The Prodigal Mage

It was a brilliant casting.  As the Orc scouting party dared to enter the grounds of the Order of the White River, they were observed by an advanced student returning from his early-morning cleansing in the refreshing waters.  As his fellow mages were too fond of the comforts and servants of their chambers, he was alone.  As the trespassers slinked past the reflecting pool in the outer gardens, they were beset upon by ghastly, rotting images of themselves, too long in the grave, from the surface of the water. 

The magic flowed from Ankhan easily, effortlessly.  He reveled in the dismay and panic that sent the unwelcome guests fleeing out into the plains.  Then, it took hold of him.  Something flowed from the living mana of that spell into his consciousness.  It was a window, perhaps; maybe a foreshadowing or even a brief but chilling connection with the other side.  A dark force met his gaze and the sight of it took the color from his eyes.

Brushing away his single-handed defense of the community, the masters were quick to point out Ankhan’s boldness.  Their smug and disapproving tone never failed to infuriate him.  Surely, he would be quoted as the example of inappropriate scholarly methods in all the forthcoming lectures, again. 

Since his arrival at age four, he was trouble.  His peasant parents, of unknown origin, recognized his gifts.  Leaving them with the Order was visibly painful, but they could not hope to care for him nearly as well as the wise and learned brothers of the mystical ways.  All that remains of them, now, is found in Ahkhan’s olive skin and quick temper.  These traits and his incorrigible mischief set him apart from all of the other students.  His friends and classmates were never disappointed by his antics, though.  Sometimes, he even took the blame for someone else’s mayhem to keep them from harm.  They soon learned to trust and admire him.

For years, he has felt the corruption creeping into the workings of the world.  He senses it when he manipulates the mana to his will, bringing forth all manner of beast and phantom.  The more he uses his power, the more the creatures of this world shun him.  Now, he is forbidden to enter the stables for the unease that he brings.  He hasn’t seen one of the dozens of cats of the Order, favorite familiars of the mages, in two years.  Yet, the masters dismiss his concerns as one might fan smoke from a room.  They say his worries are as one of his illusions; without form or substance.  Too long have Ankhan’s masters submitted to the rituals and rulings of the Order.  They no longer feel the living mana, but use it only as a potter uses clay.  They’ve lost their true ties to the arts.  They are blind.

It is time to leave.  Ankhan has learned all that he can from the Order of the White River.  Severing all ties, he dismisses the lost masters and their hidebound lecturing. He makes his way into the larger world to learn the source of this corruption and seek out the magical artifacts of legend to assist him.  Into the city of Ostwin he travels, seeking rumors and tales.  He seeks to reveal this evil and pull it from the earth.  Thus, he makes his way through the world.  He’s a wizard, mind you…