanging from the ceiling, echoing through the vast space and creating shallow, reflective pools on the uneven floor.

Wood benches hung scattered along the cavern walls, each suspended by thick, sturdy ropes anchored into the rock ceiling. Small clusters of candles on these benches flickered with a warm, golden glow, providing sparse illumination amidst the pervasive darkness. The interplay of candlelight and the fungi’s luminescence created a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow.

The cavern spanned hundreds of yards into the depths of the earth. A monumental cavity hollowed out from centuries of relentless mining. The ceiling rose high above, lost in shadows, giving the space an almost cathedral-like presence. Stalactites and stalagmites, ancient and imposing, formed natural columns that seemed to support the mountain itself.

The rock walls, rough-hewn and scarred from countless pickaxes, bore the marks of the dwarves’ labor. Veins of precious minerals occasionally glimmered in the faint light, hinting at the treasures that still lay hidden within the mountain’s depths. Tunnels branched off from the main cavern, winding away into darkness and promising further wonders and secrets to those who dared to explore.

The atmosphere within the cavern was alive with the history and the weight of time, an eternal vault that had witnessed generations come and go. It was a place where the earth’s deepest mysteries lay in silent slumber, waiting to be unearthed by those with the perseverance and spirit to do so.

Torgen's suspension platform, a sturdy wooden contraption, hung precariously from a thick rope. Below, the black abyss seemed to stretch endlessly. Torgen swung his pickaxe with precision, each strike resonating through the cavern. The rhythmic sound of metal against stone was a testament to his expertise. The platform swayed gently with each movement, but Torgen's steady stance belied his years. His muscles, though aged, were well-toned from a lifetime of labor.

He worked away day after day in search of precious rewards. However, in recent years, Unrar has seen a steady decline in yield altogether. The once-bountiful mountain seemed to be drying up, its veins of precious minerals depleted from centuries of continuous mining. The once-lively caverns, filled with the sounds of pickaxes and bustling activity, now echoed with an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional strike of a tool against the rock. Undeterred, Torgen swung his pick into the rock, chipping away with precision. He couldn't help but feel a growing sense of unease. The once-reliable veins of Otthroite gems were becoming increasingly difficult to locate. The scarcity of these gems was not just a blow to the economy but a threat to the very livelihood of the dwarves who depended on their trade. The thought of the mountain running dry was a grim prospect, and the weight of this realization pressed heavily on Torgen's shoulders.

Torgen's sharp eyes scanned the rock face, searching for any glimmer of precious gems. His calloused and strong hands moved with deft precision, guided by years of experience. Each strike of the pickaxe was deliberate, chipping away at the stone with a finesse that only a master miner could achieve.

 The midday horn blew for lunch, but Torgen was determined to follow this tiny thread of gold he was mining before taking his break. Despite the toll the years had taken on his body, Torgen's spirit remained unbroken. The wrinkles on his face were etched with lines of determination and resolve. He, like many before him, dedicated their lives to this craft. His father and his father’s father lived their lives in the cavern, mining the treasures of Unrar. Once a dwarf becomes a miner, it is a lifelong commitment. It was rare that a dwarf mined enough to have a successful retirement. The greed of pursuing more riches robbed them of this dream.

As Torgen swung his pickaxe, he thought of the generations of dwarves who had mined these mountains, their blood, sweat, and toil echoing through the caverns. He knew the responsibility he carried and the importance of his work.

 “May the gods bless this ore as I mine away their creation,” Torgen repeated to himself, a humble prayer of the dwarves.

He chipped the rock a little more and withdrew the gold into a pouch to be processed later. Torgen's eyes caught a faint glimmer in the stone, a tantalizing hint of a hidden gem. His heart quickened with a mix of hope and anticipation. With renewed vigor, he struck the rock with gentle force, each blow driven by the desire to unearth the treasure that lay within. This was the first gem in months and could serve as his retirement. The size of this gem was tremendous; it was the biggest he had ever seen. One more tap and the gem dislodged from its holding place and fell into Torgen’s hand. He held on and stared into the murky stone.

The Otthroite gem was colorless until it was infused and generally uninteresting to look at before. The raw, uninfused stones had a dull, glassy appearance, often overlooked by those untrained in their potential. Once the enchanters and the owner infused the gem with arcane energy, however, it transformed into a spectacle of mesmerizing beauty. The infusion process caused the colors within the gem to change dramatically; the murky smoke-like patterns inside would come alive, swirling continuously in a brilliant display of vibrant hues. Blues, greens, purples, and golds would dance within the stone, creating an ever-changing kaleidoscope of light and color.

The infused gems were mesmerizing, capturing the essence of the magic within. They seemed to pulse with life, drawing the gaze of anyone who looked upon them. The beauty and potency of an infused Otthroite gem were unparalleled, making them highly sought after by enchanters, mages, and collectors alike.

Torgen held one such gem in his calloused hand long ago. The stone then was ablaze with a riot of colors as it caught the faint light in the cavern. The swirling colors seemed almost hypnotic, a testament to the power and artistry involved in its creation. Torgen could only imagine the essence of the mage that would be infused with the gem in his hand. Who would become its owner? His thoughts crossed rapidly as he held the precious gem. He knew that whoever claimed this gem would wield a significant advantage in power and prestige.

He placed the gem carefully in a new pouch, ensuring its protection. He deliberately raised himself to the nearest platform to get off his bench, mindful not to draw unnecessary attention. The cavern was silent, but he could sense the weight of the gem's significance.

Torgen did not want to make too much of a scene. If discovered, he could get a target on him. Some dwelt among the Dwarves, who had a greedy hand and would stop at nothing to achieve riches. He knew that once the word was out, the dwarves would come flocking to him and the council. This was bad enough, he thought.  Bids would be placed upon the gem for incomprehensible amounts, each contender driven by the desire to harness its power. Yet, such competition often led to tensions and potential fights among those who lost out. Torgen wanted no part in that; he wanted to turn in the gem, receive his well-earned payment, and then step away from the chaotic and cumbersome world of gem mining.

His thoughts drifted to his imminent retirement from the caverns of Unrar. After years of toil and danger, he yearned for peace. The allure of the gems had brought him to this point, but the time had come to let go. As he made his way towards the exit, the gem safely tucked away, Torgen hoped this would be his last great discovery, a fitting end to a storied career.

            Torgen climbed off his bench and shuffled slowly down the long hall to the offices for the mines. A few dwarfs passed him, giving no attention as they were on their way to fulfilling their tasks. He hurried along, reaching the large wooden doors. With a hard pull, he yanked them back and proceeded into the large lobby.

“Master Torgen, good to see you. Little early to turn in your day’s work, isn’t it?” a dwarf from behind the desk asked. This dwarf was Master Olen, a key figure in Unrar's mining operations. Olen was a short, stocky man with a broad chest and thick, muscular arms that spoke of his years of labor in the mines. His once-dark beard had turned pale grey with age, and his skin was weathered and tanned from years spent both underground and outside.

“Indeed, Master Olen. But I have something you need to see,” Torgen replied. He walked to the desk, opened his pouch, and produced the gem from within.

“Bless my beard! Is that an Otthroite gem?” Olen exclaimed loudly. His voice was rough but filled with genuine amazement.

“I believe it is, sir. I was mining a gold thread and found it embedded within. I brought it here immediately without telling anyone. I do not want the attention this will bring,” Torgen said, his voice tinged with a hint of weariness. His desire for a quiet retirement was palpable, and his humility in the face of such a significant find was admirable. He had no interest in the potential chaos once the word got out about the gem. All he wanted was to turn in the gem, receive his payment, and retire from the life of a miner in the cavern of Unrar.

Olen held the dull-looking gem in his left hand and gently wiped away some dirt encrusted on it with a cloth. “Well, you have certainly earned your retirement, Torgen. Some paperwork will need to be completed, of course, but you can rest assured you will be taken care of going forward. I will let the elders know of this, and I am sure we can find a way to use it. We find very little anymore; throughout the range, only ten gems were found in the last three years. The councils have an idea for these as they may be the last gems we ever find.”

He continued, “I hear talk of the people coming together to equip our great heroes with new armor and weapons. They are using gems passed down, and their current armor is starting to deteriorate!” Olen shook his head. “Who would think our heroes wear hand-me-down armor and gems in this age?” He muttered the last part primarily to himself. “Ey! This is a good find, Torgen! You may head on, and I’ll ensure you are compensated nicely for your findings.”

Master Olen was an institution unto himself in the mining community of Unrar. Short and stocky, his body was built like the stones he had spent his life extracting from the mountain. His broad chest and muscular arms were a testament to years of hard labor. His fingers were thick and sturdy, with nails perpetually stained by the earth he worked. Olen's eyes, sharp and penetrating, bore the wisdom of decades spent managing the ebb and flow of precious resources. His hair, once as dark as the deepest tunnels of Unrar, had turned a dignified silver, a crown marking his years of service.

Olen's reputation as a fair and meticulous overseer was widely recognized. He was deeply respected for his unwavering dedication to the miners and his fierce commitment to the principles of dwarven mining culture. His worn skin and calloused hands spoke of countless hours spent underground, guiding his teams through the labyrinthine tunnels of the Unrar mountains.

Olen watched Torgen shuffle out of the office, the gem still in hand, slowly rotating it back and forth. The dull, unenthused appearance of the Otthroite gem belied its magnificent potential. Olen's mind wandered back to how things had changed when such finds were regular and the gems plentiful.

Returning to his desk, Olen opened his books and noted Torgen’s findings. Documentation was a revered discipline among the dwarves, ensuring each miner received their rightful share for their contributions. He detailed the gem’s discovery and ensured that Torgen would be paid his finder’s fee for this precious stone.

After finishing his notes, Olen hesitated. He pondered whether to take the gem to the council or inform Enchanter Core. Memories of past wastes flashed before him—gems squandered on frivolous enhancements, enchanters who had grown lazy with their abundance. Those wearing the enchanted gear often saw little benefit and discarded the gems carelessly. Olen knew the risk of turning the gem over to the Enchanter Core, fearing they would waste its potent magic.

At that moment, Olen decided to present the gem to the council. He hoped their broader vision would recognize the potential of crafting legendary gear for their heroes. Perhaps, with their guidance, the finest gem-enchanted armor of this age could be created, outfitting the captains and giving the dwarves a strategic advantage.

Olen resolved to wait until morning to bring the gem to the council. He would ensure the day’s mining activities were completed and all materials turned in before going to the elders. He felt renewed purpose as he closed his books and extinguished his lamp. This gem could signify a turning point for his people, a chance to rekindle their legacy in Unrar.

With the gem safely tucked away, Master Olen stood from his stool and looked out over the darkening hall. The glow from the few remaining lamps cast long shadows along the corridor. Olen's thoughts were filled with hope and determination, knowing that the decisions made in the coming days could shape the future of the dwarven kingdom.

The gem's history crosses the ages, and this gem will follow the same pattern as before. It was mined by an insignificant dwarf named Torgen. Olen took the name Torgen gave before the council to be agreed upon. After days of delegation between the council leaders, the gem was given a proper name, Astruli. This was the custom for all gems to be named. The name was given due to its green mist that swirled inside once it was infused with arcane magic. This gem, unlike the legendary other nine, would be infusing the staff, Dreamweaver. Astruli would enhance the most potent mage staff and its ability to conjure arcane magic.

