from Sidridel's Diary

Trivor 19, 1327A

I have been inspired by my master's library, and my master's spellbooks to record one of my own. 'My own'. It has a good taste to it. I have never owned anything of my own, before.

I'm not entirely certain of my full name, but I know that it is 'Sidridel'. I'm not sure when I was born, or where. My memories are dim, and my past a turmoil of emotion. Truth be told, I was probably not even self-aware until last year.

A vagabond and a wanderer, I survived in whatever sewers or ship holds I could, travelling from city to city and port to port, aboard pirate vessels and warships. I survived on rats and roaches, and by sheer luck. At least, I assume it was luck. I first became aware of events around me, when I felt the Power within me awaken. Several human children had found me in the sewers beneath the city they call Teras. We frightened one another, though the children recovered from their fright more quickly. One of them made a harsh, angered gesture at me. In equal anger, I returned the gesture -- and unleashed the Power.

Luckily, only light manifested itself, throwing shadows throughout the tunnels such that the child holding aloft the torch dropped it into the sewer water, where it hissed out. They ran away screaming and crying, yelling aloud to the tunnels that horrible word... That horrible word that I am. 'Mage'.

Though the lands under the dwarven king Graniteshoulders may give official sanctuary to mages, the legends of our power and our evil have spread to even the smallest events of daily life. Human mothers frighten their children with stories of mages from the Storm Wars, and Inquisitors hunt us down in distant lands that they may sentance us to death.

A double weight rests upon me, for I am drow. I am one of the Dark Race that committed genocide against the gnomes, and nearly destroyed the Karatikan Alliance during the Storm Wars. My dark skin is ebon black, though my hair is whitest silver -- and my eyes are the red of blood that my race shed during the Storm Wars. Though an elf, no other elven race accepts me first without looking at my skin and hair and eyes, and wondering at the ferocity of my ancestors.

All this and more, did I learn in the last few months. This skill to read and write, did I learn first. For as I huddled from the lights I could not run from, more skilled and trained mages found me in the sewers -- led there by the children's tales. I was taken in by the mage Brin Vridara, named for that distant kingdom to the west that spurned her for her half-elven heritage, and her use of the ancient Powers.

She and other mages -- her apprentices -- took me in, and sheltered me. They began the slow process of coaxing the mind within the madness free. We still do not know just where I come from, but after talking with another drow -- a friend of mistress Brin's -- I think I know.

In the year 1265 Avard, the last drow city fell to the undead Lord Elistan. I would have been young -- perhaps no more than twenty or so. Slower to mature than humans, we elves -- and we drow -- are still fragile things at such an age. Yet my master is barely older... But I digress. When Tyven fell to Lord Elistan, all of the drow either perished, or fled. So young, there is no telling just what happened. My parents could have stolen me from the city, only to die. I could have escaped on my own. The death-spawned Elistan could have stolen me himself, and trusted the wilderness to kill one so young. I may never know. But I survived. Wandering. Until I met mistress Brin.

She and her friends undertook that long process that would slowly unlock my mind, and the rest of my Powers. She is still working on constructing a fortress to knowledge, and magic, atop Mount Rilan. Mount Rilan lies near the heart of King Graniteshoulders' domain, and the only way to the top of Mount Rilan is through Lok Giran. Lok Giran is 'Fortress of the Soul' in the dwarven tongue, and it was designed and built by the humans and dwarves loyal to the Baron and the Bishop Fistforger. Once complete, the fortress to magic, Lok Magius, will be formidable, indeed, for to assault it, one would have to take Lok Giran.

Mistress Brin told me that the gesture the children used -- and the gesture that I used -- has become a common symbol of magery throughout this nation of Rakore. It became such a symbol because one of the mages the king has given sanctuary to uses it -- a wild, unpredictable magic that calls the Power to do strange and magical things. Very few have the ability to channel such 'wild' magic, and fewer still have the fortitude to use it. I am one of those.

Barely two weeks ago, my ever-changing world changed yet again. My unpredictable magics had nearly destroyed a foundation stone to Lok Magius, and mistress Brin was at a loss. Though skilled and patient, she has not the Power to contain my errant talents, however small they might be. Such is the Power of wild magic.

She assigned me a protector, to help keep me out of more mundane troubles. I do not understand humans in the least, and barely understand elves. Nor am I truly elven, for I am one of the Dark Race. Valror Astigus was an enormous, companionable human that would never harm a soul. He had survived the War of the Undead, serving as a mercenary for the king, to pay off his considerable gambling debts.

I will miss Val.

Val stayed with me, even when others would flee, as I cast my magics. My Power would surge, and strange things would happen. Yet Val would stay, even when the other mages ducked in fear.

When mistress Brin thought she could contain me no longer, the wild mage returned from a nearly year-long sojourn. Jandor Firelight. My new master. And I am his first apprentice.

Master Jandor arrived at Mount Rilan searching for mistress Brin, and her experience with something called 'the Legacy'. He did not come alone. He came with the lizards known as tomanths, and others. Seeing a way to save the foundation stones of Lok Magius, and to continue educating me, I was the price of her knowledge. I, and my protector, Valror.

Master Jandor took my apprenticeship in stride, eager to pass on to a willing student his vast knowledge of the wild talent. His Power is exceptional, and his library enormous. His travels have given him access to the spell books of countless individuals. And now, he has opened his library to me.

The price of this knowledge has been too high. Val. He died, this night.

I write now with trembling hands. Trembling from rage, and fear, and exhaustion.

I have been up now for far too long, but I cannot rest. Not yet.

Tonight, I continue work on one of master Jandor's spells. He has not had the time to finish it, and it may be needed. I understand the basic concepts, and can -- I hope -- perform the research while he sleeps with his beloved, that will give us an edge.

Sadic Brevit is the desert elven companion to master Jandor, and has now been landed, given the title of Baron by King Graniteshoulders' will. I have seen Sadic's power first-hand. The castle upon which his lands sits was created in the space of a breath, complete with wells and one-hundred foot towers. His magic is of a more traditional form, and I understand the basics of the magic which Sadic uses. Sort of. The castle was borrowed magic, of a sort -- it came with its own guardians which Sadic could not control. But we defeated them in due time.

After defeating the stone guardians, we journeyed to Teras to gather his belongings there, and then travelled back. We and the sailors had barely begun moving things in, when an army of orcs attacked during the night. Led by a massive figure clad in ebon scale mail, the orcs also had hundreds of coyote-mounted kobolds to serve as scouts and flankers. They were well-armed and well-trained, according to Sadic and Kozak.

During the fighting, Val fell, even though ensorcelled by Sadic. Master Jandor did not take Val's loss well -- and nor did I. The spells we wove barely kept us alive, even as the scrags attacked. Huge beings of fangs and soft flesh, their attack was well-planned, and coordinated with the orcs. They nearly defeated us.

Though we slew forty-three orcs and sixteen kobolds (I counted), it was not enough. They stole the gnome -- the key to the Legacy project -- and stole away into the night. Sadic tried to follow them that night, but they had lain traps for us. Kozak will follow them come the morning, though they will have a night's head start. We will need spells, and an arsenal of them.

And so I continue master Jandor's research, availing myself of his considerable library and his klah. He took me on as his apprentice. Now we are bound together. He saved my life, this night. I vow to save his.

Next Entry from Sid's Diary