Arrival of Chirando

[Marko]

"You left?" -Reginal replied - "Mmmm... yes that is perhaps the reason behind your attempt at doing an untried spell on the battlefield. All mana weavers know that this is extremly risky and foolish. But with more proper trainning you could make a very good mana weaver." - the wizard stoped his inspection and stood in front of the half-elf.

[Marko]

"Me?" - a shadow of fear had appeared on his face - "Well it has been a long time since my last apprentice. I don't know. Although you certainly need trainning, there is no doubt. I'm not in the position to decide on how you will be trained. What I will do, is present you to the Wizard Elders in Demosthene. They will decide on who will train you. If it's me I shall go to the limits of my abilities to make you into a great wizard."

[Marko]

"Use whatever makes you feel comfortable." - the wizard suggested.

[Marko]

"Your senses are sharp. Come lets go find shelter before the storm strikes." - the half-elf nodded and followed the wizard. On his way picking the wizards brain about a wide range of subjects not all linked to magic but most of them having a path that can easily be connected to the magical arts.

It indeed rained and thundered that night, Demosthene slumbered peacefully even though a tempest was rageing outside. When the inhabitants awoke only puddels of water filling the many pot-hole and excavations in the ground, both small and large, where the only indication, the only memory of last nights events. For some it came as a blessing knowing that the rain did some of the work in clearing the fields of the greenskined stench. The bodies where cremated, although that should suffice, in the end blood was spilled in the fields and that could always create problems later. But now everything was allright, Demosthene had survived another atack and its citizens woke up to another day. Everyone focused on living the good life, a great and easy lifestyle here in Nevandaar or certainly die trying.

Chirando after a mornings breakfast and a somewhat long walk in the public park of Demosthene, where togheter with wizard Reginald went over all the details concerning his later-in-the-day meeting with the Wizard Elders. The half-elf had his usual enthusiasm regarding the meeting. And that pleased the wizard, he knew from experience that, enthusiasm goes a long way in charming the Elders into giving him a chance.

Chirando was seated in a long vaulted hall inside the Wizards Keep, waiting to be called inside by wizard Reginald to meet the Elders. His mind wandered of from his path thinking about the events of the present and turned to the past. He though about his family and the places he grew up in....

[Give a description of the characters childhood...]

[Marko]

A large door opened near Chirando, and from behind the decorated wodden door wizard Reginald appeared.

"Come now..." - he said - "... they are expecting you now." - but as he saw the worried face of the half elf he added. "Don't worry. The Elders will seam at first rather bored, they've seen hundreds, maybe thousands of would-be mana weavers. So, smile and make them see that your love for the mana arts is strong."

[not bad, but there are some typos that make reading it rather difficult. but that's not something that can't be fixed.]

[Blitz]

The scent of dust seemed to permeate from the inside of the room. Dry and crackled, it stole over them as they stood waiting for permission to enter. After several agonizing minutes, a small page stepped from the room and bade them enter.

The room itself was flanked on all sides by bookshelves, overfilled with rolls of aging scrolls. The room was large enough that it took more than a moment to cross the center where the icon of the Highfather’s all-seeing eye emblazoned in silver on the granite floor. Just past the icon was a table, curved to give the five seats a scrutinizing view of the intended initiate. Four of the chairs were already occupied and Chirando took stock of his reviewers. The first was a decrepit old man, so stooped and withered by age that the Halfling thought for a moment that he was a corpse. Only the slow rasp of his breath and the red rims of his eyes showed any glimmer of life, beneath the white mane of hair that sprouted from his eyebrows. Next to him sat an attractive woman. Chirando guessed she was in her mid-thirties by the confident intelligence that wrapped around her green eyes, her face was smooth and clear and flashed a glimmer of humor that sparkled out from her gentle smile. It took Chirando a moment to realize she was a prophetess, a revered and valuable skill found in the most loyal of the Highfather’s flock. In the center of the table sat a thin man with a long white beard and ice crystal blue eyes. He peered at Chirando with an arrogant contempt that cut through him like a saber. Clearly not a fan. Surprisingly, the next elder on the dais was a dwarf. Or perhaps a gnome. It was, afterall, so difficult to tell the difference between the two. The gnarled little man seemed oblivious to the entire proceedings, intent instead on a thick tome opened in front of his thick glasses and gray beard that stuck out around his head like a dusty dandelion. Chirando glanced around briefly to see who the final elder would be until Reginald stepped to the final chair and sat, offering the Halfling a kind wink of encouragement.