 The gem was transported to a special enchanter where it would be crafted and prepared to be handed off to Elwynn Starweaver, the dwarf mage currently wielding Dreamweaver. It is said that the gems are not sentient, but they do retain a memory. A part of the gods is built into the rock during creation, making the rock feel like it was alive or close to it. The priests attempted to explain the capacity of the gems yet failed to retell the story. It is said that at creation, Moriden imprinted a part of himself into the ground, giving his blessing to the dwarves so that they could mine the riches of the world. Each gem, crystal, and spackle of gold would have a part of Moriden imprinted. All rock that the dwarves considered beautiful would have something of Moriden coursing through it, and the Otthroite gems were no different. Astruli continued its journey snuggled safely in a concealed pouch of the enchanter entrusted to deliver the gem to Elwynn. Upon arrival, under the secrecy of night, Astruli was handed over to Elwynn, who immediately withdrew to her chambers. There, she conjured the spells to infuse the gems.

The early part of the night was calm and still, with no breeze to be felt. As Elwynn sat at her bench to begin work on infusing the gem to her staff, the clouds outside started gathering, and the wind picked up. While the infusing part was not considered dark magic, some outside the schools of wizardry would say it was unnatural. Any mage could infuse a part of themselves into the gems to enhance their capabilities in a fight. In the centuries since their discoveries, numerous attempts have been made to see how far the gems could be pushed, but the gems have been found only to have the capacity to hold two essences. Elwynn would pour blood for enhanced arcane magic and part of her soul for increased health and lifespan. By giving up part of her soul, she would be harder to kill in a fight, and by relying on the staff, she would easily outlive her peers. While the process is painful, it is needed in the chaotic world with all the dark forces swarming the elves and dwarves.

She reached onto her shelf and grabbed an old dusty book with no name. The cover was worn leather that had seen better days; she gave the cover a brush with the sleeve of her robe, clearing off the collected dust and soot. She set it on the table next to the gem and her staff. She fetched herself a jug of water as this process would nearly dehydrate her if she were not careful. Opening the book, she turned through the musty pages of ancient spells until she found what she was looking for. The spell to infuse the Otthroite gems with blood to increase her stamina and power; she started the chant. The darkness outside swept through her chamber, blowing out all flames, and the mists swirled around her. Storms were brewing inside and outside her room, yet Elwynn was undisturbed. Lightning flashed next to her window, and thunder cracked a moment later. Nature was always distributed when these spells were recited, but Elwynn continued. The magic was nearly finished; there was just a pause for her to grab her knife and cut her palm deep enough for blood to pour out onto the gem, covering it completely. The gem soaked up the blood while she finished the last line, and, in that instant, the storm ceased, and the air became still again. To perform these spells, Elwynn had a small keep in the middle of the forest, far from prying eyes. She sat back, breathed out as the gem mist swirled red, and correctly took the blood infusion. She was drenched in sweat and blood from her cut. She swirled her right hand over her left and performed a basic healing spell to close the wound and stop the bleeding.

She sat back as the dust settled in the room. She caught her breath and flipped to the next page, not wanting to proceed with the next spell. It is a particularly dangerous spell and one often discouraged from using. The mage gives up a part of their soul to a gem for increased health and extended life capabilities. Elwynn had only heard of mages performing this on rare occasions; sometimes, the results could have been better. In one instance, the mage distorted their soul so severely that they died during the infusion, with part of their soul trapped forever in the gem. In another instance, the mage was left disfigured and lost their connections to arcane magic. Unfortunately, he went on to live a terrible life, begging and living in squander. Either way, Elwynn wanted to ensure she read the spell a few times before committing to the conjuring. She looked at the page, realizing a smudge right through a few words. Damnation, she thought. This is going to be a mess. She looked closer at the words, trying to understand what was smudged. The word could either go one way or another. The wrong word may invalidate the spell or devastate her soul.

She scrapped her thumb at the streak, and part flaked off to reveal the word hidden, giving her what she needed. One more reading of the text, seeing all the words in completion. Elwynn was not wholly comfortable with this spell, but knowing the condition of the word and the need for her skills on the front lines, she needed all possible advantages. “Skat!” she cursed to herself. Taking a deep breath, she starts to recite the words out loud. Instantly, darkness engulfs the room, with the wind howling outside. Storms started to brew, but the worst has yet to come. In tiny writing at the bottom of the page, it said: recite spell quickly, the dead are coming, something Elwynn did not read before starting. As she continued the spell, the ground down the way of the building started to tremble and break open. Skeletal hands broke the surface of an old, forgotten cemetery. As Elwynn continued the spell, the darkness swirled outside, and the dead rose from their grave, slowly climbing out of their resting place. Fully emerged from the ground, a small group of dead slowly descended the hill to where Elwynn was currently residing.

In the room, utter darkness engulfed Elwynn as she continued the spell. Suddenly, a bright light burst forth from Elwynn’s chest. Pausing, she looks down, horrified to find herself staring back at her with an equally horrified expression. Part of her soul was separating and being drawn into the gem. When mages perform the soul-separating spell, the small fragment is extracted from the soul, a lesser form, equal in appearance. Elwynn had known this, but she was not prepared for the fragment to look exactly like her, with a horrified and confused look. Losing track of time, with pain encompassing Elwynn, she drew herself back to the page and tried to continue the spell. Each word dried her throat, causing her to choke on her breath. Finally, she could utter the next word, pushing the spirit further into the gem. She kept speaking the words, slowly extracting the fragments. Each word felt like knives driving into her body, splicing the soul little by little. At the door, a scraping sound was heard amid the raging storms. Outside, the bones of the dead banged against the door; they sought the mage. They were there to drag her to the underworld, a consequence all mages face when they utter the spell. Their smashes against the door became harder, shattering splinters into the air.

Finally, Elwynn finished the spell as the fragment was fully engulfed in the gem, causing an eerie green misty glow. She collapsed onto the table, gasping for breath. Sweat poured down her face, her arms hung down by her sides, and her face lay on the table. The storms finally ceased, but suddenly, there was a banging on the door. Whispers of voices in the air could be heard. “The toll must be paid. You will come with us.” With no time to recover, Elwynn, weak from the spell, grabbed the gem and tried to place it upon her staff. The stone fell before she could bind it, clattering across the floor. She raced after it as the banging on the door intensified. She fell to her knees, grabbed the gem, and attempted the binding spell again.

It was a simple and quick spell, and the gem embedded itself into the handle of her staff, changing its color to a dark crimson with a slight, ominous glow. Elwynn struggled to her feet, wavering as the spells had taken their toll. What is happening? she thought, dizziness setting in as her head spun. Unprepared for the weight of the spell, she realized too late the soul-binding incantation had awakened the dead nearby. The pounding on the door continued, each bang louder than the last.

“The toll must be paid. You will come with us,” a voice echoed, chilling and commanding, through the room. One more slam and the wooden board shattered, revealing a bony arm protruding through the opening. Elwynn gasped. She had never encountered the dead before, only heard tales of their strength and menace. Now, she faced them head-on.

The arms broke through more of the wood, sending debris flying. She leveled her staff and blasted a fireball at the door. It exploded, and one skeleton shattered from the impact. But four more skeletons remained, entering the room with eerie synchronization. “Come with us; your time is due, mage,” they repeated in unison, their skeletal forms looming closer.

Elwynn squared up, took a deep breath, and raised her staff. She smashed it down on the floor, calling forth fire to rain down on their approaching bodies. Another skeleton crumbled, but three more advanced, undeterred. They were within a few feet now, their bony fingers reaching to grasp her. She swiped her staff, knocking the arm off one skeleton, then swung around, severing its head in the next instant. The bones broke apart and fell to the ground, lifeless once more.

Two remain.

As the dead continued advancing, their eerie chant filled the air, “Come with us.” Elwynn dropped back, leveling her staff to shoot another fireball, which disintegrated one of the dead. Unflinching, the last skeleton grabbed her arm with a grip too tight to break. It tried to drag her out of the room, its vacant eye sockets fixed on her with a menacing look. Elwynn struggled as the skeleton tightened its grip and tripped her, dragging her relentlessly across the floor.

She lost her grip on her staff, watching it fall onto the ground with a despairing thud. Panic set in as the skeleton continued to pull her out of the hut and towards the small hill cemetery. Desperation fueled her memory. There was only one spell Elwynn knew of that didn’t require her staff. Struggling to get her arms together, she recited the companion spell. Instantly, a giant bear materialized, eyes blazing with loyalty and ferocity. It charged at the skeleton, and within seconds, the bear’s powerful paws shredded the undead creature, freeing Elwynn from its grip.

She lay in the mud momentarily as the bear disappeared and the bones scattered on the ground. Light rain sprinkled down, splattering on her face as she caught her breath. Exhausted and with minimal mana reserves, she needed to eat something to regain her strength and sleep for an extended period. The soul-splintering spell had almost been her demise, but tonight, she would survive.

Struggling to her feet, Elwynn retrieved her staff and limped back to her tiny cabin in the darkness of night. The falling rain, though cold, felt refreshing and slightly revitalized her. Reaching the shattered remains of her door, she pushed it open and stumbled inside, heading straight for her makeshift kitchen. She threw a small fireball into the fireplace to warm the room and ate, slowly feeling her strength return. After eating, she walked over to the table and looked once again at the page open on her desk. For the first time, she noticed the small print mentioning the spell's potential to awaken the dead. “Would have been nice to notice that before beginning the spell,” she muttered to herself.

Moments later, she reached her cot, collapsed onto it, and slept for days as her body struggled to repair the damage from the soul-splintering spell.

25 years later…

Elwynn stood upon the dam, overlooking the battlefield. The dark elves were pressing in on their forces from the north and west. The lines of dwarves and men held, but barely. Despite numerous reinforcements with fresh troops, the elves' superior numbers and power gave them the advantage. She sighed, knowing the Reapers, the human king’s elite warriors, might be their only hope. The Reapers wielded gem-infused equipment, making them all but invincible on the battlefield.

Eryndor Dawnstrike and Arcturus Lightbringer stood beside her, studying the scene for a strategic entry point. “There, beyond the tree line, just east of our front line,” Elwynn pointed.

“I see it. Is it the same as always?” asked Arcturus, the mighty paladin seated atop his massive warhorse. Arcturus thrived in battle, relishing the chance to smash his enemies and leave a trail of bodies and blood.

Eryndor, the druid, sat elegantly on her horse. She saw where Elwynn pointed and nodded. “Yes, it’s a good point. Arcturus, you take the lead. Elwynn and I will cover the back and sides.” The battle shifted west, creating a larger opening on the east side.

“Now,” Elwynn commanded, and the three moved their horses down the embankment.

“FOR TALAMAR!” yelled Arcturus as he charged forward. The Battle of Barren Plains commenced as dark elves swarmed from the north, empowered by Lord Xerxes, the fallen king who now wielded dark magic over the Eastern lands. The trio reached the front lines, clashing with the dark elves from the east and scattering their forces. Arcturus’s massive horse trampled the elves before they realized what was happening. He dismounted and leaped into a small group, his sword decapitating three elves in one swift motion. He stood there after the swing, sword dripping with black blood that sprayed everyone from the wounds. The bodies of the now headless elves stood and swayed for a long moment before collapsing to the ground in a heap. His fury grew, his shining armor now spattered with blood.

Elwynn and Eryndor followed closely, casting spells to clear the ranks. Eryndor called forth roots from the ground to entangle and explode the elves. Elwynn summoned fire from the sky, raining down on the distant dark elves. The gem in her staff pulsated with energy, amplifying her mana reserves and granting her enhanced stamina and health.

As attention turned to the Reapers, they swiftly cut through the dark elves. A group of elves surrounded Elwynn, attempting to engage her. Despite their mastery of swordsmanship, they were no match for a mage. They advanced together, swinging their swords, but Elwynn dropped her staff, calling fire from the ground to engulf them. Two caught fire and fell, screaming as flames consumed them. The remaining elves advanced cautiously, aware of her power. Elwynn leveled her staff and unleashed a barrage of fire, quickly dispatching them.

