!hope you enjoy this and don't hesitate to tell me how to make it better... Just not here.
Prologue Part 1
A strange light bathed everything. It seemed to be coming from everywhere at once but there was no source.
Anatol looked back into the fog. On the edge of his vision, always there but never fully visible a shape followed him. It was pursuing him. The fog had gained on him and was surrounding him. His feet were lost in the swirls of smoke.
The child had been after him for several hours, he didn’t really know how long. There was something that really scared him about the child, a dark and malignant aura he knew but couldn’t pinpoint.
Legs screaming in pain, and though he knew he shouldn’t, he stopped to catch his breath. He was bent over, stomach in his throat and laboring for breath when he glanced black once more into the mist. The child was gone. Startled, Anatol whipped around almost certain that, somehow, the child had been able to get around him. Relief flooded him when he saw that it wasn’t so. Flustered and still unable to control his breathing correctly, he took a quick look around but didn’t see any silhouette hidden in the fog. Finally, certain that he was alone; he managed to calm himself, inhaling and exhaling in rapid succession, recuperating more rapidly, and steadying his nerves.
After a few heartbeats, he was once more able to get moving. A dull ache followed his every move but at least he was able to move this place. Closing his eyes, he went through the spells he had left committed to memory. His mind was a blank page devoid of any arcane magic. Frowning he tried to concentrate on the place he wanted to go. He visualized himself standing in front of his tower, a safe place. He saw the moss covering the circular wall of his tower just above the entrance, healthy and a bright green, he could see in his mind’s eye the runes carved and barely visible underneath. They were pulsing with magic. Looking up, Anatol tried to see through the arrow slit for one of his apprentices but he couldn’t make anything out. The glyph of warding and inscribed spells he knew where there because he had spent hours casting them, stayed hidden. He didn’t dare touch the wall. Not until he was sure he would be recognized by the entities protecting his sanctuary.
He opened his eyes and a shudder went through his frame. He hadn’t moved. He was still surrounded by the mist. Just before he had lost the image he felt sure he had heard the muffled sound of someone calling his name from behind the thick walls of his tower. There was an urgency to it.
Anatol was brought to reality as a giggle sent goose bumps on his body. He looked around for the origin of the sound, the child. He was there, several yards from him, standing still, smiling oddly and staring at him. He had just time to recognize himself in the youth, just before he entered the service of the cult before the child rushed him, mouth stretching into a gaping maw, filled with sharpened teeth, getting large enough to swallow him as it got closer. The last thing he heard was a name… one that made him scream in fear.
Anatol woke with a start, gasping for breath, soaked in sweat he sat up but laid back quickly because his vision swam and head started ringing. His body ached as if he had been running for a long time.
The soft noise of flapping wings brought his eyes open once more. Seyra was circling above him, clearly agitated. Getting back to the black perch he sent a sarcastic mental greeting to his master but it was tinged with an undercurrent of relief. The familiar had a small humanoid like body with stony rough grey skin and bat like wings he spent hours grooming and cleaning. With his impassive face topped with tiny horns and claw tipped fingers Seyra looked like a miniature gargoyle.
Anatol finally managed to get up. He got a glimpse of himself in the mirror. At fifty, Anatol still had a boyish freckled face and unruly red hair. Strands of grey were visible. He had the lithe frame of one who didn’t exercise much and ate sparingly. His body was crisscrossed with badly healed scares and burned marks, evidence of the torture he d been subjected to in his youth while part of the cult.
Blinking his eyes rapidly to clear the shadowy spots that flew in front of him, Anatol took a careful look around. He didn’t think the monster that had pursued him in his dreams had followed him here. The wards hadn’t been tripped but he just had to make sure. The room, his bedchamber, was dimly lit, glow globes dancing near the high ceiling. He mentally commended them to brighten. He waited for his eyes to adjust, before continuing his survey. The old stone walls were nearly completely hidden behind rows of shelves, each bearing many vials and flasks full with odd assortments of unusual components, along with all sorts’ of dangerous scrolls and warded books. Several wands and rings were neatly placed on the shelf nearest the thick wooden door, within easy reach if ever he needed to rush out of the room. He wouldn’t get caught again without them. His staff, a plain looking wooden weapon, was there as well, rotating and ready.
“You kept on screaming an incoherent name master” came a mental remark in Anatol’s mind. Seyra didn’t dare say the name and flew directly in front of his master’s face trying to discern if he had been possessed. Anatol waved him back to his perch. They wouldn’t have been able to mind speak if it had been the case, of course but he let it drop, too tired to argue the issue.