“Very well,” the wizard in the center cleared his throat and spoke with a steady, cold tone. “Let's get this over with—“

“Don’t be such an ass, Balthazar,” the woman snapped without loosing her kind demeanor. “You’ll have to excuse him,” she muttered to Chirando, “some elders are too blind by their own bias to open their minds to true wisdom.”

“Miranda! How dare you!” Balthazar glared back, but his anger bounced off the prophetess without any affect.

“Come now,” Reginald said, all business, “we are here for a purpose. I think introductions are in order. You know who I am, of course. Our venerable leader is Balthazar a’Gemm, one of the most revered green wizards in the Empire. On his right is Trumbald’r Stonegaze, a hermit that lives in a valley nearby who has generously offered his assistance to our cause.”

The dwarf didn’t even shift at the mention of his name, and Miranda offered the little man a disgruntled glare before offering herself, “I am Miranda le Bernard, a prophetess that lives in the nearby town of White Oak. And beside me is the white wizard, Grum. Now, if you’ll introduce yourself, we can get to the matter at hand.”

[Marko]

"We don't keep evidence of all the irrelevant humans coming and going in and out of our land." - snapped Balthazar, going trough documents in a slow, snail like pace. Wizard Reginald replied after a pause gauged out by the Elders remark.

"What my venerable colegue is trying to suggest is that we have to send someone to investigate for such detailed information. Is that right, your Honor Balthazar ?" - Reginald smiled. The leader, Wizard Balthzar a'Gemm, could'ev killed someone with his glare. But he was old and from that he gathered and built up in his imagination a whole mythology surrounding and fueling a sense of superiority to his fellow Elders. He would try not to show his emotional outburst to such trivial rhetoric coming from the younger Wizard Reginald. His voice calmed down, but the glare remained. To let the "upstart" know who indeed was the leader here.

"I don't see why we have to discuss such matters in the council. His mother is not the issue this evening. But the magical potential of this candidate, is." - ending that sentince with a rather self-righteous expresion. Prophetess le Bernard quickly intervined, not letting wizard Reginald voice his own position.

"Perhaps she's not. But Chirando you have mentioned a large bandit army, have you not ?" - she said in an inquisitive manner, playing with her fingers upon the surface of a document. "I would like to know more about that, wouldn't you?" - she turned to her collegues besearching a response.

[Blitz]

Balthazar glared down his aquiline nose at the half-elf then turned to the scroll open in front of him. He plucked a quill from a nearby inkwell, muttering as the tip scratched at the parchment dryly, "An arrogant demeanor focusing entirely on destructive spell-casting. distinct lack of self-control--"

Miranda finally snapped, her amiable smile shifting to a fiery glower, "I swear to the archangel Uriel, if you mutter one more veiled insult, I will beat you with your own staff!"

The room was deathly silent for a moment, no one breathed, until the dwarf turned the page of his tome with obvious ignorance of the tension. Surprisingly it was Grum who spoke first in a raspy whisper that seemed to echo from the thousands of scrolls that balanced on the oak shelves. "You'll have to forgive these.. elders. Wisdom does not always lend itself to decorum. And neither does arrogance. Rather than delay this council with more bickering, why don't we move on to the testing. This is quite simple. Each Elder will ask you to perform a task. You will be assessed on your ability to complete each task. And I will go first.

"If you look at the far side of the room you will see a lightning rod," Grum whispered, trying to peer across the room as if searching for the thin metal rod that was more than obvious to Chirando. "All you must do is strike the rod from where you stand. Your testing has begun, and good luck, lad."


[MT]

Marko will assign the tasks for Reginald (2nd) and Miranda (4th). All Chirando has to do is try to figure out a way to pass them, or write out him trying. I will do the other three, and give rewards to yound Chirando as reflects the creativity and writing that you exhibit. Have fun with it, there will be some that you will need to be creative with.

[/MT]

[Marko]

"My challange." - wizard Reginald proclaimed in the dark chamber - "Since I am a master of the Fire Magical Arts, I would like you to light all or some of the canddles back to their flicker of life. And nothing else." - the wizard presented a friendly smile ending that sentince. He crossed his arms and slid a little down his chair. Thinking and hoping that this task would show Chirando was in control of his powers."