The dwarves held firm at the front, their ironclad formation forming an almost impenetrable wall. Inch by inch, they pushed forward, digging their feet into the ground against the elven assault. Realizing their defeat, unable to break the dwarven wall, and with the Reapers closing in from behind, the dark elves sounded the retreat and withdrew west to The Creeping Death, their staging ground for further attacks in this protracted war.

Arcturus approached Elwynn and Eryndor, removing his helm. “Easy work. But something’s off. Xerxes has only sent elves in the last few battles. No mages, no beasts, no demons. Is he saving them for something?” Arcturus scanned the battlefield as some dwarves and humans chased the retreating elves.

“I don’t know, but this was too easy,” Eryndor replied. The three gathered their horses and rode back to camp while battles raged across the lands.

 

(SOME TIME LATER)

Ordi walked into his final class, feeling the weight of the past few years of school pressing down on him. Despite the fascinating lectures and theories, he was ready to be done and apply what he had learned. This last class was a history of magic, focusing on magical items. Today's lecture was about the long-fabled Otthroite gems and their role in the last great war. Although the topic intrigued Ordi, he felt relieved knowing this was the end.

Professor Quimby entered the lecture hall and placed his bag on the desk. He took a sip of water and cleared his throat, but the noise in the room continued to rise as the start time had already passed. “Class, please settle down. Today, we will discuss a critical historical account: the series of prolonged conflicts known as the War of the Reapers, specifically focusing on the involvement of the Otthroite gems.”

Professor Quimby adjusted his glasses and began. “For several years, these battles raged on without pause. The Reapers, with their commendable determination, stood as beacons of courage against the dark forces led by the sorcerer Xerxes. As you may recall from our previous lectures, Xerxes was a formidable sorcerer whose ambition drove him to realms of unprecedented power. His forces were not merely soldiers but entities twisted by dark magic, rendering them relentless on the battlefield.”

He paused for dramatic effect. “As the war drew to a close, the strategic brilliance of the Reapers, along with the power of the rare Otthroite gems, ensured their victory. They managed to terminate Xerxes and disperse his army into the desolate region known as the Deadlands. This was no ordinary victory—a triumph over some of the darkest forces our world had ever seen.”

“After these events, the Reapers, who had once been celebrated as ultimate protectors, found their services no longer required in a peaceful world. Their notable endeavors, tales of heroism, and strategic genius began to fade into legend, resulting in their formal disbandment. With the cessation of their official duties, instructions from the highest echelons of authority mandated that they surrender their advanced equipment.”

“Each piece of their gear contained Otthroite gems, renowned for their rarity and potency. The Otthroite crystals, as studied in various magical texts, held profound magical properties. These gems could channel immense power to their bearers, amplify spells, fortify defenses, and enable communication across vast distances. However, their potency was a double-edged sword; in the wrong hands, they posed a threat of unparalleled devastation. This should have been discussed more in your lectures in Enchanting.”

After a momentary pause, he continued, “To safeguard these powerful artifacts, they were not merely surrendered. They were meticulously concealed from the public eye. The responsibility for this task was entrusted to the ancient and wise dragons. These dragons, esteemed for their wisdom and longevity, transported the relics to a secluded and undisclosed location within an uncharted mountainous area, thus shrouding the narrative in an ever-deepening mystery.”

“Various individuals, driven by curiosity and the allure of power, attempted to uncover the truth behind these hidden treasures. Numerous expeditions were mounted, each fraught with danger and, ultimately, failure. Many scholars and adventurers deemed themselves worthy of reclaiming the Otthroite gems, yet none succeeded. Their efforts were consistently thwarted by treacherous terrain, formidable guardians, and perhaps even the will of the gems themselves.”

Professor Quimby continued, “As time passed, the collective knowledge of the Reapers and their legendary equipment eroded. The names of those who had shaped history were gradually forgotten, buried under new legends and lore. The relics and their potent magic slipped into obscurity, becoming mere whispers of the past.”

“As centuries elapsed, the world advanced, developing a misplaced sense of security. The chronicles of the Reapers and the Otthroite gems receded into folklore, considered fanciful tales rather than substantive history. Silence reigned over the mountain where the relics were concealed, the world blissfully ignorant of the dormant latent power.”

“Unbeknownst to the surface world, these Otthroite gems remained inactive within the mountain's labyrinthine depths. However, one day, a tremor—a mere flicker of disturbance—shook the mountain from its centuries-long stillness. Subtle indications of power began to surface, like whispers echoing through the void.”

“Dark forces, once repelled, sensed the resurgence of this long-dormant power and began to stir. The atmosphere grew increasingly dense, laden with the ominous promise of an imminent revival. The faint echoes of moving stone disrupted the long-standing silence, hinting at the reawakening of ancient evils. A foreboding question emerged: Would the forces of light recognize this burgeoning threat and reclaim the power before it was too late?”

“To summarize, the echoes of the past persist in the forsaken mountain's depths. The world's fate now hangs precariously in the balance, teetering on the cusp of a dark era's resurgence. The legends of the Reapers and the Otthroite gems have not been extinguished; instead, they lay dormant, awaiting their moment to reemerge and reshape history once more.”

Professor Quimby concluded with a final statement. “That concludes today's lecture. Please ensure your notes are comprehensive, as this material might form part of your upcoming examinations. Thank you.”

Chapter 2

Ordi and the Posh Hound

The night had finally arrived, wrapping the ancient fortress in an eerie stillness. Ordi’s pulse quickened as he walked beside his instructor, Master Stow, down the castle's long, forbidden corridor. Shadows danced on the stone walls, cast by torches that flickered like restless spirits. This part of the fortress was a realm of secrets, a place whispered about in hushed tones. Some students believed it hid the chambers of the academy's most powerful magi and their clandestine training grounds. Others spoke of it as the path every aspirant walked before facing their ultimate, life-or-death trial. Tonight, Ordi would uncover the truth.

“Wait here, Ordi,” Master Stow commanded as they halted before an ominous door. Towering and grand, the door was made of dark, weathered wood, its presence imposing. It was twice as wide and at least five feet taller than Ordi, who couldn't help but feel a shiver of apprehension. The dim corridor obscured the time of night, heightening the sense of dread. Reaching into his robe, Master Stow pulled out an ancient, oversized key, its metal worn and tarnished with age. Ordi wasn't sure it would even fit the immense lock.

Stow inserted the key, the magical wards humming faintly as he turned it deftly. The sound of the lock disengaging was like a thunderclap in the tense silence. “Do not enter yet,” he ordered with a mix of authority and caution. Delving once more into his robes, Master Stow produced a small, intricately carved phial containing a dark, swirling liquid.

“Here, drink this,” he commanded, his voice unwavering.

Ordi took the phial, uncorking it with trembling hands. The putrid smell that emanated was overwhelming, causing him to gag and recoil. Gathering his courage, he pinched his nose and downed the foul potion in two quick gulps, its bitter taste clinging to his tongue. Almost immediately, a wave of nausea hit him, and the world began to spin. His legs buckled as the potion took hold, darkening his vision. He managed to hand the phial back to Master Stow before collapsing, the cold stone floor rushing up to meet him as his consciousness faded to black.

Ordi's eyes snapped open at the sound of a twig breaking some ten paces away. Instinctively, he reached for his staff and sword as something approached. He had no recollection of how he ended up in this unfamiliar, eerie forest. Shadows danced around him, and the night felt unnatural. He heard a rustling behind the trees. Remembering it was a night of trials, he braced for the unknown challenges ahead. There was something off about the area. He couldn’t ponder it too long as he saw a shadow creep in front of him in the distance.

 He slowed his breath and connected to his mana. Feeling the magic pulse through his veins, he felt confident in his ability to ward off any threat. Moments later, he heard the rustling of leaves just behind the edge of the trees. It dawned on him that this was a night of trials to prove that he could graduate from the academy and serve the kingdom as a mage.  During his classes, he was informed that this night would be filled with trials and enemies as the instructors arranged their worst to test the students. Rumors even said that the student's greatest fears would release for them to face. Ordi had no idea what awaited him that night.

      The noise came again, but this time behind him. Ordi turned slowly to see the glow of dark green eyes breaking the foliage…moving quickly towards him. He tapped his staff on the ground to send a shock wave in the enemy's general direction, sending them hurling back into the trees. The attack didn’t inflict much pain beyond the crash but made the enemy furious. The beast got up and charged; as it got closer, Ordi could see it was an orc descendant. The orcs have long been thought to be extinct, but Ordi could tell this was not a regular orc. This creature was primarily unrecognizable to Ordi, with its grotesque face and tall stature. The creature had a jagged smile and dead eyes. Straggly hair hung down, revealing a mostly bald scalp. The Orc yelped loudly as it charged again.

Ordi summoned more arcane energy, channeling it into his staff. Feeling the mana heat up within his grasp, he muttered the incantation he had practiced countless times. He knew the dangers of holding the spell for too long—the risk of it backfiring was ever-present. With precision, he leveled his staff at the oncoming threat. What he initially thought was a single orc revealed itself to be a trio. He let the fireball loose, and the resulting explosion tore two of the orcs apart, leaving the third with a severed arm. Undeterred, the maimed orc gripped its makeshift ax and charged at Ordi with relentless fury. Ordi wasted no time; drawing upon the arcane channels again, he summoned another fireball and launched it into the orc’s chest. The fiery blast left a gaping hole, and the creature halted its charge before collapsing lifelessly.

      Ordi stood ready as more tests came in tonight. He had become a trained killer, as well as a protector. He was using magic only when he needed to. As his classes progressed, Ordi felt called to a more specific understanding of magic and the arcane he possessed. He wanted to dabble in all schools of magic, as the enemy of the people, the Dark Lord, who was an extraordinary necromancer, once did. He was ultimately corrupted by the energy and power he possessed, driving him to uncover the darkest of spells. With that, he could conjure the dead to do his bidding; there was little that the mages could do to stop him when he rose to power so many years ago. His destructive path was well known to the dwarves and humans, but this was the least of his concerns tonight. Ordi must face the trials to be awarded the title of mage. 

“Is this all you got, master? I can certainly stand against a few orcs,” Ordi taunted, echoing through the darkened corridor. He regretted it almost instantly, feeling the throbbing headache left by the potion he had been forced to drink earlier. Healing magic had never been his forte, and he had never seen much reason to focus on it. Now, he fervently wished he had. Exhaustion gnawed at him, his breaths coming in quick, ragged pants. Sweat dripped down his forehead, stinging his eyes, and his tunic clung to his back, soaked through.

Ordi’s stocky build made him prone to sweating, and the fierce battle had taken a heavy toll. Without food or drink to sustain him, relying on his mana alone became increasingly difficult. The unrelenting waves of foes had already pushed him to the brink. He cursed under his breath, realizing there had been no clear directive from Master Stow. The abruptness of the trials had left him unprepared, a deliberate tactic, he knew, to test the student’s ability to adapt in the face of unexpected challenges.

Glaring at the shadows, Ordi couldn’t help but feel a simmering frustration. The masters taught him and his peers a harsh lesson—how to react even when caught off guard. Every muscle screamed for respite, but he knew none would come. He wiped the sweat from his brow and gripped his staff tighter, mentally preparing for whatever came next. It was his skill in magic being tested tonight and his endurance, resolve, and spirit.

