The Winding Road: In Blood

By Frank Gori

Lazeron Pi pulled his mind from the darkest shadow of despair. With his voice and mind he called out to Dab and the world came rushing back. Laz’s love for Dab was the one thing he could never reason away, it was an anchor. The minotaur was the brother Laz didn’t have, and the father he never knew. Laz’s memory of his boyhood friend Dab was the only time from childhood Laz could recall feeling safe. Dab’s protective embrace made a circle of protection that Lazeron Pi’s mind could take shelter in when the darker memories came like a storm.

Lazeron found something else within that darkness, an awakening of sorts. The number that entranced him was a mathematical expression of his desire to be safe. Twenty two over seven wasn’t just a ratio, it was Dab. Being a normal wizard and trying to impose order on it was like trying to swim against the tide, fueling that ambition with the magic within your blood was like sailing with a tail wind. It was insane. Some Wizards referred to the process of training another wizard as “the breaking”, because of that insanity.

Lazeron suddenly understood the source of his breaking and his ability to shape the chaotic energies of creation without risking despair. Lazeron understood now that the number wasn’t needed, he had heard of the True Mage before, the kind of magical practitioner that could interweave and marry the magic of sorcerer and wizard. Understanding the source of his insanity meant understanding himself, which also meant understanding that the true source of his power, which was also self. If magic was a fruit tree, wizards were taking from a different branch than sorcerers, the fruit was the same.

The blood was like fire. Any brute can use fire as a weapon, it took know how to use the fire as a tool to create. From fire the tools on which civilization was built were made, it was the same with blood and magic.

As Mal began negotiating with the Sewer King, Lazeron kneeled over, faking a bout of sickness, snatched a rat and put it in his pocket. He looked up at the Sewer King and noted the slightest tilt of the head. The act was acknowledged and permission granted.

Lazeron put his hand inside the pocket with the rat and allowed it to bite him, drawing his blood inside of it. The connection was shockingly fast, the blood of Lazeron’s magic connected immediately with the arcane bond the Sewer King extended to the vermin.

The connection allowed Lazeron a glimpse of the power The Sewer King controlled, what he really was, that glimpse nearly overwhelmed Laz. Every life had a connection to magic, even the vermin. Somehow a portion of all the magical potential of every vermin in the sewer was donated to its king, every creature that decided to call the sewer home paid a sliver of power to him and all that potential together was stitched together like a cloak around his soul. He would be a potent sorcerer without the mantle of power augmenting him, with that power Lazeron would be a torch against a river.

It was a two way street, the Sewer King would understand the source of Lazeron’s power as well. With his power and understanding of necromancy he could be slain but would reform as his mind and power would spread to all the vermin in the sewer then reshape him a new body over time. To Lazeron it was familiar and disgusting.

The Sewer King’s presence in his mind was like having a film on the back of your teeth that you couldn’t quite scrap off with your tongue. The presence touched the number Lazeron wielded like a shield and lingered a moment before retreating respectfully. “Impressive, you have become a True Mage, I hope your Caravanner trades you,” the Sewer King projected.

Goading never worked on Laz. Mal wouldn’t sell him off and if he did Lazeron would bring this misbegotten hole down on their heads. “That’s the spirit, you’d make the Chaos Man proud if you did, well if you haven’t turned traitor.” Laz saw the Sewer King’s mouth moving in conversation with Mal, it wasn’t as impressive as you might imagine. Of course the Sewer King could carry on multiple conversations his awareness was divided constantly among thousands of beady little eyes.

“You understand,” The King projected. It was a statement, he could follow Laz’s thoughts not just what he projected. “Yes,” The Sewer King replied.

Laz used the mental exercise of calculating more portions of the great number to focus. It helped him cope with having that terrible power in his thoughts. Laz then mentally gathered and presented what he felt was a compelling case that he did not in fact betray the Mage’s Guild. It was his old mentor Morte Bisset setting him up, gaining revenge.