“He has returned.”Anatol said, out loud, not trusting his jumbled mind to convey the words correctly. It was clear who He was.
“Grab me one of the healing potion, please.” He asked is subdued familiar who jumped from his perch and glided lazily toward one of the shelves. He quickly found it.
“What are we going to do?” sent Seyra, turning triumphantly, holding the mixture in his two tiny hands.
“I must find away to stay free from Him.”Said Anatol forcefully as he uncorked the vial and drank it. A flowing wave of magical shiver chased the pain away and even his headache seemed to evaporate.
Refreshed, Anatol moved to the door purposefully.
“Junas, “he mentally sent to his oldest apprentice “Meet me in my studies and bring me the trunk labeled Past. It is in the protected room.”
Aloud he turned to his familiar. “We need to go delve in our past.”
Brevila finished her prayer, thanking her god for her loyal friends. They had woken and followed her because of a dream and a feeling. She didn’t deserve them.
“Well,” Bethany asked, grumbling, “Can’t any of you magic us to them?”
Brevila couldn’t help but smile. Maybe she did deserve Bethany.
Dook and Valayx had been running at full speed to keep up with the longer legged human at their side and they were all but drained. They had both been shaken by the visions and though it had faded from their memories fast they couldn’t shake the feeling of dread.
Ward’s musical voice cut in before any of them could raise to the warrior’s bait.
“Don’t you start you three, this is not a joke.” his voice was strained and the others turned their heads back to look at him. It was very unusual for the bard to be so serious. The blond, fair skinned man was more known for his quick smiles to the ladies and quicker wits. He could charm a room full of elven maiden and have them dance with unruly dwarves.
Brevila looked at her other companions.
Dook’s bright yellow eyes seemed pale compared to her own glowing ones and like hers his skin was dark. He stood just above three feet, his body lean and hard like a slab of stone. His mace was in his hand, ready for use. The symbol of his god, Helm, the eternal sentry, was visible on his leather armor. Next to him, Valayx was a bit taller, with unruly dark hair and the pale skin of one not used to the outdoors. Sleepy bags under his vibrant green eyes betrayed countless nights awake reading scavenged books looking for forgotten lore. He also wore the symbol of his god, Oghma, proudly on the robes covering his scale mail.
Towering over them both Bethany was a statuesque woman, seemingly cold and aloof she was to those close to her a dear and staunch friend. Her long hair brown was as usual worn coiled in a bun at the back of her head. Her long sword was within easy reach and her eyes darted even as she joked, alert as if analyzing the layout of a battlefield.
Brevila was about to ask the bard to move forward when a hissing sound stopped them. None of them took their weapons out for they knew who was giving the signal.
Shade’s black scales made him almost invisible in the night He moved from behind a large tree and motioned for the others to hold still.
“The farm is some way to the north.” He whispered “About two hundred feet. I couldn’t find anything in the surrounding area but I thought it best to wait for you before venturing into the Eddon’s clearing.”
“I have got a bad feeling about this.” Valayx somewhat shrill voice cut in. Dook turned to the halfling and nodded.
“Yes, let us pray we are not to late.”
Shade shrugged.
“I can get us safely to the house. The darkness hides little from me but maybe Valayx you could see if magical traps have been set.”
Almost instantly and with practiced easy the halfling started to cast the ritual that would help him see the Weave
Ward was nervously plying with a few light cords on his lute, gazing in the direction of the house. He did not know much about magic or the divine, but the air felt dead. With a heavy sigh, he said, "I pity whomever lives there, you can essentially taste the lack of joy in the air. Certainly not a place for one such as my tunes and I."
Bethany shushed him, ears straining to catch something in the air.
Valayx started to move forward eyes fixated north and Shade was about to follow when Dook stopped them.
“Let me cast the blessing of my Lord upon you.” He said casting a spell.
The others nodded their thanks and advanced.
Just a few feet behind them Bethany swore under her breath.
“Damn, .. Orc .. “ She was concentrating on something, “ He is not happy.”
So the story begins.
A few things before you jump in. I'll try to update the story every few days and I'll work hard on making it enjoyable.
Please don't post anything here, I'll delete anything posted here that isn't RP story. All Out Of Story questions should go on this Thread.
I'https://www.dndbeyond.com/forums/d-d-beyond-general/story-lore/27663-building-a-story-out-of-story-thread
ll have a few polls up also on that thread.