The time grew on; minutes passed into what seemed like hours, and there was no sound. Ordi started to feel tired and lightheaded. The time stretched interminably; what felt like mere minutes had elongated into an eternity. Each passing second was fraught with a suffocating silence, broken only by the soft rustle of Ordi's ragged breaths. The oppressive stillness of the corridor pressed in on him, amplifying his heart pounding. Every fiber of his being was alert, straining to catch any hint of movement or sound in the shadows surrounding him.

The adrenaline that had once fueled his frantic defense now ebbed away, leaving him grappling with exhaustion and the weight of unyielding anticipation. His muscles ached, his head throbbed, and the sweat that had once been a mere inconvenience now felt like rivers running down his skin. The air was thick with tension, the fortress walls seeming to close in and watch his every move.

He sat down on the wet grass as the dew had settled in the early morning.  He had drifted off to a light sleep when blinding light jolted him awake. Dazed and disoriented, Ordi stumbled to his feet. He had a terrible feeling about what was approaching. While at the academy, he had trained against the enemies of the world, but for the trials, the instructors could summon even the most ancient or extinct creatures to be faced. As Ordi regained sight, he noticed the dark smoke rising from the ground just past the clearing. Emerging from the ground shocked Ordi to the core…

A hellhound emerged from the swirling smoke, its eyes burning with an evil fire. Two towering demons flanked the beast, their twisted forms radiating dark energy. Accompanying them was a horde of monstrous spiders, their grotesque legs and mandibles glistening in the dim light. Ordi’s heart pounded in his chest; he hated spiders—no, he was terrified of them. These were no ordinary arachnids; they ranged from five to eight feet tall, their massive forms looming menacingly. The challenge before him was immense. Hellhounds could withstand most mortal magic, and the demons posed a threat he had only read about in the academy’s ancient tomes. Desperately cycling through spells in his mind, Ordi cursed under his breath, doubting whether any would suffice against such formidable adversaries.

The hellhound opened its maw and spewed molten lava toward Ordi. With a swift motion, he invoked an arcane shield just in time to block the searing assault. The heat was more intense and pervasive than anything he had faced before, setting the ground around him ablaze. His shield flickered under the strain but held—barely. He knew it wouldn't withstand continuous attacks. One of the demons, sensing his vulnerability, raised a clawed hand and gestured toward him. A black, cloudlike mass formed into a giant hand and slammed into Ordi's chest with unyielding force, propelling him backward into a tree. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and he gasped for breath. Summoning his remaining strength, he erected his shield just in time to deflect a second attack.

Cornered and with no other options, Ordi resorted to the demon bomb spell, a perilous incantation known for its unpredictable nature. He raised his staff but could not get the spell out before spiders jumped towards him. He threw his arms back and allowed arcane light to wash over him, disintegrating the spiders on him and blasting back those near him.

 The hellhound continued to close in, its horrific maw ready to strike. The spiders hesitated as they approached him. Channeling Earth magic, Ordi summoned the ground beneath the spiders to rise and consume them. Rocks and soil exploded upward, swallowing the arachnids and crushing them under the sheer weight of the earth.

The hound roared and spewed lava once more. Ordi channeled his mana, slamming his staff into the ground with a resounding thud. A brilliant white light burst from the staff’s tip, cascading outward in a blinding wave. The light crashed into the demons, pushing them back until their bodies cracked and dissolved under its purifying power. But the hellhound, impervious to the light, continued its relentless charge. It swiped at Ordi with a massive paw, tearing the fringe of his tunic as he barely evaded.

Refocusing, Ordi summoned his inner mana reserves, understanding that only a light spell could vanquish such darkness. He aimed his staff precisely and released a white arcane blast at the hellhound’s side. The spell scorched its flesh but had little effect. Undeterred, Ordi readied another blast, targeting the same spot, and unleashed his magic again—yet the result was the same.

Cursing under his breath and panting heavily from exertion, Ordi realized that more creatures were amassing just beyond the clearing. He would have to face them soon, but first, he needed to dispatch the hellhound. The white arcane spells were not strong enough. Dropping his staff, Ordi leaped onto the beast's back, gripping his sword tightly. With fierce determination, he drove the blade into the hellhound's neck and skull repeatedly. The beast howled in agony, thrashing violently. Ordi leaped off and swung his sword in a powerful downward arc, severing the hellhound’s head. Black blood sprayed everywhere as the severed head rolled away, leaving the lifeless body to collapse.

Covered in blood, Ordi now had hordes of enemies surrounding him, goblins and trolls and fell beasts, too many to count. This was the trial…survive, receive the mage title, or fail and perish. It was true; the academy only graduated the strongest, and not everyone who faced the trials survived. At least one to two students would die every ten or so years. It was not a common issue, but it happened, and Ordi was worried. 

Exhausted beyond recognition, Ordi clutched his staff and summoned a shimmering, permanent shield to block unseen blows. The magical barrier hummed softly, a comforting beacon in a sea of chaos. He steadied himself, channeling every ounce of his willpower as the hordes of enemies bore down on him. He recalled the wordless spells he had painstakingly mastered, feeling the mana surge through him. With a deep breath, he launched arcane bombs at the advancing foes, each explosion lighting up the night and tearing goblins and trolls apart in a brilliant shower of magic.

The goblins and trolls charged relentlessly despite witnessing their comrades being blasted to pieces. A fell beast swooped down from the shadows, its eyes gleaming with hunger. With a swift and decisive swing, Ordi slashed his sword across the creature's chest, sending it crashing to the ground in a lifeless heap.

A goblin lunged at him, its sword aimed for a fatal blow. Ordi deftly blocked with his staff and, in one fluid motion, thrust his own blade into the creature’s throat. Blood sprayed across his face as the goblin gurgled and fell. Ordi didn't stop. He tore his sword free and whirled around, blasting two more goblins with a burst of fire. They screamed and fell, their deaths quick and fiery.

The trolls, however, proved far more resilient. With their thick hides and immense strength, they quickly shrugged off lesser spells. Ordi knew he needed to harness more powerful magic to bring them down. Drawing upon his deep connection with the earth, he summoned a devastating bludgeoning spell. Large stones materialized in the air, hovering ominously before crashing down onto the trolls’ heads. The massive rocks crushed them under their sheer weight, eradicating the threat with finality.

Only a pair of goblins remained, their eyes wide with fear and rage. Ordi, unrelenting, turned his fierce gaze upon them and launched twin fireballs. The flames engulfed the goblins, and they collapsed, their bodies consumed by the inferno.

      The air remained thick as the smell of burning flesh reached Ordi’s noise. He stood drenched in sweat. He threw off his overclock, allowing his tunic underneath to breathe. The moon hung high in the early morning sky, its silvery light casing down to illuminate the surrounding area. Yet shadows danced in the forest, taunting him. From the depths of the trees, a low guttural growl rumbled forth through the trees, causing Ordi to freeze in his tracks. He tried to survey the area where he thought he heard the sound but could make out nothing, just darkness, as the trees concealed everything. Slowly and purposefully, a dark, hulking group of figures emerged from the underbrush. Their eyes were gold and canine-like, yet they had a human touch. Werewolves. Great! Thought Ordi.

      His heart raced as he assessed the threat. Three, maybe four, no, five. Five of them surrounded him. Their powerful bodies moved with a predatory grace, slowly measuring him up. The leader, a massive beast with silver-streaked fur, bore his fangs in a taunting snarl. “All theory and no practice for these damn beasts. This night could not get any better, could it.” Ordi muttered to himself. He tightened his grip on his staff.

The first werewolf lunged, its claws slashing through the air. Ordi swiftly side-stepped, raising his staff and chanting an incantation. A burst of arcane energy shot forward, striking the beast and hurling it backward with a howl of pain. But there was no time to celebrate; the others were closing in fast. Ordi quickly cast a spell, surrounding himself with a shimmering light barrier. The werewolves’ savage attacks collided with the barrier, sparks flying as claws met magical energy. The barrier held, but Ordi could feel the strain—it wouldn’t last long under such relentless assault. Summoning his courage, Ordi dispelled the barrier and launched into a counterattack. He thrust his staff forward, conjuring a blazing inferno that roared to life, engulfing one of the wolves in searing flames. The beast howled in agony, its fur scorched and smoking as it retreated into the shadows. But the leader was undeterred. It leaped at Ordi with terrifying speed, its jaws snapping inches from his face. Ordi rolled to the side, barely escaping the deadly bite. As he regained his footing, the werewolf spun around, claws outstretched. Ordi raised his staff just in time, the impact sending vibrations up his arms. Desperation fueled Ordi’s next move. He channeled the earth's elemental forces, causing the ground beneath the werewolves to shudder and crack. Jagged spikes of stone erupted from the forest floor, ensnaring the limbs of the approaching beasts. The werewolves struggled against their restraints, their growls rising to a fever pitch. Ordi took advantage of the momentary reprieve, summoning a powerful gust of wind.

The wind howled through the trees, sweeping up leaves and debris and driving the werewolves back. With a determined shout, Ordi intensified the spell, creating a whirlwind that lifted the creatures off their feet and hurled them into the forest. All but one. The leader remained, its eyes burning with rage. The beast shook off the debris and charged faster and more aggressively. Ordi focused, his mind clear despite the chaos. He called upon his deepest reserves of magical power, channeling it into a single, devastating attack. Thrusting his staff into the air, lightning bolts arced downward, converging on the werewolf. The beast let out a deafening roar as the lightning struck, electrifying its body and sending it crashing to the ground in a lifeless heap. Breathing heavily, Ordi surveyed the battlefield. The other werewolves had vanished into the night, leaving no trace behind.

The night quieted, the bodies had pulled up, and the ground burned. Sweat now drenched Ordi’s body; his hair kept falling into his face, his tunic stuck to his body, and his arms were heavy. He was exhausted from having to use so much mana so quickly. His professors always mentioned the dangers this could lead to. A skilled mage was expected to be controlled and intelligent in using mana during battle, not reckless as Ordi had been that night. Despite his imprudence, luck had been on his side so far, and he had escaped unscathed except for the crushing weight of exhaustion. But the night was far from over for Ordi. As he dropped to his knees, gasping for breath, a shadowy figure emerged, cloaked entirely in black. The stranger's face was obscured by a hood, adding to their menacing aura.

Without warning, the figure raised a slender wand and a brilliant blast of green energy shot toward Ordi. Acting on instinct, Ordi centered his staff just in time, channeling the energy into it. The spell's force drained him completely, and he felt his strength waning. The world blurred as he collapsed to the ground, utterly spent and vulnerable.

      A soft, mocking laugh echoed from the approaching figure. As the sun began to rise, it cast long, ominous shadows, shrouding the cloaked person in darkness. The hooded assailant raised their wand again, sending another searing green blast of arcane energy streaking toward Ordi. Weakened and exhausted, he couldn’t move his staff quickly enough. The energy struck his back brutally, sending him tumbling across the ground.

Agony surged through his body, and for a fleeting moment, the thought that this must be the end crossed Ordi’s mind. He reached up and aimed his staff upwards. He focused on the spells of light again, particularly the light shard. He uttered the words, and the eerie morning darkness around him was diminished as shards of light rained down upon his enemy. The figure dissolved into the night, leaving no trace of him coming. Ordi rolled over and passed out, with the last thoughts tracing back to his brother and friends at the academy. 