The prison had spell wards to contain a living spell, and a release mechanism to unleash it, that was Wizard work and there were very few wizards. The floor with the undead was another tell, Morte was the only wizard in Hub who specialized in Necromancy. The only problem was that Morte had been executed for his crimes against his students and the Mage’s Guild.

The blacksmith was evidence in a way. Morte wanted the secret of soul forging to make himself a new kind of living death. It would be a unique brand of immortality that would suit his twisted desires. In undeath Morte couldn’t feel the things he wanted to feel. If Hodge could teach him soul forging he could create new bodies for himself, it was not dissimilar to what The Sewer King had done. 

This was a theory, but to Lazeron it had the ring of truth. He knew Morte Bisset in a more intimate manner then he desired. The elderly wizard was fascinated by the line between life and death and in that fascination he crossed lines. He was obsessed with youth, living magic, and delighted in torture. The prison was his, Lazeron knew it to be as true as the number he held sacred, the circle that failed to protect him from his master’s repellant lust.

Morte had devised a method to steal some of the magical potential from his students. Lazeron was fortunate enough to discover and expose this before his power was taken. It was another form of abuse he justified in the name of power. 

The Sewer King projected, “I see the reasoning on your theory and your conviction in evidence that is circumstantial at best. Still your fears have enough foundation in reality that I cannot discount them and I will bring this forth in the next meeting of guild lieutenants. You did not trust us when you were in trouble, you fled with the others to the Merchant Guild rather than your family, of this you are guilty and you have forsaken us and are banished from our company. If your old mentor somehow survives as you believe he does then only bringing proof of his destruction will reverse your banishment and restore you to the guild.” It had a ring of finality and the presence left.

Lazeron’s defection would stand, the choice was irreversible, but how the Mage guild regarded him was still salvageable. Lazeron would rather be viewed a friendly to his old colleagues than regarded as a traitor and enemy. Sometimes outsiders enjoyed a status near that of a guild member, it was about as much as Laz could hope for if he ever wanted to call Hub home again.

If Lazeron Pi was right about Morte Bisset the truth is he’d end up confronting the bastard sooner or later anyway. There was enmity enough between them that Morte would pursue Lazeron which was why Laz would be happy to leave Hub with Mal’s Caravan, the road would be an equalizer.

Laz could still feel the rat in his pocket without touching it. With little will he could smell with its, no her, nose and see with her eyes. It was the arcane bond, like what Laz had with his ring. A whisper on the wind carried The Sewer King’s gravelly voice which matched that oily presence, “a gift.”

The Winding Road: The Despair of Pi

by Frank Gori

Lazeron Pi heard the voice of his teacher Morte Bisset, “We share the ability to do magic with many others. Applying that magic with knowledge is a wizard’s greatest weapon, and makes us stronger then sorcerers.” Master Bisset was a harsh tutor and his tastes and desires still brought bile to Lazeron's throat, but Morte was right about knowledge.

The guard with a deadman’s lever was standing in the key to a wizard’s spell trap. The design was thought to be a secret only known to a handful of wizards and its purpose was solely to contain living spells. 

 

Wizard magic was mind over matter in the extreme. Manipulating the ambient energies of creation and bending them to one’s will meant imposing order on inherently chaotic energy. The mind needed to be a little broken to achieve such a feat, though some wizards called this enlightenment. Lazeron was more honest about the situation, it was the price wizards paid for power.

 Sorcerers achieved the same effect by calling on magical energy inherent in their blood. This subjected them to magic’s chaotic rules and at anytime the bliss or despair could come. The breaking protected wizards to a limited extent.

Lazeron was both a wizard and sorcerer, though the magic in his blood alone would have made him a middling mage at best. With time Lazeron would be a very potent wizard, assuming he survived the next five minutes or so. Gifted wizards learned to combine the discipline of wizard magic with the raw fueled power of sorcery into something greater.

Lazeron stole a glance at Dab. The numbers were a little quieter in the presence of his childhood friend. Before Laz bloomed into his power he shared a summer with Dab. They faced bullies, told one another trivial secrets of childhood, and on occasion shared a quiet moment in a simple brotherly embrace. The memory of that helped Laz get through some of the less innocent affections that soiled Laz’s childhood a few years later.

