(content warning: Death, Betrayal, Suicide)
The nature of magic in Innagrad is a cruel and curious thing. There are many established wizarding families, with lineages dating centuries. Atop this magiarchy are the High Sorcerers, who keep a close on anything and everyone that practices the gift. The desire of the High Sorcerers to control magic places them at an uneasy reparte with the strange gods who grant magic according to their whims. Fortunatley for the High Sorcerers, magic as a gift seems to be irreversable, and the gods can be bargined with, for a price.
My connection is to the Trickster God, who led me to forbidden leather tome in the university that I knew I must have. The tome becons to me, and I have sacrificed many a night's rest seeking to understand the arcane and dark arts contained within. I shall teach my betters a Lesson! Outside of The Trickster, I've told no-one of my possession of this tome, and the labor of my days as a scribe seem to be greatly aided by my nightly studies. I've deliberately kept the quality of my scriptions even with what it was before so that my betters wouldn't suspect me, should they ever realize the tome is missing.
This tome, inscrutable as it was, holds great promise of power, as even the small things I understand grow my stength. I've also been able to give a commupance or two those bully Mastichards, the bastards!
The University Masters have exhiled me! I'm banished from the University, my skills being considered to be "too unnatural for mere scribe". Somehow, perhaps though a veil of the trickster god, I managed to take the Trickster's tome with me. My personal transmutations are seemingly unheard of, and my scribery was considered tainted, too revealing of the secrets of of the times I copied, of an insight too incisive. No matter, as long as I have a candlight, and the means of the family estate on the outskirts of Dunmell, I can continue my studies in peace in my tower.
Bertrand and I met on the edges of the harvest festival, having a hushed conversation about some ways that I might be able to alter his body to better act as a bouncer for the tavern. I feel bad for him, working so many late nights to provide for those twins. His wife passed 5 years after their birth, but the even was considered a very ill omen. Bertrand, who had been considered a fighter of great promise had been shunned after his wife bore the twins. I, with no respect for local supersitions, was the only person who would listen to his low whispery voice. His damaged voice besides, I find him good company, as his wit far surpasses that of most of the locals in this hamlet.
I have discovered a means to induce laghter by force of my will! I leave strawberries, goats milk, and frog in a cage at home, anointing the offering and my index finger with Holy Oil, and when I need someone to laugh, I finish tracing this sigil in my palm, having started it some time before. I feel a heat in my palm, and when I go home, the sacrifices are burned to piles of ash. Having this in my back pocket has saved me fom many an awkward silence of late, but I think the town mayor also has a version of this enchantment. He definitely gave me a askance look when we shook hands during an exchange during market day.
■■■■■■■
■■ ■■
■■ ■■
■ ■
■ ■
■ ■
■ ■
■ ■ ■ ■
■ ■■■ ■■■ ■
■ ■ ■ ■
■ ■ ■ ■ ■
■ ■ ■ ■ ■ ■
■ ■■■■ ■■■ ■
■ ■ ■ ■ ■ ■
■ ■ ■ ■ ■ ■
■ ■■■■■■■■■■■ ■
■ ■ ■ ■
■ ■ ■ ■
■ ■■■■■ ■
■ ■
■ ■
■■ ■■
■■ ■■
■■■■■■■
Bertrand's devotion to his children reminds me of mine to my studies. He's also been an indespesible source of strawberries, curiously enough. I don't know how he manages to find time for me, his children, his work, and help me fetch ingredients atop that. He's an impressive fellow, one that would be of great use later
A young lady knocked on my tower door today, and had some very incisive questions for a whench. Pity that I had turn her away, as I was close to finding a new artifact, and couldn't be bothered with visitors during this day.
Instead, I went off to an Aleid tomb, and there I found a most curious ring, made of bone, with a primate skull carved into it. The words "Purity Of Protomen" was engraved on it's sides, with the "O" being replaced by the primate skull. A voice seemed to be at once from the ring, and in my head, whispering tales of an ancient race, of power, of conquest and control!
As I reached out to grab the ring, a shade, draped by an aetherial cloak cried out to me: "Beware that ring, it teaches a corrupting power, a racial animus that leads to a denial of reality. It's power will blind you, making you think you can impose your will on reality!" And, with that, the shade collapsed, the cloak falling into a pile. Shades often work that way, spending their aetherial energies in displays to the living world, and then retreating to the astral plane to regather their power.
At any rate, I wasn't about to let a shade tell me what to do. I took the ring, donning it on my finger. And everything went white.
I came to shortly after, my limbs envigoured, and a vision of an empire of my progeny coursing against the edges of my skull, filling me with a rapacity for conquest, and a supreme confidence in my abilty to make that happen! Some part of me instinctively removed the ring out of a sense of deep discomfort with the way it was twisting my thoughts in my head.
The strength in my limbs remained for some hours after the ring was removed.