      Ordi woke hours later, as the early afternoon had approached, and the sun was reaching its peak. The warmth upon his skin gave him some strength, but he was still weak. When he returned to the academy, the arcane blast would require a healing potion from the medicine ward. The journey back wouldn’t take long, but he thought he ought to take it slowly in his state. As he started to regroup, the area around him went completely black. A moment later, Ordi found himself in an icy tundra in the middle of a snowstorm. He had no idea what was happening but acted to call upon the earth to build a makeshift shelter. He drew out some roots from the earth, long dead, but they would do for a quick fire. He dropped a tiny spark, and a fire ignited to warm him. How did he get here? Ordi’s mind was racing with the possibilities when one memory returned to him. He had drunk a potion from Master Stow as he was standing before large doors. This could have been a room of transfiguration. It changes into any environment the master desires, and enemies can be summoned at whatever ratio they want. This was the room that the students were tested in for their trials, and it would be a whole series of challenges. Who knows how long Ordi would have to be here?

The snowstorm raged outside mercilessly, howling winds driving icy shards of snow and sleet against his earth shelter. Gale-force gusts screamed through the barren landscape, whipping up blinding whiteouts that obscured everything in sight. The cold was bone-chilling, seeping through every crack and crevice, and the air crackled with the icy bite of frigid temperatures. His fire strained to stay lit as the temperatures plunged.

After hours of huddling and attempting to regain his strength, the storm showed no sign of relenting. Without warning, the world seemed to shift and shudder around him. A powerful surge of disorienting energy coursed through the air, and before he could grasp what was happening, everything changed in a violent, chaotic instant.

In the blink of an eye, he found himself in the clearing where he had first stood. The abruptness of the transition left him reeling, his vision spinning as he fought to steady himself. The snow continued to fall around him, thick and relentless, as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

      He propped himself up on his staff and started to move out of the grove. His going along was slow as his back was aching. He could only guess that he passed but could not shake a lingering thought. Who was that mysterious figure, and why did he vanish? He shrugged it off as another one of the academy's tests. He stopped at a brook of running water and reached his hands down, scoping up a handful of water. He did not realize his thirst until he took a deep drink. Instead of using his hands, he plunged his face into the water and gulped it down. Refreshed, he stood, and to his amazement, across the brook stood a Posh Hound. 

      The hound’s hair flowed like liquid moonlight, each strand gleaming with a majestic brilliance that captivated anyone who gazed upon her. The Posh Hound’s silky-smooth fur was a brilliant silver that gleamed as she walked. Her eyes, deep and enigmatic, held a mysterious aura that hinted at untold secrets and hidden depths. She moved discreetly towards Ordi, her steps light with no sounds below the paws. The Posh Hound’s beauty was undeniable, but her aura set her apart. The hound carried a certain mystique, an intangible allure that drew eyes all around.

      One of the rarest animals in the land is standing no more than ten feet in front of him. Their power and mystery kept him at bay. What did the creature want with him? Was it here to drink, or was there a deeper meaning? How can this majestic creature even be in this environment? Posh hounds appear from time to time, and for the mages, they made great companions but were incredibly rare. While mages were not required to have companions, those who did often found them invaluable allies in their diverse tasks and careers. The students at the academy recognized the advantages of having a trusted companion. However, acquiring such a companion was a privilege reserved for those who completed their rigorous training. As Ordi recalled, none of the students had the honor of a posh hound or any other companion during their time at the academy. The absence of companions was standard procedure, ensuring that candidates focused solely on their studies and magical disciplines without distraction.

Ordi realized that his companion's presence now could only mean one thing: he had passed. It was a silent affirmation of his success, a testament to his endurance and skill. A sense of accomplishment washed over him, mingling with exhaustion and relief. Despite the challenges he faced, Ordi had proven himself worthy.

Ordi did not even know how to bond with a companion outside of the theory classes he had to sit under. He waited, but it seemed like the bonding was already happening. He started to draw upon the arcane magic flowing plentifully around him. As he did so, he noticed how he could almost communicate with the hound. Still not realizing what he was doing, he stretched out his hand, and the hound approached him and lowered her head, a sign of friendship. 

As the bond solidified, Ordi felt an extraordinary sensation wash over him. His fatigue and weariness lifted, and the soreness that had plagued his body dissolved. A newfound energy surged through him, revitalizing his spirit and healing his wounds. Fascinating, he thought. 

      “Well, since I passed the tails, maybe you are a gift from the gods,” Ordi said as he touched the hound's head. What is your name?” he asked.

Mira entered his head, almost as if it had been spoken to him. He heard it clear as day. 

      “So, your name is Mira? I would be lying to say I am the most well-versed mage in binding, but it seems like nature took care of the complexities. Care to come back to the castle grounds with me?” 

      Mira shook her head yes. The two then set off on their journey back to the grounds. Generally, from what Ordi knew, finding a companion was not the easiest of tasks, but every so often, the companion would come to the mage. The bounding was a simple process. The mage would reach out to the channels of arcane magic and find companions doing the same. Their magic would become entangled and form a bond between the two. The bond would assist each other in survival and tasks as the two channels would produce more magic than a single channel.

      Much of Ordi's understanding of companions came from the ancient scrolls he devoured during his years at the academy. These scrolls delved deeply into the enigmatic world of magic and the intricate workings of arcane channels—the lifeblood through which magical energy flowed. Through these channels, a mage could tap into and manipulate the primordial elements: fire, earth, wind, and water. These elemental magics, often called "lesser," belied their designation by being both immensely potent and intricate. Mastery of these elements demanded raw talent and a sophisticated grasp of their underlying complexities and the arcane principles that governed them.

 Even though the records on arcane magic were vast, little is said about the accurate records of when mages started taking companions. It has always been assumed that since mages could control magic, they would have a companion. What is more fascinating, Ordi thought, was that not every mage would even bond a companion. Some would go their whole lives and never perform the process. It was a mysterious and exciting aspect of the life of a mage, usually reserved for a more ancient time. Given that Ordi bounded Mira during the trials, he was intrigued with what was happening or about to happen in the world.

     

      Ordi reached a rock wall with Mira walking slightly behind and found no way around it. The wall soared into the sky and ran as far east as it did west. He stood there momentarily, and the rock broke apart, and a door formed. He was met by his instructors, who all congratulated him on his success. There had been six trials that night, with Ordi’s being one. Sabastian and Askra, two humans whom Ordi had befriended during his time at the academy, also went through the trials. Both were standing in a crowd of people describing their night. Ordi, one of the few dwarves in the academy, approached the crowds. They turned to him with smiles on their faces. The small crowd's smiles turned to curiosity as Mira stepped alongside Ordi. Whispers began about the Posh Hound, but no one asked Ordi directly.

      Hesitantly, Sabastian approached him and clapped his shoulder, “You made it back, Ordi!” he exclaimed. “How did you like the final hordes of enemies?”

      Ordi looked on and responded, “It left me exhausted for the final trial, which has left me in need of a healing potion. If you would excuse me, I will be back.” Ordi turned to walk to the medical ward, where he could take the elixir that would heal him in a matter of minutes. Mira was beside him as he walked, and the crowd's whispers became a loud conversation of amazement. 

      Later that afternoon, Ordi was summoned to the headkeeper’s room. He approached the imposing door and knocked, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway. After a few moments of silence, a voice from within beckoned him to enter. Taking a deep breath, Ordi pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside, followed quietly by Mira.

Master Stow, the venerable head keeper, looked up from his desk as Ordi entered. Stow’s advanced years were evident in the deep lines etched into his face and his long, silver beard. Despite his age, his eyes were sharp and piercing, reflecting the wisdom and authority he commanded. Humans had established the academy, and Master Stow, a human himself, was a testament to its storied history.

“I hear you had quite the night,” Master Stow remarked, his gaze never wavering from Ordi’s face.

“Well, yes, the last wave of enemies drained my energy, especially the final guy—” Ordi began, but he was cut off.

“Final guy?” Master Stow interrupted, a curious edge to his voice.

“Yeah," Ordi continued. "After I dealt with the trolls and werewolves, maybe five or ten minutes later, a cloaked figure appeared and sent a few powerful arcane blasts my way. One hit me and nearly did me in, but I managed to summon the shards of light. Then he vanished.”

“Interesting.” Master Stow stroked his beard thoughtfully, his eyes drifting to the ceiling. “Very interesting… Do you realize that the cloaked figure was not part of our testing? Only four waves of challengers are conjured for the mage facing the trial on the first night. While other skills may be tested differently, this was your final task. However, this figure was not part of our design, which concerns us.”

“If the instructors did not summon him, where did he come from?” Ordi asked.

“That is a good question indeed. Using only a couple of arcane spells and vanishing is unusual for our enemies outside the academy. Even more perplexing is how they get into the school grounds. We are fortified with the most complex spells known to man. If our enemies wanted us dead, they would stick around and fight until either party was done away with. Not to change subjects, as we will continue to investigate this with you. I see you have a companion?” Stow asked.

      “Yeah, on the way back at a brook, I came across this posh hound named Mira. The bounding was simple as I reached out to her, and our magic joined. After our meeting, she agreed to follow me back.” Ordi explained. 

      “Posh hounds are extremely loyal and will accompany you to the death. Take good care of her, and she will take care of you. As you have passed your trials, you can remain at the academy for as long as you need. We ask that you find work or ways to serve the crown as a mage.”

            Ordi nodded. “Thank you, Master. I look forward to serving the crowns for the years to come.” Ordi left the room with Mira following behind. He felt uneasy about the encounter the previous night but was overwhelmed with joy at finally being done. He went out to the mess hall to join his friends in celebration. He talked about the future and how each would use their skills to serve the crown and fight against the world's evil. Each mage that Ordi got to know would eventually go their separate ways. Sebastian would return to his village and serve his people there, defending them and providing fresh water as he was atoned for the water element. Askra was an earth mage, and with the depletion of the elves, she would go back to her people and help rebuild their cities. The three talked for hours into the night. Mira grew bored of the conversations and prodded Ordi that she was going out for a stroll.

            Ordi departed from his friends and went back to his room. Mira arrived a few moments later. She walked over to the fire and plopped down, falling fast asleep. “You got the right idea, Mira,” Ordi said as he stretched his arms. He took off his tunic and pants and crawled into bed. Tomorrow, he would head home. Head back to Kamrar, be with his wife and kids, and serve his king. Tomorrow was the start of a new adventure, yet unknowingly, the evil growing in the lands would alter his life forever.   

Chapter 3

Apprenticeship

            Ordi had completed the academy and won the trials. He and Mira returned to Kamrar and spent a few weeks resting with his family, enjoying the time with his wife Aimlia and two children, Gadira and Dradin. The break had been refreshing, but he could not get the image of the shadowy figure out of his mind. It had haunted his dreams and kept him looking around every corner. His short vacation had ended, and he was assigned to work as an apprentice to an older wizard in the Kamrar area. A typical step for mages who come out of the academy; they had spent a few years learning arcane magic and now have to apply that in the real world. He was filled with eager anticipation for the new role that awaited him.

            The time had come for him to report to the Dwarven High Mage, the head of the council of mages, for an assignment. He found himself kissing his wife and kids goodbye for the day and exited his home and down the long hall to the mage’s quarters. He pushed open the grand doors that led to the main chamber and walked in. The hall was massive, a testament to the grandeur of the mages, decorated with lavish rugs and banners across the walls showcasing each of the high mages over the centuries. Today, the council is nothing like it was in the past; today, it is more of a formality than an actual ruling giant. In ages past, the mages were a political force that wielded a stern hand against those who opposed them.

 A small secretary greeted him and handed him a small scroll. Ordi broke the seal and read the note. The note was brief but filled with promise. It read, 'Congratulations, Ordi. Your time and commitment to the academy have been much appreciated. You are now ready to serve the crowns. As you begin your new journey, you will be privileged to learn from Master Eldrin. He will guide you as you take your first steps in the real world of magic.'