The irrational power of the numbers was Pi’s secret knowledge and the foundation of his wizardly might. Pi was also a sorcerer and could call on his emotions and blood to fuel his power. Combining the two was powerful but dangerous. Laz had little choice, he watched the living spell infuse itself into the guard and it was a form of the dragon spell. It would enact a transformation that would result in a creature not quite as powerful as a normal dragon, but powerful enough.

Calling on his fear and worry for his friends was easy, channeling that into the cold reason of the perfect equation 22/7 was harder. He began by associating each digit with a face, three for Mal as Malleck struggled with three identity roles around his patron son, subject, and suitor. One was for Dab as Dab was the only friend from Laz’s childhood who had survived his mentor’s envy. Four he associated with Zool because four was a number about balance and a feminine male who was both a consummate professional and comrade at the same time took extraordinary balance. One, again for Dab, five for Bellany as she was as much a star as Lazeron ever encountered, nine for the surviving female prisoners they liberated, and two for himself a caster arcane of both wizardry and sorcery.

The wall or iron and stone were up. A wall of force was his next objective, his mind associated six with his mentor as that was the number of times… Laz lost focus a moment and felt the gut wrench of despair. He was tired. Desperate really, this prison was clearly designed by a Mage and he was outclassed. The guards were a sham, they were there to force him to use his magic, his master always said his desire to show compassion to outsiders would be his death and only now was he being proven right. They needed the wall though so six dam it. Six was for Morte Bisset as six was the number of time he… the world slipped away.

Six… six was something.

Lazeron felt strong arms embracing him, lifting him up. Then they went away, six.

A maze was before him there were six paths. All seemed wrong, he knelt for some time there and wept. Then he felt the eyes of something malevolent and angry on his back, it was a lion and a serpent at the same time, and Laz had to run down a path or be consumed. Instinctually he took the fifth path a path that made him want to dance. The path was beautiful and vibrant and he smiled a moment despite the danger. He had to find Dab, Dab would be in the labyrinth and Dab would keep him safe.

The fifth path ended at another juncture of six branches but he could hear Mal giving orders down the third so the third path he took. He sensed Bellani in Mals path which meant they’d probably be lovers but there was an infinite amount of potential within Bellani if she chose to let it flourish. Laz had a brief moment where he could almost hear her discussing the death path with one of the nine. It made him scream.

Was that his scream? No, it was not.

Death came in the form of a boatman, he had but seven fingers and the life of one of the nine would be his toll. Mal didn’t know that so he accepted the bargain. 

“Don’t bargain with Death, Mal,” Laz tried to call magic to fight it but couldn’t latch onto the number enough to do so.

Ballany’s unborn baby giggled and Laz returned to the maze. This was confusing but then it all became confusing after his apprenticeship as a wizard. 

Zool was there at the maze; he raised his hand and smacked Laz six times. Once again Laz’s mind drifted to Morte, his debased love sometimes involved striking. In tribunal his defense was that he needed to break Laz’s mind and abuse was the fastest way. Something stopped another round of smacks from Zool, Mal, the unborn infinity and Pi would dance forever in the maze but something stopped it.

Something was important…

The arms were still there. Had they always been there? Propping him up and keeping him from being eaten by the serpent? Only in the moment of their absence did he notice they were gone.

“DAB,” Lazeron screamed it and the world came rushing back.

They were in the court of the self proclaimed sewer king, the boatman suddenly made sense. Lazeron briefly missed the comforting insanity of Despair. The sewer king was a potent Mage and would exact a heavy toll for passage.

Lazeron opened the sight and glanced toward Bellany confirming his fear, the life within her was strongly magical. He wondered if she knew. The Sewer King would surely notice.

The Winding Road: Homecoming

by Frank Gori

Somewhere between his third and fourth step back onto his old block, Lazeron realized a part of his life was about to end. When the choices you have are likely death or defection, the Merchant’s Guild doesn’t seem so bad. He hated linear thinking, beginnings and endings were for boxes and Lazeron strived to never find himself in a box. Even the block that comprised his territory was round.