"Circle of Two": inscribed over the closed stone portal. The implied warning "Only One Returns" is something I do not share with Bertrand. Even with the Purity of Protomen, my power has been too weak to penetrate these ruins. And, after, all, I have the contract scribed on a demonic scroll.
We stand in the circle, the door opens, and Baal-Ur appears in a fire before me. As he appears, I finish casting Laughter on Bertrand, having set out treble the offerings. It works too well, Betrand being consumed with an unnatural laughter, rolling on the ground spasming in ecstacy, while I extend the contract to Baal-Ur. I have already signed, not counting on the crossover between two entities to be especially stable. Baal-Ur burns his mark into the black vellum with a fingernail of obsian, and Bertrand ceases to laugh, freezing with a smile on his face. Baal-Ur then proceeds to blow infernal dust into my lungs. At first it burns, and then it braces into a clear, icy resolve. I Am now Of The Trickster, having gained some of his essence!
When I return home, without their father, Bertand's twins whimper, not asking what happened to their father. They seem to comprehend that they are in the presence of a superior being!
I've learned how to channel the essence of the trickster to bring ruin to my neighbors! And they don't know that it's even me doing it, just that when they cross me that their next few hours will have nothing go right. And since I've started what I call the Waking of Protomen, a ritual where I wear the ring of Purity of Protomen, my physical strength has grown by leaps and bounds, such that I can toss bolders with ease!
The denizens of the hamlet fear me now, mumbling "orphaner" under their breath. I don't know why, though, I've ensured that Bertrand's twins are provided for, paying the local temple to see they are cared for. I cannot deliver that payment in person, however, as the priests refuse to be seen near me.
I would give anything for someone to talk to. My own company grows strained. The denizens of the local hamlets all recognize my as their better, but retreat in fear, lest they should be dealt a string a bad luck. There are rumors of the great Magi families developing an interest in the Mad Bolder-tossing Wizard of Dunmell. Some of the denizens of Dunmell leave offerings of strawberries, which I have been craving of late.
I must seek out new company! Even as I am on the verge of discovering the secrets of the Porcelain Ressurection of prophecy, I must have someone to spark my learning against, spells and Gods be damned!
...
So, future reader, the ink had scarce began to dry on those previous sentences, when I stepped out and was set upon by a wizened old man, who came at me with a dagger, half obsidian and half silver. It was good fortune that I'd performed the Waking of Protomen today, I was able to nimbly duck out of the way, and then cast a minor amount of Frenzy of Failures on him, but it seemed to merely wrap around his dagger! He breaks into a prancy dance, bouncing from one leg to another, saying between breaths:
"Ho, those are some cunning magics you have, mage! It's been some time since I've been able to silence this Dagger without blood. I might just stick around, mage! I guess I'll give you my Name, it'd give you a sporting chance. It's Walter Tim, Walter Tim, the Man Haunted by the Dagger of Sin. I dunno why it's taken a liking to you, but I'll go with this flow".
Walter Tim continues to bounce around.
Walter Tim seems to come and go, always rambling about the Dagger of Sin. It seems to be quite the powerful artifact, all told, but it is hard to bring myself to want to even ask him to give it up. He seems strangely attached to it. He isn't the keen mind I wanted, but somehow, even with his strange prancy ways, he seems to remind me that of what I've long left behind in my pursuit of power. Still, that dagger seems like it could be extermely useful.
Also, I no longer have to commune with the Trickster, his ashy essence in me grows and embues me with more and more power.
I had chance to practice my magics on a live subject today. A lonesome, single singer with a lyre began attempting to pull at my heart strings, but I've long since replaced my heart strings with the obsidian Trickster Essence granted me by Baal-Ur. I gave them a very hearty throw, hearty enough to silence the Dagger of Sin.
Speaking of, I did finally decide to separate Walter Tim from the Dagger of Sin. Once he realized the design of my spells and grabs, he pranced up the tower and said "This is the End, I thought you were my Friend, Take this Curse, you Fiend", and he threw the dagger on the floor, and jumped off the tower. When I caught up to him, I saw his body disintegrating into dust as he fell from the tower. The quiet came in, lonely, until I picked up the Dagger of Sin, where it began to whisper my sins back to me. At least the chronicle is less tedious than the lonely quite before it.
I have found it, the key the last spell in the Trickster's Tome! It is the Wish! I wish for my own magic, apart from the gods, that I might be fully in control, not meddling in petty rituals. And it comes true. Magic fills my being, but my blood runs cold, the Trickster has taken my soul. In it's place is... the Ambition of the Ring, the dirge of Dagger of Sin, and an awareness that I will never relate to another human being again.
I must leave this tower, and seek out the high mages. As long as they are recieving their power from the Gods, rather than as ascended beings, the world will have too much chaos. I've sacrificed much to gain this power, and it is time to put the great mages in their place!