            Was that all? Just a brief note and a directive. Ordi wasn't surprised. Rumors had always swirled about the council, some even suggesting it was just one individual, a powerful mage who had managed to keep his identity a secret for centuries, although no one could confirm this. The council was a rare sight, shrouded in a veil of mystery that only added to its enigmatic allure, leaving Ordi and others with more questions than answers. The power they once had watered down to simple notes and no public appearances.

“Come on, Mira,” Ordi said as he turned and walked out of the hall. Mira followed him as she does everywhere he goes.

            Ordi left Kamrar and headed out of the main gate on his way to his first apprenticeship. The path leading to Master Eldrin’s tower starkly contrasted the pristine halls of the academy where Ordi had spent the past few years. It was overgrown and rugged, a testament to the secluded life Eldrin preferred. His tower was nestled into the cliff just south of the main gate, a far cry from the bustling life within Kamrar. As Ordi walked up the path, Mira trotted alongside him, her elegant form contrasting with the rough underbrush.

            “What do you think, Mira?” Ordi asked as he stepped over a gnarled root.

            “It’s certainly not as refined as we’re used to,” Mira replied with a hint of disdain. “But it is a start, a foot in the door, as you would say.”

            Ordi chuckled. The demeanor of a Posh Hound often contrasted with his more laid-back attitude, yet they complemented each other perfectly. Their bond was strengthened by arcane magic, allowing them to understand thoughts and emotions on a deep level. The mage’s companions were often irreplaceable. The wooden door creaked open, revealing the gaunt figure of Master Eldrin. His face was etched with lines of age and wisdom, and his eyes sparkled with curiosity and skepticism. “Ordi is it? I suppose you’ll do.” He rolled his eyes, turned his back, and left the doorway. Master Eldrin was an old dwarf mage who specialized in runes and artifacts. Ordi had never met him but heard rumors that he was challenging to get along with. The old mage waddled towards his study, not saying a word. Ordi and Mira were standing in the doorway, waiting for any instructions.

            “Yes, Master Elrin,” Ordi replied respectfully from across the room, “I look forward to shadowing…”

            Eldrin cut him off. He turned around and gave him a scrawling look. “We’ll see about that. Start by sweeping the floors and organizing the shelves. When finished, come see more.” He grunted and walked back into his study. He slammed the door and did not make any further noise. Ordi bit back a sigh. He had spent years mastering complex spells and incantations, yet here he was, relegated to menial tasks. This was not the apprenticeship he had envisioned. But he knew patience was vital. He finished the chores and was given more. Clean the cellar, weed the walkway, fetch groceries. Ordi finished his day and returned home exhausted.

The days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, and Ordi was caught in a relentless cycle of errands and shop-cleaning endeavors. Yet, he did not complain. Instead, he used the time to observe and learn. Mira offered silent encouragement, her presence a steadying influence.

“We’re making progress, even if it doesn’t feel like it,” Mira reminded him as he swept the dusty floors. “I am sure Master Eldrin will have you working alongside him soon. He can’t keep having us do all his busy work.”

“I know,” Ordi replied. “I wish I could do more. I desire to see the practical side of magic and its use in the world.” For a moment, Ordi stopped sweeping and daydreamed. The academy was one aspect, teaching you the theory and use of magic. Testing one's resilience and strength, but the practical application was always needed. Ordi longed for a time when he could show his worth, prove to others he was capable, and show his strength.

One evening, as Ordi was organizing vials and potions, Master Eldrin came out of his study with a much softer look. “You’ve been diligent. Most apprentices that come to me whine to be reassigned after two days. I am amazed you have stuck it out with me. I want to see what you’ll go through and endure. Meaningless chores, yes, but they teach you to pay attention and be observant. To see the small parts of life and be vigilant when evil presses in. Lessons you learned in the academy, but in real life, it is more purposeful. Come, follow me.”

Ordi was silent as he and Mira followed Eldrin into his study. He led him to the tower’s upper chamber, where an ancient, rune-etched table awaited. The chamber was a spacious, circular room, lit by the flickering glow of enchanted lanterns hanging from iron sconces affixed to the stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and a hint of incense, evoking an aura of timeless wisdom and mystery. High, arched windows encircled the room, their glass panes stained with intricate designs depicting various magical lore and celestial events. The windows cast colorful, shimmering patterns across the gray stone floor as the sunlight filtered through.

Bookshelves lined one of the walls, crammed with tomes, scrolls, and arcane artifacts, each meticulously organized yet exuding a sense of chaotic knowledge. A hearth crackled softly in one corner, its flames dancing shadows across a large, worn armchair that seemed perfect for hours of scholarly contemplation. The ceiling arched overhead, embellished with constellations and mystical symbols, glowed faintly as if imbued with ancient power.

At the center of the room stood the ancient, rune-etched table. Its surface was inscribed with symbols that seemed to pulse with a faint inner light, hinting at deep and powerful magic. The table's edges were adorned with precious metals and gemstones, arranged in complex patterns that resonated with unseen energies. Surrounding the table were several high-backed chairs, their wood dark and polished, accented with carvings of mythical creatures and flowing vines. In various corners of the room, small alcoves housed glass-domed displays containing relics and artifacts from bygone eras, each accompanied by a brief, handwritten description. The overall ambiance of the chamber was both awe-inspiring and intimidating, a testament to generations of accumulated magical knowledge and power.

“You’ll find Ordi as you settle into your work, and you will become chaotically clean. You’ll know where everything is, and everything will have its place. But to those on the outside, it’ll appear as a catastrophic mess.” He walked over to the table in the center of the room. “Ah yes, this is what we’ll examine first.” He lifted up a crystal. “This is a Focus Crystal,” Eldrin explained, placing a glowing gem on the table. “It amplifies magical energy. I want you to channel your power into it.”

Ordi nodded, mesmerized by the items in the room. He glanced in every direction as he walked over to the table, trying to glimpse the rarer artifacts that Eldrin had in his keep. He placed his hands on the crystal. He closed his eyes, feeling the familiar surge of arcane energy within. Slowly, he directed the flow into the crystal, which began to pulsate with a deep, resonant hum.

“Good,” Eldrin remarked, his gruff tone tinged with approval. “Now, maintain the flow and hold your focus. Try drawing from one of the elementals.” Ordi drew upon fire, which was his easiest to reach. The gem glowed a deep, fiery red. “Try Earth.” Ordi drew from the earth, and the red shifted to a deep green. Ordi proceeded to perform this action for all the elements.  

“What is the purpose of this Master Eldrin?” Ordi asked as he took his hands off the gem. The color quickly faded away.

“Well…” He began but trailed off. “The crystals themselves have various uses. This particular crystal is used to note talent and strength. We can use them to help students see where they land in the magical spectrum. I’m sure you’ve met those who can connect to only one element, or maybe some with no elemental connections?” He asked.  

“I have. A few mages could hit a few elements, while only one or two made it through without any elemental connection. What do those do when they cannot connect to the elements?”

“They are usually required as Paladins. They have the ability to reach the source, the arcane channels, but nothing else. Paladins are just that. Arcane uses, and they bring a holy morality to their abilities. This crystal also tests your connection and the flow of magic through you. You can configure them to enhance magical strength as I have done for you. You can use this to house element magic; when needed, it’ll return to you amplified. Back to your lessons now. Let’s see what it does for air, shall we?” Eldrin asked.

They practiced for hours, with Eldrin correcting Ordi’s form and guiding his energy. By dawn, Ordi’s control over the Focus Crystal had significantly improved. “You’ve done well,” Eldrin conceded. “Rest for now. Tomorrow, we begin anew.”

Months passed, and Ordi’s skills grew under Eldrin’s watchful eye. Not long before word of his progress reached other wizards needing apprentices, one such wizard was Master Lira, a spellweaver known for her work with enchantments and protective wards.

One evening, Eldrin handed Ordi a parchment, the old wizard’s usual gruffness softened by a hint of pride. “Master Lira has requested you. Don’t disappoint her. She is a formidable mage with a keen eye for perfectionism. You will need to be on the top of your game. Do as she says, even if it goes against what you’ve been taught at the academy. You’ll find theory to be quite different than application.”

The next day dawned, and Ordi found himself both excited and apprehensive—a new challenge, he thought, and a chance to further my knowledge.

Mira’s enthusiastic mental voice echoed his sentiments. “It's about time we moved on to something more inspiring!”

Master Lira’s domain was a stark contrast to Eldrin’s. Her abode was a sprawling estate filled with lush gardens and intricate magical contraptions. Situated south of Kamrar, it was isolated and hidden from the naked eye. It was cloaked in protective magic that concealed the gardens and sustained the plant life, regardless of the surrounding environment. The estate exuded an ethereal serenity, with vibrant flowers blooming in impossible hues and sizes, their petals shimmering as if kissed by starlight. Enchanted streams wound through the grounds, their waters sparkling with soft, golden light, nourishing the many exotic plants. Elegant stone paths meandered through the gardens, lined with glowing crystals that lit the way at night. Birds with iridescent feathers sang melodic tunes, while butterflies with wings patterned like stained glass flitted from blossom to blossom.

Lira’s home was an architectural marvel, seamlessly blending with the natural beauty around it. Vines with twinkling, luminescent leaves climbed the walls, framing large windows that looked out over the enchanted landscape. Magical contraptions dotted the property: floating lanterns that adjusted their glow to the time of day, self-tending gardens that rearranged themselves for optimal growth, and subtle enchantments that kept the air fresh and warm.

Lira was a gentle yet formidable presence. Her wisdom is reflected in every aspect of her being. She moved with a graceful purpose, her aura calming yet powerful. “Welcome, Ordi,” she greeted warmly, her voice carrying a melodic quality that put one at ease. “And you must be Mira. I’ve heard much about you both.”

Mira’s tail wagged in appreciation. “It’s a pleasure.”

Under Lira’s tutelage, Ordi delved into the world of enchantments. He learned to weave spells into objects, imbuing them with protective and empowering properties. One day, Lira guided Ordi through an enchanting simple amulet. She explained how to inscribe runes of protection and channel arcane energy to activate the enchantment.

“Concentration and intent are crucial,” Lira instructed. “Focus on the purpose of the enchantment and let your magic flow naturally. The intent of your enchanting is crucial to correctly completing the spell. Your intent can be for good or evil, but the reasoning behind the enchantment will determine if it fails or succeeds.” Ordi followed her guidance, his hands moving deftly to inscribe the runes. As he chanted the incantation, the amulet began to glow, radiating a soft, comforting light. “You’re a quick learner,” Lira praised. “With time, you’ll master the art of enchantment.”

Their sessions often extended late into the night, with Mira offering playful commentary and encouragement. As weeks turned into months, Ordi’s proficiency grew, his confidence blossoming under Lira’s patient instruction.

Lira’s teachings were not limited to enchantments alone. She also emphasized the importance of balance and harmony in a mage’s life. “Magic is a part of the world around us,” she often said. “To master it, you must understand and respect its place in the natural order. Your intent must be pure, and your knowledge must be certain.”

One evening, Lira took Ordi and Mira to a secluded grove within her estate. The air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers, and the soft murmur of a nearby stream added to the serene atmosphere. “This place is special,” Lira explained. “It’s where I come to meditate and attune myself to the magical energies of the world. I mastered water as my element, and it has been my life’s focus to explore how to make water work for us in numerous ways.”

Ordi closed his eyes, feeling the gentle currents of arcane energy flowing through the grove. Mira sat by his side, her presence a comforting anchor. Together, they meditated, allowing the natural magic of the grove to seep into their very beings. Somehow, the arcane magic felt richer, purer here than elsewhere Ordi had traveled. He had spent over a year training before he realized his next apprenticeship was coming soon.