He hoped his school held together and picked a new leader, but he knew even in that best case there’d be casualties. Unlike other wizards Lazeron was also of sorcerer blood and had been working the school system since he was a child. He earned his students and carved out his block, and he was granted a measure of respect for his blood rights,

It was probably all Emry’s now. Emry ran an up and coming school before he tried to take Lazeron’s block and absorb his students. Lazeron played him for fool and used a simple broken wing gambit to get Emry’s boys into an ambush. Given a choice to join or die, Emry did the smart thing. Now he likely ran -Laz’s school, The Vicious Cycles, and Lazeron’s block which was really about six blocks.

That was bad news for a few of Lazeron’s strays. Most schools were fairly homogonous, all wizards or all sorcerers, heck some were even all of the same bloodline. In Laz’s thinking the comfort of that was a mistake, there was greater strength in diversity. Laz’s strays were mostly what other mages called small powers or little fish. City folk sometimes forget that one of the most effective tactics of small creatures was to swarm.

Fourteen steps later Lazeron spotted the first signs of damage. He was already annoyed the sentries weren’t tending their established circular routes and he had gotten as far unchallenged but damaging the block was too much. The scorch marks meant either an external fight with a rival or someone got sloppy with an internal matter.

That was unacceptable. The small businesses and housing in Mage’s Guild territory operated under mage protection. They didn’t have to pay in on Merchant’s Guild or Workman’s dues because they paid their school taxes. Some called the Mage’s Guild a collection of thugs but last Lazeron checked his taxes still came out better than even Workman's dues. He did loans, sold caster services, and had working girls too. No one suffered in his domain and his strays proved to their worth to his advantage.

Marta and Snook were perfect examples. Marta was a female ogre no one would take on account of her lack of wits. The girl was indeed dumb but she had power and muscle which was a rare enough combination. She’d never be the type to advance or even be sent on a mission without supervision but she was useful. Her violent abilities and tendency were only directed at threats. To her friends she was sweet as they come. Snook lacked the raw ability to throw a lightning bolt or fireball but he used what little he had smartly. Snook used his gift to enhance his abilities with bows and crossbows, he might not be able to burn you to death with a fireball but a well placed arrow will kill you all the same.

“Relax Laz, no burn shadow. Was just for show,” said the gruff voice behind Laz.

Lazeron forgot about Zool. The man walked too damn quiet… He was right though. Showy displays of power were Emry’s wheelhouse. The boy had a lot of power but was careless how he aimed it. This indicated Emry was likely in charge as Lazeron feared. Emry lacked imagination, and to him a mage was just one thing. It meant trouble for the ones that didn’t fit into his narrow view. Price on his head be dammed, Lazeron wasn’t about to leave those that were his behind. Laz was going to collect his strays and he was going to get that fool minotaur too and burn anyone who stood in his way.

“Aw hell, I remember that look Laz. Go on back thinking ‘bout your numbers we’re supposed to do this quiet,” said Zool.

Three, then one, and four, one, five nine… Lazeron lost himself in the number for a bit, trusting in Zool’s professionalism. His invisibility circle would hold for some time. He was in the maddening three, thirty six, seven, three, thirty six sequence when the sunder stopped him.

They were at the Vicious Cycle’s schoolhouse and the copper smell of blood greeted them both. The door was wide open and Emry’s corpse was pinned to it by four expertly placed arrows.

“That who we came for,” Zool asked as the roaring woosh of a fireball and pained screams came from inside the house.

“Circle round the back,”Laz instructed in a voice that seemed distant to his own ear.

The bliss roared in his blood as Lazeron called a swarm. No circle, no abjuration, nothing the numbers could claim. Gods the bliss felt good. He called another spell and held it, rewarded again by the bliss. It was like sex, truffles, and being admired all at once. With a swarm of wasps at his command and lightning ready to pour out of his hands Lazeron walked in his own front door.