!hope you enjoy this and don't hesitate to tell me how to make it better... Just not here.
Prologue Part 1
A strange light bathed everything. It seemed to be coming from everywhere at once but there was no source.
Anatol looked back into the fog. On the edge of his vision, always there but never fully visible a shape followed him. It was pursuing him. The fog had gained on him and was surrounding him. His feet were lost in the swirls of smoke.
The child had been after him for several hours, he didn’t really know how long. There was something that really scared him about the child, a dark and malignant aura he knew but couldn’t pinpoint.
Legs screaming in pain, and though he knew he shouldn’t, he stopped to catch his breath. He was bent over, stomach in his throat and laboring for breath when he glanced black once more into the mist. The child was gone. Startled, Anatol whipped around almost certain that, somehow, the child had been able to get around him. Relief flooded him when he saw that it wasn’t so. Flustered and still unable to control his breathing correctly, he took a quick look around but didn’t see any silhouette hidden in the fog. Finally, certain that he was alone; he managed to calm himself, inhaling and exhaling in rapid succession, recuperating more rapidly, and steadying his nerves.
After a few heartbeats, he was once more able to get moving. A dull ache followed his every move but at least he was able to move this place. Closing his eyes, he went through the spells he had left committed to memory. His mind was a blank page devoid of any arcane magic. Frowning he tried to concentrate on the place he wanted to go. He visualized himself standing in front of his tower, a safe place. He saw the moss covering the circular wall of his tower just above the entrance, healthy and a bright green, he could see in his mind’s eye the runes carved and barely visible underneath. They were pulsing with magic. Looking up, Anatol tried to see through the arrow slit for one of his apprentices but he couldn’t make anything out. The glyph of warding and inscribed spells he knew where there because he had spent hours casting them, stayed hidden. He didn’t dare touch the wall. Not until he was sure he would be recognized by the entities protecting his sanctuary.
He opened his eyes and a shudder went through his frame. He hadn’t moved. He was still surrounded by the mist. Just before he had lost the image he felt sure he had heard the muffled sound of someone calling his name from behind the thick walls of his tower. There was an urgency to it.
Anatol was brought to reality as a giggle sent goose bumps on his body. He looked around for the origin of the sound, the child. He was there, several yards from him, standing still, smiling oddly and staring at him. He had just time to recognize himself in the youth, just before he entered the service of the cult before the child rushed him, mouth stretching into a gaping maw, filled with sharpened teeth, getting large enough to swallow him as it got closer. The last thing he heard was a name… one that made him scream in fear.
Writing a Story
https://www.dndbeyond.com/forums/d-d-beyond-general/story-lore/27837-magister-reborn-story-thread
Prologue 2
Anatol woke with a start, gasping for breath, soaked in sweat he sat up but laid back quickly because his vision swam and head started ringing. His body ached as if he had been running for a long time.
The soft noise of flapping wings brought his eyes open once more. Seyra was circling above him, clearly agitated. Getting back to the black perch he sent a sarcastic mental greeting to his master but it was tinged with an undercurrent of relief. The familiar had a small humanoid like body with stony rough grey skin and bat like wings he spent hours grooming and cleaning. With his impassive face topped with tiny horns and claw tipped fingers Seyra looked like a miniature gargoyle.
Anatol finally managed to get up. He got a glimpse of himself in the mirror. At fifty, Anatol still had a boyish freckled face and unruly red hair. Strands of grey were visible. He had the lithe frame of one who didn’t exercise much and ate sparingly. His body was crisscrossed with badly healed scares and burned marks, evidence of the torture he d been subjected to in his youth while part of the cult.
Blinking his eyes rapidly to clear the shadowy spots that flew in front of him, Anatol took a careful look around. He didn’t think the monster that had pursued him in his dreams had followed him here. The wards hadn’t been tripped but he just had to make sure. The room, his bedchamber, was dimly lit, glow globes dancing near the high ceiling. He mentally commended them to brighten. He waited for his eyes to adjust, before continuing his survey. The old stone walls were nearly completely hidden behind rows of shelves, each bearing many vials and flasks full with odd assortments of unusual components, along with all sorts’ of dangerous scrolls and warded books. Several wands and rings were neatly placed on the shelf nearest the thick wooden door, within easy reach if ever he needed to rush out of the room. He wouldn’t get caught again without them. His staff, a plain looking wooden weapon, was there as well, rotating and ready.