Despite his success with enchantments, Ordi’s thirst for knowledge remained unquenched. He sought new experiences and challenges, leading him to the doorstep of Master Galen, an elemental mage with a reputation for being both demanding and inspiring. Ordi had experience at the academy learning and using magic, but that was in a controlled environment. He was now exploring magic in the real world, which gave him some worry, but his mastery over the last year had proven he was sufficient and capable of wielding great power.

“Elemental magic requires an unparalleled connection with the natural forces,” Galen declared during their first meeting. “Not every mage can master the elements; some are isolated to a single element, or perhaps they can reach a second. True wizards can intertwine them with the rest of their range of magic. Are you prepared for such a journey?”

“Yes, Master Galen,” Ordi affirmed, determination gleaming in his eyes.

“We’re ready,” Mira added, her confidence bolstering Ordi’s resolve. Training under Galen was rigorous. He taught Ordi to summon and control the elements—fire, water, earth, and air. He was using far more complicated spells than anything at the academy.  Each element had its temperament and required a unique approach. Ordi’s first significant trial under Galen’s guidance involved harnessing the power of fire. The task was to summon a fire elemental and bind it to his will. The process was meticulous and required absolute focus. In school, they were forbidden to reach the core of the elements. That was where Primordials existed, the gods of the elements. They were unpredictable and often never summoned. Galen held exceptional knowledge regarding these gods and could summon and use them. This ability was rare among mages, and Galen took extra precautions as Ordi delved deep to the core.

“Feel the heat, understand its nature,” Galen instructed. “Only then can you control it. Let the heat flow through you, but understand its origin. Do not let it flow freely; guide it, tracing it to the root. There, you’ll find the Primordial.”

Ordi stood before the summoning circle, sweat trickling down his brow. He reached deep within, feeling the fiery essence within his core. Drawing it out, he whispered the incantation, watching flames coalesce into a swirling form. The flame sprouted forth, coming into the form of a distorted human. Swaying as the flames licked the air, the form solidified briefly as Ordi continued to command it forth through the incantation.

“Excellent,” Galen exclaimed. “Now, command it.”

Ordi hesitated but then remembered Mira’s unwavering faith in him. You’ve got this, Ordi, she sent, her mental voice steady and confident. As she spoke, she drew upon her arcane and channeled it towards Ordi, amplifying his connection.

With renewed determination, Ordi uttered the binding words, his voice strong and clear. The fire elemental bowed its fiery head in submission, bound by Ordi’s will. The elemental will forever be linked to those who could command it, allowing more fire to be brought forth when summoning.

“Well done,” Galen praised. “You have the makings of a true elemental mage.”

Over time, Ordi mastered manipulating other elements, each lesson strengthening his bond with nature. Mira continued to be his tireless supporter and confidante; her presence was vital in his journey. Galen’s methods were intense and often unrelenting. Ordi would spend hours in grueling practice, shaping and reshaping the very fabric of the elements. There were moments of frustration and doubt, but Mira and Galen continued to push Ordi. On one particularly challenging day, Galen tasked Ordi with creating a storm using the combined might of water and air. The sky above them darkened as Ordi channeled his energy, the winds howling and raindrops beginning to fall. The storm grew in intensity, the raw power of nature at his command. The storm was powerful, almost uncontrollable for Ordi as he fought the winds and water to cooperate.

“You must find the balance within the chaos,” Galen shouted over the storm. “Control it, bend it to your will.” Rain pummeled them as Ordi fought for control.

Ordi focused, his mind sharp and clear. After long moments of intense winds and rain, the storm began to obey his commands. The winds began to shift and move to Ordi’s order. The rain is falling steadily as intended. After a few moments of moving the rain and wind, Ordi closed the storm. Exhausted but triumphant, he stood amidst the controlled tempest, Mira’s presence a reassuring force beside him.

“You’ve done well, Ordi,” Galen said, his usual sternness softened by a rare smile. “You are beginning to understand the true nature of elemental magic.” Throughout his journey, Ordi’s insatiable curiosity led him to discover some ancient and forgotten magics. Galen’s library was an expansive treasure trove of knowledge, filled with tomes that spoke of arcane practices long lost to time. One such tome caught Ordi’s eye, a dusty, leather-bound book inscribed with runes of a forgotten language.

“What is this, Master Galen?” Ordi asked, carefully lifting the tome.

Galen’s eyes widened at the sight. “That, Ordi, is a compendium of the Ancients. Magic is so powerful and archaic that few dare to study it. True enough, though, there is deeper and more profound magic in the world that has since been lost to time. We have preserved some, but not all.”

“May I?” Ordi inquired, his curiosity piqued.

Galen considered for a moment. “You may, but proceed with caution. The ancients’ magic is not to be trifled with. It requires wisdom and reverence and a lot of experience.”

Delving into the tome, Ordi was fascinated by the complex incantations and rituals. He spent countless nights poring over the ancient texts, Mira helping to decipher the runes with her keen intuition. This particular scroll dwelt with summing ancient beasts and elementals. He read through some of these spells and found “Unite the Cosmos.”  “What is this?” he asked curiously.

Galen glanced at the scroll and shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. Some of that is past my capabilities. I try not to mess with some of these spells as there is no need these days.” Ordi read on. The spell broke down in phases, bringing the mage through time and space and suggesting even conversing with the gods of old. There was no explanation of the spell or why someone would want to perform this. He rolled the scroll back and up and placed it on the shelf, but the spell never left Ordi’s mind.

Training under Galen and exploring ancient magic brought Ordi to new heights of mastery. He faced numerous trials to push him beyond his limits and hone his skills.

One such trial involved navigating a treacherous elemental labyrinth, a twisting maze filled with traps and challenges. Ordi entered the labyrinth with Mira, their telepathic bond their greatest asset.

Walls of fire, torrents of water, gusts of wind, and shifting earth – the labyrinth tested Ordi’s command over the elements and his ability to think quickly. Randomly, the maze would shift, changing the walls and bringing new obstacles. Mira’s swift guidance was crucial, and her sharp senses detected hidden traps and dangers.

To the left, Ordi – a hidden passage, Mira sent, her thought clear and precise.

Following her advice, Ordi discovered the passage, avoiding a trap that would have ensnared him in vines—step by step, they navigated the labyrinth, the walls echoing with the whispers of ancient magic. At the labyrinth's heart, they encountered the final challenge. Standing before them was a guardian creature composed of all four elements—fire, water, earth, and air. Its form shifted fluidly, a swirling mass of raw elemental power. “Great, just what we needed,” Ordi muttered. The guardian’s attacks were relentless, its power unmatched. Flames roared from its body, scorching the air around them, while torrents of water surged forth, threatening to drown them. The ground trembled and split as the guardian summoned towering earthen spikes, and powerful gusts of wind whipped through the chamber, cutting like blades.

Ordi and Mira moved in perfect harmony, a testament to their bond and training. Ordi summoned a torrent of water to douse the creature’s flames, Mira’s bark directing the flow accurately. The creature retaliated, shifting into an earthen form, its rocky exterior impervious to blunt force.

“Damn it, we need to erode its defenses!” Ordi shouted over the din of battle. He harnessed the power of the wind, conjuring a fierce gale that battered the guardian’s earthen shell. Mira’s agility kept them one step ahead, dodging the creature’s massive limbs and countering with precise strikes. But the guardian was far from vanquished. It shifted again, merging fire and wind to create a tempest of molten rock and scalding embers. Ordi raised a protective barrier, but the heat was overwhelming. Mira growled, sensing the creature's next move.

“Hold on, Mira. We’ve got to synchronize our attacks, or we’re toast!” Ordi said through gritted teeth. Concentrating deeply, he began summoning all four elements' essence, channeling his mana into a single, powerful spell. Mira’s eyes glowed, her energy feeding into Ordi’s magic.

Sensing the power shift, the guardian made a desperate, final lunge. Flames, winds, water, and earth collided in a chaotic swirl, the chamber trembling under the strain. With a final surge of energy, Ordi unleashed a combined elemental blast, a swirling vortex of fire, water, earth, and air. The blast struck the guardian with overwhelming force, each element countering and overpowering its essence. The creature roared, its form fracturing and dissolving into the elements from whence it came.

Sweat dripped from Ordi's brow, his body aching from the exertion, but he stood tall. Mira, equally exhausted, nuzzled against him; her fur sang, but her spirit was unwavering. As the guardian dissolved completely, a shimmering portal appeared where it stood.

“We did it,” Ordi muttered, a triumphant yet weary grin crossing his face. Stepping through the portal, Ordi and Mira emerged victorious, their bond stronger and their resolve unshaken. The gateway led to a serene clearing bathed in moonlight, the air fragrant with the scent of blooming flowers—a well-deserved respite after their epic confrontation.

Galen awaited them at the exit, a rare smile on his face. “You have surpassed my expectations, Ordi. Your mastery of the elements and your bond with Mira make you a force to be reckoned with.”

News of Ordi’s successful apprenticeships has reached the king’s court, and word spread of his talents with the vast spectrum of magic. A rare feat for the modern mage, as they would only specialize in one or two aspects; Ordi could do them all. Ordi finished out his time with Galen. At the conclusion, the King gave him word that he would report and join the battle mages to protect the kingdom. Galen approached Ordi one evening with a solemn expression on his face, “The King has requested you. Reports are coming in from the fringe that a witch has been seen and practicing. A small force is being put together to deal with her. I will lead this group, and you will be coming with me. Please tell your family that it could be a few days before you come home.

“Yes, sir, Master Galen. When do we leave?” Ordi asked. Mira looked excited.

“Finally, some action!”

“Tomorrow at first light.”

Ordi felt a mix of trepidation and excitement. “Finally, combat. I don’t know why I am excited about this, but I am.” He said to Mira.

The following day, Ordi joined the assembled team of warriors and mages, each a master of their craft. Galen was the commander of two paladins and three mages, including Ordi. None of the mages bothered introducing themselves to Ordi, but one paladin came over as they departed Kamrar, “Hello, Master Ordi. I am Roland, master Paladin. I have heard great things about you. I am looking forward to working with you on this quest.

“Nice to meet you too, Roland,” Ordi said as they started down the path. The rest of the journey out east was quiet. Not a word was spoken as the party prepared for what lay ahead. Their first encounter with the witch’s minions came swiftly. Shadowy creatures ambushed them on a narrow mountain path, their forms shifting and blending with the darkness.

“Form a defensive circle!” the Galen shouted. Ordi and the other mages quickly formed a barrier of protective staffs, their combined magic creating a dome of shimmering light. The warriors took the front line, clashing with the formidable creatures. The shadow wraths came blasting against the protective bubble. The paladins stepped forth, shields up and swords slashing. But their swords went through the wrath like nothing as they sliced down. The black mist dissolved and reformed with no damage. “Paladins, step back,” Galen yelled. The mages came forth and washed the darkness with bright arcane spells. The shadow wraths dissolved when the light blasted through them.

“Small tricks,” One of the mages laughed.

The group moved to the edge of Witherwood forest, where an old, decaying hut was sitting. A small puff of smoke came from the chimney, and a small light could be seen through the single dirty window. The forest behind created a terrifying appearance of the hut, one that filled the men with fear and trepidation. Galen whispered, “Careful, gentlemen, the reports on this witch are dark. Do not be shocked if you see fowl beasts or unnatural magic being used.”

Galen moved silently at the front, his eyes scanning the ominous shadows ahead, every sense attuned to the dark presence they pursued. Ordi followed closely, his mind likewise sharp with both anticipation and dread. The two mages were close behind them, their hands glowing with ethereal light, and the paladins, armored and poised for the impending encounter. Mira trotted by Ordi’s side, her keen senses heightening their awareness.

