Kevin's Watch

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Enjoy the adventure.


-B

Prelude-Part One




Davian hurried down the roughly hewn halls, avoiding eye contact with all who passed. He was a bit shy at the best of times, even with those who knew him well. This stemmed mostly from a long list of failures, the most recent of which still made his cheeks burn. Even as a newling, the other students had outpaced him, most of them having some tutelage in the arts of magic before being accepted to the Arcanalaith, the school of sorcerers. But even more embarrasing, Davian botched the most simple of dweomers, even those of Illusion magic, the spells of light and darkness. The lowest incarnation of a sorcerer's craft, Illusion was considered more of a teaching tool than an accepted practice. But even a simple charm as this more often than not exploded out of the lowly apprentice's control, alternately blinding everyone in the room, or cloaking the classroom in impenetrable darkness. The other students would often roar with laughter at his failed attempts, and mock him wherever he went. This time, however, Davian knew he was in trouble. Farnsal, the master of Enchantments, was dancing. And had been dancing for six hours.
It had started, quite simply enough, with Davian's attempt to Enchant a prowler snake into dancing. He had uttered the incantation well enough, or so he thought, and felt the usual release of power deep within him. He had looked up expectantly, hoping against hope that this time, nothing would go wrong. The master, directly across the room from the snake, had shook his head violently, as if disagreeing with himself. Then he began to shake. And writhe. And then, to dance the sinuous dance of a snake. The class, looking on in disbelief, had burst into helpless guffaws that sent the mortified Davian running from the room.
Now, six hours later, Farnsal danced on, with no sign of slowing. And the High Elders had sent for the humiliated boy. No doubt, Davian was sure, to expel him once and for all. When he first began his erronous attempts at magic, the Elders had assured him that his technique would improve with time and practice. But this was the end, he knew. To enspell a master was a high crime, the penalty, expulsion.
So it was with a head hung low that he approached the Hall of the Arcane. He had, he was certain, failed for the last time.

-B

Prelude Part II- The Elders



The Hall of the Arcane was simultaneously simple and beautiful. The walls, though rough, were formed of a refractive crystal enchanted to be unbreakable. When the sun rose each morning, waves of rainbow hues rolled through the room in great loops and spirals, taking the breath of the newly initiated. When the moon was full, a ghostly luminescence lit the room, removing the need for torches or Gleam spells. The floor was granite, worked and polished again and again, to it's smoothest possible texture. The Table of Elders, though, was of simple oak, unbesmirched by any adornment, save that of each Elder's sigil, which was carved magically into the wood, so that it could be removed should an Elder expire. Seven of the ten Elders sat in their places, though several appeared uncomfortable at the empty chairs at the very center, the seats of the Three.
"I tell you, we are in error." spoke Thrasain, the eldest present. His white beard was long and unkempt, a sign the others percieved to be related to their current predicament, that of the threat of Anasair, the kingdom of sorcerers to the south. Many a night they had argued over their plans, and in the end had resolved nothing. "Such a decision requires the Three! We have yet to vote on Gorist's declaration! We should not be making war plans until we have decided whether we will go to war or not." He swept the table an angry glance and finished, "And our choice of weapon is unacceptable!" He sat down with a great hrumph , his glare not lessening.
"And yet here we are eldest," spoke Sarathis, the youngest of the eldest. He had pale, sallow skin, and a cruel air about him, "three less than we were. We can only assume the Three have fallen, their mission failed. Who shall we turn to now for wisdom? I tell you they were assassinated! By the Enemy! We must prepare, my brothers, ", his breath coming out in a sinister hiss, "for war."
The others muttered uncomfortably at the word, some looking worriedly at the empty seats. Many agreed with Sarathis, certain that the three greatest of their order had fallen into treachery.
"But to use the Forbidden Weapon is madness!", Thrasain argued. "It was locked away hundreds of years ago, for reasons we do not understand. To bring it forth to war is folly."
"Yet it's power is evident, " Sarathis countered. " useable by those equal to it. We cannot, in our wisdom, refuse it's potential. The Enemy, even now, prepares it's forces for war! Should we fail to counter them, all we are is lost. I do not say that we must use it ourselves. That would be madness indeed. Instead, we should find one who may use it, if all other options fail. Only as a last resort, my brethren, and then only if we all agree there is no other recourse." A few looked skeptical, but Sarathis knew he had won a majority, knew for certain he had pushed the few undecided into his favor. They were afraid, he knew.
"Who then?", Mikkul asked aloud, though he rarely contributed his ideas, "who amongst those who serves us contains the necessary potential to use so advanced a weapon? There are few precious Adepts with the power, and surely none of the apprentices." The others looked expectantly at Sarathis, certain he had prepared for such a contingency.
"There is one apprentice who may serve our purposes." he said thoughtfully, or so it appeared, for he had known for many days who he would choose. "We have all spoken of him, in jest for the most part, as his antics have caused many a headache." The others seemed shocked by his supposition.
"Surely you jest!", Thrasain laughed, and a few others joined in. "Davian?! He can't even use a Light Charm without botching the job! And you propose he attempt the use of an ancient machine of enchantment? This is preposterous!" He slammed his fist on the table for emphasis.
"Does any present here argue that he lacks the power? Shall we ask Farnsal? Oh yes, he is still indisposed." The last statement was felt by all. Though tales of a student enspelling a teacher were not unheard of, a teacher would almost always break the dweomer quickly. All eyes turned to the sphere clock, which slowly filled with blue light to count the hours. Farnsal had now been dancing for six and one-half hours.
This time, even Thrasain was silent. Sarathis smiled.

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