He giggled at a stupid thought. Some snippet of proverb, saying you can’t go home again.

Mage's Guild: An Overview

by Frank Shaw

The Mage’s Guild is the great anomaly in the City of Hub. Of the Five Great Guilds they are the only guild without enterprise or industry to carve out their niche in the city. The Merchant’s Guild has commerce, the grand caravans rolling in and out of the city on a near continuous basis. The Music Guild has a firm grip on the brothels, feasting and dance halls, as well as most of the taverns and inns scattered throughout Hub. The Workman’s Guild, for all their organized chaos, counts each individual member in one of the necessary trades to keep the city running and the citizens happy. The Blacksmith’s Guild, with stoic monastic forges, is able to create works of craftsmanship which transcend mundanity with the whisper of consciousness itself. Compared to the other four Guilds, the Mage’s Guild are little more than magic addicted thugs. 

This fact hasn’t gone unnoticed by the Mage’s, who have organized themselves into little more than gangs, called “Schools” by those who are members of the Guild and by anyone within earshot of a guild member. These “Schools” are loosely organized through common philosophy, usually in line with one of the seven Elements or one of their sub-elements. These are not strict divisions, and it would not be unheard of to find one school aligned with Fire, another aligned with Fire and Ice, and a third with Water and Shadow. 

The schools have a common hierarchy. Each is led by a leader, and usually has several officers that act in various roles underneath the leader. The titles vary from school to school, but there are titles that are most commonly used.

• Captain, Vice-Captain: These are the leaders of the school. While not always the most powerful spellcasters, they are the most cunning. Typically they are the most likely to have control of the Bliss and Despair that comes from casting magic.

• Agent: These are the ambassadors to other Guilds or Schools. Only the most powerful schools have Agents.

• Chamberlin: This member is in charge of keeping the day to day business of the school. They watch over the school headquarters and often relay messages between the captains and the regular members of the school.

• Sergeant of Arms: They are responsible for guarding the school headquarters’ as well as the higher-ranking members of the guild.

• Members: These are full members of the school. Depending on the school this may mean they have a vote or say in actions the school takes, though this varies greatly.

• Recruits: While members are recognized as part of the school, recruits haven’t earned a say yet in the day to day activities of the school itself.

• Potents: These are potential recruits and include those that hangout at the school, or those the school intends to poach.

Most of the schools have the stated goal of controlling the market on magic, typically through magical services. Most schools have the ambition to also control magic items and all other spellcasters in the city. Lacking the discipline of true craftsman, the Mage’s can only muster wands, weak fetishes, or diluted potions. Some alchemists in the Guild have developed a talent for creating poisons and drugs, particularly the rare Geato Abira (lizardfolk) who have knowledge of flora and fauna for use in this enterprise. Both these items are typically sold to other Guilds, as the Mage’s have little use for either.

Due to their lack of talent the Mage’s often find themselves in strife with the Blacksmith’s, who by sheer willpower and master of their craft can create permanent magical items. They are also at odds with the Music Guild as there are many spellcasters in this Guild, primarily bards, who are not members of any of the Mage’s Guild Schools. This strife has made some schools unopposed to kidnapping candidates or apprentices of either of those two Guilds and forcing them into their individual schools. Most schools are smart enough to take those members who are of little import or not full members, but occasionally a school will ignore this unwritten rule and try to take someone who is ranked or known. These schools usually don’t last long, as the Mage’s are very good at self-policing.

The Mage’s are indifferent to the Merchant’s as they are too unorganized to negotiate good contracts with Liara. Occasionally contracts will be brokered by the Chaosman, or by an impromptu council of the most powerful school captains, but these are usually fleeting and are typically looked at with a grain of salt by both sides. The Merchant Keeper’s that do run businesses in the Mage’s Quarter are typically left alone, sometimes for a small bribe, though again this varies by which school is in charge of that particular street at the time

The Mage’s Guild’s relationship with the Workman’s Guild is a bit of an anomaly when compared the other Guilds. While rarely one of the less savory schools will take someone from the Workman’s, this is an exception to the rule. In general the Workman’s Guild is off limits to poaching, and in exchange many craftsmen from the Workman’s Guild live in the Mage’s Quarter of Hub plying their trade and assisting schools which they have developed a good rapport with.