            Standing in the clearing before the hut, a chilling gust of wind met them with the stench of decay. The grotesque-looking hut blended crumbling stone and gnarled wood twisted into almost-alive forms. It exuded an aura of malevolent energy pulsating with corruption.

            “I think I see something,” Ordi whispered to Galen and the group.

            A high-pitched cackle pierced the air as if on cue, sending shivers down their spines. The shadows at the edge of the clearing rippled and shifted, merging into the monstrous form of the dark witch. She was a nightmarish figure, her body twisted and contorted, patches of decaying skin giving way to raw wounds that oozed a vile, dark substance. Her hair was a tangle of matted strands, and her eyes—glowing with an unnatural, sickly green—seemed to pierce through their souls.

“So, the little mages have come to play,” she hissed, her voice dripping with malice. “Pitiful fools.” She hovered over the ground, arms outstretched, and without warning, she flicked her bony wrist, and immediately, the forest around came alive. Dark tendrils of shadow and thorn spouted from the ground, trying to ensnare the intruders. Skeletal hands started to spring forth from the earth as the dead were summoned.

“Sheilds!” yelled one of the mages, as the roots sprung up around him, choking him and dragging him into the ground as he screamed out. It took a moment for the paladins to cut the roots off as Ordi calmed the earth and called forth on the Primordial to assist.

            “Damn you, witch!” Galen spat as he charged forth. She called for shadow fiends and the undead to distract the group as she turned her attention to Galen. He cast auras over him as he stood some ten feet from her. She smiled, showing her blackened teeth. She lashed out, sending shadow daggers towards Galen, which he blocked by getting a shield in place. The daggers evaporated as they collided with the pure arcane. Galen responded by sending a series of arcane bolts to the witch. She absorbed them like they were water. Unfazed, she elevated higher, calling forth lightning that she rained down upon Galen. As he protected himself from the bolts, she drew out a black blade and stabbed Galen through the chest. She gave an evil laugh as the blade easily pierced his armor.

            “NO!” screamed Ordi as he dispatched the last fiend. He charged after her as Galen dropped to the ground with a loud grunt. The blade protruded through his body, and he fell into the dirt face first, not moving.

            Ordi jumped over his lifeless body, produced a shield, and called forth the ground to root around the witch. The other mage joined him as he did, raining down fire from the sky. The paladins charged after the witch forced her higher into the air, laughing, mocking the group. Ordi drew forth a wind that pressed down upon the witch, and he pushed with every fiber in his being. Roland stood ready, calling forth brilliant holy arcane to entrap the witch. With effort, Ordi pressed her close to the ground, but before Roland could raise his sword, the witch evaporated and reappeared feet away from all the chaos.

The group stood in disbelief as she moved quickly, unburdened by their attempts to contain her. Ordi wanted to attempt a spell, “freeze her in place,” he whispered. The mages attempted to draw ice around her, but she kept spewing black sludge against it, melting it away. Ordi knew the mages couldn’t freeze her, but at least they distracted her. He reached out to Mira and instructed the earth. Prepare to seize her in your roots, but not until Mira says go. The earth responded in acknowledgment. Next, he connected with air and fire, instructed them, and waited for his opportunity.  “Now,” he told Mira.

With a ferocious burst of energy, the earth sent its roots writhing and reaching toward the wicked witch, determined to fight back against her icy grip. The thick, gnarled roots coiled tightly around her body, squeezing with all their might as flames erupted around them. It was a delicate dance for Ordi, manipulating the elements to achieve the perfect balance. Too little air, and the fire would fizzle out. Too much, and it would consume everything in its path. With fierce determination, he extended his hand toward the screaming witch and summoned a powerful current of air. Like a noose, it wrapped around her throat and pulled with all its might upwards while the unrelenting roots held her body firmly in place. And with one final tug, the witch's head was ripped clean off by the sheer force of nature and magic combined.

Her body fell, and the roots retreated into the ground as black blood spilled everywhere. The twisted blackness of her body dissipated into the wind. The hut behind crumbled and was left to ruin, and the evilness that once hung over the area drifted away. A crisp wind blew through the trees as the sun broke the horizon. The night was won, but the cost was high as the champions withdrew from Witherwood Forest and returned to Kamrar.

There was a ceremony for those tasked with taking down the witch. King Telophap held a special memorial for Galen and had an image of the mage raised in the Hall of the Fallen—a place where the Dwarves remembered those who were heroic and met a tragic ending. Galen would forever have a special place in the hearts of those who knew him. For Ordi, it was a special honor for him to have been his last apprentice and gone into battle, but he knew his death would haunt him at some point.

“Ordi, your bravery, and mastery of magic have saved our kingdom,” the king proclaimed. “It is an honor to appoint you as the King’s Mage. You will serve with the elite group in protecting me while I travel and handle any special errands or tasks that befall us.” Telophap spoke with boldness to the great crowd gathered. Ordi’s wife applauded after the speech, and their kids yelled excitedly.

Kneeling before the throne, Ordi felt a swell of pride. “We did it,” he sent to Mira.

“I always knew we could,” Mira replied, her mental voice brimming with joy.

As the accolade was bestowed upon him, Ordi looked out at the gathered assembly, his heart filled with hope and determination. His journey had been long and arduous, but it had only begun. With Mira by his side and his wife to support them, he was ready to face whatever lay ahead as the realm's King’s Mage and protector. At this moment, Ordi could stand before the gathered Dwarves and know his place was in Kamrar.

Serving as the King’s Mage was an honor bestowed upon the most skilled and trusted mages, requiring great power, wisdom, and integrity. Ordi’s responsibilities extended far beyond the battlefield. He became an advisor to the king, a mentor to young mages, and a guardian of the kingdom’s arcane knowledge. He would be the youngest to serve the king in this role, but his demonstration of knowledge and the power he wielded would be instrumental to him in the years to come.

In the following months, his role as King’s Mage took shape as one who preserved knowledge. Ordi initiated projects to restore the ancient libraries with the articles he could find. He was looking through Mater Galen’s library and surrounding communities. The manuscripts and scrolls were sparse, but Ordi worked tirelessly to find and expand the library's capacity to preserve and grow the intellect of the mages. Over the centuries, the mage’s library has been discarded, moved, picked over, and left in shambles. Ordi wanted now to commit his time to restoring the old knowledge.

Though the process was long and tedious, Ordi would copy and update old, worn-out scrolls and categorize new ones that were brought in. Soon, word got out to the kingdoms of what Ordi was doing, and floods of scrolls and parchments arrived. Most Ordi would throw out, but occasionally, he would find one worth keeping. The spells were not groundbreaking or new to him, but he made it his mission to preserve all he could find in service to the king. One lazy afternoon, Ordi was looking at spells for conjuring rabbit stew with Mira sleeping by his side when a knock came at his chamber doors. Mira perked up, “I think it is important,” she said.

Ordi rose to the door, where a young errand boy stood waiting. “Master Ordi, there is a request for your assistance.” He handed him a small scroll and ran off. He opened it and read.

“A small nomad group gathering at a spring between Ysserar and the mountains discovered that the spring had dried up. They request our assistance, Mira.” Ordi said.

“Let us go then! Something exciting to do.” Mira was instantly on the move.

It was a quick journey south of Kamrar, and they were greeted heartily. “Thank you for coming, Master Ordi,” the village elder, a wise old woman named Maelis, said. “We’ve tried everything, but the spring remains dry. Our crops will wither, and our people are growing desperate for water.”

“Oy, You are most welcome,” Ordi replied. “Come, Mira, I am intrigued to see what this could be?” Maelis led the way to a rocky hill where the spring was nestled. Ordi knelt by the pit's edge, dipping his fingers into the parched soil. He closed his eyes, reaching out to the arcane channels to discern the cause of the spring's desiccation, connecting with water to find the source and flow. He immediately felt a disturbance—an unnatural barrier blocking underground water flow. It was as if a magical dam had been erected to cut off the life-giving source.

There’s something magical at play, Ordi thought to Mira. This isn’t a natural occurrence.

What do you think it could be? Mira replied, her curiosity piqued.

Ordi stood up, his mind racing with possibilities. “We need to find the source of this disturbance. It could be a malicious spell or a magical artifact disrupting the water flow.”

With Maelis’s guidance, they followed the course of the underground waterway, eventually reaching a secluded cave hidden among the rocks. The air around the entrance was thick with magic, its presence evident.

Ordi took a deep breath and stepped inside, Mira close beside him. The cave was dark and eerie, illuminated by the faint glow of Ordi’s staff. As they ventured deeper, they came across what appeared to be a makeshift altar, covered in runes and surrounded by arcane symbols. He recognized these runes from scrolls he’d read about the Dark Lord. They seemed quickly sketched, almost smeared, yet here they were. He knelt and looked closer. After a moment, he concluded. “These are fresh Mira. Someone has been here dabbling in the dark magic. This doesn’t make sense, though, as the Dark Lord has been dead for so long.”

Mira perceived that the ancient markings couldn't have been more than a month old. However, the tribe had just arrived in this region yesterday, making it difficult to determine the age or purpose of the altar. "Why target just a small spring? It doesn't add up. Our records of him show much more destructive behavior," Mira commented.

“I think it may be someone messing around. They found some ancient spells and wanted to perform them away from prying eyes. Maybe no more than a prank.” Ordi said. He prepared himself to deactivate the crystal and destroy the altar. He took a deep breath and started the counter-spell, and almost instantly, the crystal rejected the spell, instead the color inside growing darker. Ordi shifted his spell and drew deeper into the arcane channel for holy light, finally overcoming the spell on the crystal. The blackness evaporated, and the altar broke in half as the runes were wiped.

Mira followed Ordi out of the cave, “That was an incredibly powerful crystal for someone to be playing a prank,” She said.

“Oy, honestly, I don’t know what to make of it.” The two met back up with Maelis and the rest of the tribe as they gathered around the spring, where water was flowing nicely. They cheered and celebrated Ordi and Mira for resolving their problem. That evening at home, Ordi reflected on his job as King’s Mage. Most of his time was spent in the library, but occasionally, he was called forth to help resolve something simple. However, today was different. Why the altar? Why the runes? The language of the Dark Lord resonated in his head. Could this be tied to the shadow figure during his trials?

Aimlia broke his concentration, “Would you care for an evening tea, dear?” She spoke softly, not to startle him.

“Yes, I would like some. Maybe it would help me relax.” He sat on the back porch, drawing in the coolness of the cave.

“Tough day?” She asked.

“Interesting day is appropriate. Discovered something that I am not sure about. I need to dig deeper. I think I need to go to Talamar again to speak with Master Stow on this issue.” Ordi took a long sip of his tea.

“If you must go, then you must. Our service is to the kingdom.” Aimlia said. “I do miss when you are gone. It has been nice having you home in the evenings.”

“I do not like going, but there could be a darkness swirling in the world that needs to be questioned.”

“Oh, that sounds unpleasant. Will you leave first thing in the morning?” She asked.

“Yes, perhaps I shall. Mira will accompany me as usual. I better turn in for the night.” He took another drink, finishing off the tea. “Thank you, my love. You always know how to calm my spirit.” He kissed her on the forehead, returned inside, and crawled into bed.

Subscribe

---

• Update #3 - Audible sample from chapter 2 Oct. 4, 2024

  https://www.instagram.com/reel/DAtigNoJ8-o/?igsh=MXQ5eGh3cHU4ejNwMA==

  ---

• Update #2 - World map Oct. 3, 2024

  

  ---

• Update #1 - Audible from chapter 1 Sept. 30, 2024

  https://www.instagram.com/reel...

  
  

  A link to a short Audible of the opening to Chapter 1 read by myself.

  ---