[Blitz]

Balthazar glared across the table at Reginald and Grum. Obviously unimpressed by the skills requested of the young mage, the renouned green wizard scratched across his scroll making everyone wait for his ire to ease. After several long moments, Balthazar looked up at the mage. "Thus far, halfling," the distain oozing from every syllable, "you have expended far too much energy to accomplish each of these tasks, and only show your propensity for destruction. So I ask you to create a golem for me--"

"What!" Miranda snapped. "A golem! That is an advanced spell far beyond any initiate's ability and you know it."

Balthazar glared at the woman, "I have every right to request any test I choose, and I want to see him create something. A golem will do nicely."

"He's right," Reginald resigned, "he can ask Chirando to fulfill any task."

Mirnada turned to Chirando, taking in his expression of failure, "Don't worry about it. Do your bast if you can, but it is more important to try rather than to simply succeed. You will be judged in accordance with your entire performance, not simply on your ability to pass each test."

"That's enough coddling," Balthazar growled, "you have my test to attempt."


[MT]

For the first two tests Chirando gains 20 L and 50 XP. Keep in mind that this is as much a test in Chirando's ability to struggle through the tests as it is with his ability to pass each. Sometimes failure can be more rewarding that success.

[/MT]

[Marko]

Elder Balthazar raised his eyebrow seeing the twarted atempt of the half-elf. The Elder didn't say anything, thinking that such an endeavor was not needed at this time. His short glance gave of an impression that he knew and perhaps desired for the contestant to fail. He resumed his slow scribbling of letters upon the document. Not giving any sort of attention to the half-elf. Highfather knows what words he dotted down.

Miranda's eyes have been fixed on Balthazar since he demanded the task. She glared and tried to get his attention, thinking rather naive that her gaze was burning into Balthazars skin. But no response from the Elder. We was dedicated to his writing.

Miranda, puffed air out of her lungs in a sort of angry sigh, dissmissing the valour and inteligence of Balthazars beign. Reginald obesrved the gesture and gigled slightly. Elder Miranda, although only in title, turned and smiled in a motherly way to Chirando.

"Have no troubles in your heart, young one. The important things is that you've tried. And that will be certainly noted." - she paused, stoped playing with her fingers and looked at a bookshelve full with scrolls.

"Tell you what..." - she began - "If creation, creativity is in question. And control. Then, Chirando, please atempt this." - Miranda was looking at Chirando now.

"Produce a lump of ice. Then, using fire and water magic sculpt and at the same time keep the sculpture from melting." - she then glanced at the documents near her. And her eyes springed back at the elf, as if she had forgot to mention something -

"You can sculpt anything. But make it interesting."

[sorry for the delay.]

[Blitz]

Chirando breathed a sigh of relief, the sculpture done without any serious issues. Unfortunately the glare from Balthazar could have melted the ice without any need for magic. And the dwarven elder never looked up from his book. Yet Trumbald’r spoke without hesitation, intuitive of his place in the testing process. His dwarven tongue twisted around his language like a troubadour dances in his performance. And with the ancient runic words came a glowing summoning circle on the stonework of the large room. Light poured from the ground only to be replaced after a moment by the great form of a roc. The massive bird screamed in challenge, only to be overrode by the drawf's gruff voice as he called out his test without raising his eyes from the runic lore scrawled on the page in front of his fuzzy beard, "The last test is to simply defeat this creature of magic, in any way possible."


[MT]

Chirando - 30 L, 50 XP.

[/MT]

[Marko]

The rocs swift moves avoided the fatal blow. It did not atack at first. Contented at dodging the atacks of the half-elf.

[Marko]

The roc was zapped. And now it demanded blood. It flapped its wings fast, creating a gust afecting only Chirando. Other stuff in the room was not even disturbed. And as you glanced at Trumbald’r, barely holding oneselfs on two legs. He was still reading his tome, as if nothing interesting was happening. Exept his hand. Which moved through the air, shinning with an intense mana glow.

[Marko]

The water spell passed trough the roc, visibly not affecting the magical entity. Tossing its neck foward to steal a piece, or maybe a large chunk of flesh of the young half-elven skin Chirando was wearing.

Trumbald’rs hand glowed in mana resonance even stronger with every atack the half-elf tried. Pulsing harder when forces of anykind passed trough or impacted upon his magical concoction.