“You kept on screaming an incoherent name master” came a mental remark in Anatol’s mind. Seyra didn’t dare say the name and flew directly in front of his master’s face trying to discern if he had been possessed. Anatol waved him back to his perch. They wouldn’t have been able to mind speak if it had been the case, of course but he let it drop, too tired to argue the issue.
“He has returned.”Anatol said, out loud, not trusting his jumbled mind to convey the words correctly. It was clear who He was.
“Grab me one of the healing potion, please.” He asked is subdued familiar who jumped from his perch and glided lazily toward one of the shelves. He quickly found it.
“What are we going to do?” sent Seyra, turning triumphantly, holding the mixture in his two tiny hands.
“I must find away to stay free from Him.”Said Anatol forcefully as he uncorked the vial and drank it. A flowing wave of magical shiver chased the pain away and even his headache seemed to evaporate.
Refreshed, Anatol moved to the door purposefully.
“Junas, “he mentally sent to his oldest apprentice “Meet me in my studies and bring me the trunk labeled Past. It is in the protected room.”
Aloud he turned to his familiar. “We need to go delve in our past.”
Writing a Story
https://www.dndbeyond.com/forums/d-d-beyond-general/story-lore/27837-magister-reborn-story-thread
Brevila finished her prayer, thanking her god for her loyal friends. They had woken and followed her because of a dream and a feeling. She didn’t deserve them.
“Well,” Bethany asked, grumbling, “Can’t any of you magic us to them?”
Brevila couldn’t help but smile. Maybe she did deserve Bethany.
Dook and Valayx had been running at full speed to keep up with the longer legged human at their side and they were all but drained. They had both been shaken by the visions and though it had faded from their memories fast they couldn’t shake the feeling of dread.
Ward’s musical voice cut in before any of them could raise to the warrior’s bait.
“Don’t you start you three, this is not a joke.” his voice was strained and the others turned their heads back to look at him. It was very unusual for the bard to be so serious. The blond, fair skinned man was more known for his quick smiles to the ladies and quicker wits. He could charm a room full of elven maiden and have them dance with unruly dwarves.
Brevila looked at her other companions.
Dook’s bright yellow eyes seemed pale compared to her own glowing ones and like hers his skin was dark. He stood just above three feet, his body lean and hard like a slab of stone. His mace was in his hand, ready for use. The symbol of his god, Helm, the eternal sentry, was visible on his leather armor. Next to him, Valayx was a bit taller, with unruly dark hair and the pale skin of one not used to the outdoors. Sleepy bags under his vibrant green eyes betrayed countless nights awake reading scavenged books looking for forgotten lore. He also wore the symbol of his god, Oghma, proudly on the robes covering his scale mail.
Towering over them both Bethany was a statuesque woman, seemingly cold and aloof she was to those close to her a dear and staunch friend. Her long hair brown was as usual worn coiled in a bun at the back of her head. Her long sword was within easy reach and her eyes darted even as she joked, alert as if analyzing the layout of a battlefield.
Brevila was about to ask the bard to move forward when a hissing sound stopped them. None of them took their weapons out for they knew who was giving the signal.
Shade’s black scales made him almost invisible in the night He moved from behind a large tree and motioned for the others to hold still.
“The farm is some way to the north.” He whispered “About two hundred feet. I couldn’t find anything in the surrounding area but I thought it best to wait for you before venturing into the Eddon’s clearing.”
“I have got a bad feeling about this.” Valayx somewhat shrill voice cut in. Dook turned to the halfling and nodded.
“Yes, let us pray we are not to late.”
Shade shrugged.
“I can get us safely to the house. The darkness hides little from me but maybe Valayx you could see if magical traps have been set.”
Almost instantly and with practiced easy the halfling started to cast the ritual that would help him see the Weave
Ward was nervously plying with a few light cords on his lute, gazing in the direction of the house. He did not know much about magic or the divine, but the air felt dead. With a heavy sigh, he said, "I pity whomever lives there, you can essentially taste the lack of joy in the air. Certainly not a place for one such as my tunes and I."
Bethany shushed him, ears straining to catch something in the air.
Valayx started to move forward eyes fixated north and Shade was about to follow when Dook stopped them.
“Let me cast the blessing of my Lord upon you.” He said casting a spell.
The others nodded their thanks and advanced.
Just a few feet behind them Bethany swore under her breath.
“Damn, .. Orc .. “ She was concentrating on something, “ He is not happy.”
Writing a Story
https://www.dndbeyond.com/forums/d-d-beyond-general/story-lore/27837-magister-reborn-story-thread