((DISCLAIMER: Hi. So I'm not an active player anymore, but I had some fun times playing illarion when I was, so thanks. To everyone. I wrote this for fun privately, and it felt right to share it with the community that I enjoyed role playing with on and off since 2009. (and now I feel old) Anyway, I guess it's a tribute to fun times had here over the years, nostalgia, and provides some kind of weird closure for me.))
Stefan leaned forwards onto the table, pressing his palms against his face and eyes. The sea of noise and comradery which churned around him caused his head to spin. Images of friends and places he had once been or had ebbed in and out of his consciousnesses.
The gaunt, forever smirking, pallid face of a man with short and unkempt black hair with an unforgettable cold blue gaze edged to the surface of his memories.
Krade...
He considered what remnants of emotion still clung to that name and a cocktail of regret, anger, and sadness sloshed together deep down in his chest, and bubbled up into the back of his throat.
You were the first to go, weren't you?
He signed slowly as his mood darkened, swallowing hard which caused the lumpy conglomeration of emotions to retreat, if only somewhat.
We were supposed to join the "esteemed, powerful, and affluent Magical Academy of Gobiath" together...
His exclaimed sarcastically to himself, which caused him to scoff at the irony of the internal statement.
The instructors were a bad joke... but some were talented enough. Despite that, you left anyway. That path wasn't quick enough... not, easy enough.
Maybe I was just jealous? Did we actually come to blows over such a base emotion?
Stefan let loose a drawn out sigh, discarding the ancient memory of the man as he slouched back into the chair, staring directly upwards at the ceiling, squinting as he considered the unusual stains and how they got there.
That's all over now. You're dead. The Temple is gone. Gobiath... burned, then sunk, and Magic is beyond the grasps of the best of us...
He muttered upwards at the yellowing stain on the ceiling. "Everything I ever worked for... my teachers, my friends, my students... all gone."
Well practiced frown lines furrowed their way across his brow as he sat there in contemplation.
Unexpectedly a smile teased at the corner of his mouth and began to travel up the sides of his face in light of his gloomy recollecting.
A clean slate.
Something he hadn't even considered. The realization granted him a degree of solace, which he savored, musing on that thought a while longer until the creeping smile eventually slid back from whence it came. Gradually his gaze traveled down and he peered at his reflection in the mug which he had been clutching to rather desperately for the better part of the evening. He examined himself thoroughly for the first time in a while, his hair and beard were unkempt now, and streaked with silver from the harder years he had left behind.
No one would even recognize you now, would they?
He reached up and brushed both furry cheeks with fingers and thumb, lingering higher on his left cheek bone a while where the drowish runes were once set.
He hummed softly in content.
One thing I'm glad to be rid of.
Stefan released him mug and reclined back into his chair once more, drawing the familiar length of his dagger from the depths of his sleeve to examine it in the waning candle light. He mostly ignored the gasp of a nearby patron as they tried to shuffle away discretely without much success. He failed to contain his smirk.
"Looks like you're all I have left to rely on."
He murmured to his old friend as he twirled the cool metal smoothly through his fingers.
"We were quite good together, weren't we?"
He eased his hand closed over the hilt of the dagger, gripping it firmly. Nostalgia washed over him as he recalled his once frequent journeys deep down in the catacombs, below the old graveyard. He closed his eyes and turned his hand, sending it forward in a slow, steady motion then yanked it upwards abruptly. The blazing eyes and maw of the lich that once dwelt there filled his mind as he drove the length of his dagger up through it's jaw and out the top of the imaginary being's skull. The monster's ethereal scream echoed down the corridors of his mind, and distant whispers of undead who retorted with moans and screams of despair as their master's unnatural life came to an end.
His eyes sprung open and an involuntary gasp erupted from his chest as the intensity of the memory washing past him. He took a slow breath to re-compose himself, and with a twirl sent the weapon back from whence it came.
Retrospectively, magic has probably caused me more harm than good.
Stefan lifted the pint of brownish ale which he had been examining rather pensively towards his lips, and drew deeply of the liquid. Several lengthy gulps rendered it no more, then with a refreshed gasp he set the vessel down with undue force, causing it to clack loudly against the aged, ale stained boards of the tavern table.
Maybe I should be glad to be rid of it.
He savored the sub-par flavor of Borgate's finest, running his tongue over his teeth which had adopted a somewhat furry texture, causing him to smack his lips distastefully. He released the mug and rose sluggishly, flexing both shoulders which cracked and popped in turn. Digging into the inner most pocket of his aged, and ragged looking robes, he produced a couple of silver coins and approached the bar, slapping them down before the dwarf manning it.
"You really must tell me your ale recipe some day Borgate, I can't fathom how you make pig piss taste so good..."
Stefan smirked gradually as the dwarf before him looked up at him in disbelief for half a moment, then began to boil with rage, his face reddening brightly. "Oi!!! Yoo ge' tha' smile oot of 'ere ya no good motherless, mule fucker!!" The dwarf erupted furiously, tossing several mugs at Stefan which he ducked and dodged out of the way of on his way towards the door, laughing in amusement. Glass shatter on the door behind him as he swung it closed just in time. Stefan's laughter trailed away and subsided as he wandered out into the evening, acknowledging the night sky with a soft smile as his gaze was drawn towards it.
I never was a 'proper' mage anyway. Couldn't keep the students... couldn't keep a mentor.
Hm.. could never get the whole ego thing right either.
His smile broadened momentarily, satisfied at that last thought as he continued to wander into the night. The soft trickling of a stream joined with the sounds of crickets and the occasional hooting of owls which comprised the gentle chorus of the evening.
I miss the power. I can not deny that.
But what is the point of power, if all you do is horde it?
He neared the edge of the stream and stood, staring into the shimmering current. The face of a figure he barely recognized stared back at him, dressed in once fine garments now ruined, tattered, and torn. More remnants of his past he had refused to let go of. The evening breeze picked up, causing the shredded garment to flutter wildly about his body.
I'm tired of chasing what I had. Tired of regret.
I'm tired of feeling... helpless.
He inhaled deeply as his upper lip and nose twitched in time, transforming his peaceful expression into a scowl. He reached up to his chest and grasped a handful of fabric, ripping at what remnants of the garment still clung to his body, repeating the motion several more before tossing the collection of shredded fabric away from himself, and out towards the stream. Stefan watching silently as the breeze picked up and carried the tattered pieces further until they were caught by the current and carried away down stream and out of sight. He relaxed as an extended sigh escaped him, causing he knees to weaken and lower him into a kneeling position.
"I'm done... Stefan Elvaris is dead."
Stefan reached into the sleeve of his undershirt and drew the slender length of his wand, raising it, grasping either end with thumb and for-finger. Lifting the trinket to eye level, he examined the intricate markings which wrapped themselves around it's surface, and the large red gem which had been set into it's hilt. He gritted his teeth and grasped both ends more firmly, bending the shaft of the weapon until it snapped in twain, hissing and sparking furiously as the energy stored inside escaped in an elaborate display of fire and colors. Stefan squinted as the light illuminated him and caused the surface of the stream to shimmer with a dazzling reflection of light and color. The performance was cut short as Stefan introduced the dying instrument to the current before him. It sizzled and popped in protest as it was slowly suffocated by the surrounding water, allowing the darkness to re-settled around him.
An Old Wizard
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