While each school is ostensibly divided by philosophical lines, territory and profit cause the most conflict between them. These squabbles turn into turf wars and sometimes full on wars that pull in other schools. This leads both sides to hire mercenaries and leave the city for their Mage’s War, as it is one of the few written rules of the Guild that the Mage’s settle their rage fueled disputes outside of the city where the destruction can be minimized. This is one of the few edicts enforced by the Chaosman.

                 

Secrets of Desylinn: The Chaos Man

by Frank Shaw

When the first to take the moniker of the Chaos Man came down from the Black Fire Mountains, he brought fiery destruction with him. Finding an abandoned Elven fortress, shortly after the Imperial collapse, he destroyed it utterly. It is said he brought fire from the sky itself and only a handful of the refugees taking shelter there survived. Of those few, most were gifted with magic and they followed the linen wrapped, heavily cowled “man” who stood head and shoulders taller than an ogre to his next destination.

The stories say he traveled down the Elven road to just north of the border to the Geato Marsh. He carried nothing but a large, sturdy, wooden box with a bizarre magical lock. Each village, encampment and fortress he and his expanding army of mages entered was laid to waste. The survivors,  mostly spell-casters, followed in his stead, joining the others. Whenever asked the question “Why?” to the destruction he had laid down on his path he would answer softly “To see my potential realized. Like the others who have gone before me.”

Word of this small army was ushered by a vanguard of fleeing survivors who did not have the magical talent of the throng. Soon settlements were nearly abandoned before the Chaos Man's arrival, with only a few hopeful, woefully addicted, or desperate spell-casters left. After long months of travel the Chaos Man arrived at the newly formed city now known as Hub, which still surged with refugees coming from other parts of the recently emancipated Desylinn.

                 

The group, some say numbering a thousand, others say numbering ten thousand, was asked their business. The Chaos Man spoke, which he rarely did, and said they would like to help in exchange for a place in Hub. The mages were given a small corner to eke out their living and in exchange they began to truly build the city with their power. Their first act was building a great feasting hall known as the Halls of the Councils of Chaos. Here the Chaos Man, whoever that may be today, resides with his advisors and meets with the heads of the Mage Schools from the city.

                 

The question of the original Chaos Man’s identity has never been fully satisfied. The first Chaos Man took refuge in the Halls shortly after they were built and was never seen again. “The Chaos Man” has become the de facto title of the Mage Guild leader, and the position seems to change hands frequently. One week a meeting with the Chaos Man will bring forth a dwarf with a tattooed face, the next will land you in a discussion with a one armed Minotaur, and the one after that will have you sitting with an ancient Gren Maitre for tea. How each individual Chaos Man takes power is never fully explained to outsiders or even lower ranking guild members, and the advisors and faction leaders are not telling.

                 

The current popular rumor is that the Chaos Man is really a council of the current hundred and one most powerful Mages in the city. Another is that the Chaos Man is a simple discretionary title held for a week or two before being passed onto the next eligible candidate. One theory is that because of the fractious nature of the Mages Guild and the unsavory dealings they have with other guilds, especially the Music Guild, there really isn’t a Chaos Man and it’s simply a front to outsiders - that the guild itself is actually not nearly as organized as they let on. Of course there are whispers that the Chaos Man is still the same, and always has been the same individual, but he simply uses powerful magics of illusion and shadows to appear different each time.

                 

No matter the truth, it is rare when an outsider gets a visit with the Chaos Man. It is an even rarer event when he attends any of the Great Guild Councils. In fact, most dealings with the Mages Guild are usually conducted with one of the school captains, who are intimidating at best and cruel or malicious most of the time. The calmer captains only chuckle and shake their head when asked to meet with the Chaos Man, as if having a private joke. Typically the only response is, “If you only knew.”