Morgan Overslad/Mage story
Morgan stood before the library with a white knuckled grip on his staff. He was not leaning on it, simply grabbing it, holding it in place like a security blanket. "Damnit you're not a kid anymore, just knock", he thought to himself containing an anxiety he was no longer practiced at. He felt like he was a child again, going to see the council of Masters, being told where he'd be sent this time.
Of course, this time he was here to tell them where they could go. After about aminute practicing speaches and oratory in his head, he tapped the door loudly with the Staff of Eyes. An Initiate opened the doors and squeaked loudly when he saw the bearded man before him, "You're his Grace! Morgan! Uh, I mean, who goes, what business do you have in the Library of Dunhold?".
Morgan let his guard relax a second, nearly letting go of the spell eating at the pit of his stomache, "I am Morgan Overslad, the Wizard, and I have come to seek the counsel of the Masters". The words tasted like ash in his mouth, "They will seem me, tonight."
The poor initiate looked pleadingly at the not so imposing wizard, "Uh, ok, I'll announce you... wait here". His voice trailed off and he ran quickly down the hall. Returning a moment later with a woman in her late 80s, "Morgan, you've decided to make my library the battleground of your ambition I see. Can I persuade you otherwise?"
The presense of Amberlee Amara was like a gut punch, Morgan knew they'd chosen the battle here because it would be like a wound, and he knew that it would hurt when he started on this foolish path. "Guilder Amara, I have chosen nothing. The council chose to meet in Dunhold, and I have chosen to meet them, as is my right".
Giving him a soft smile, even an indulgent smile, the Guilder rested her hand on his shoulder, and began to lead him deeper into the library, leaning on the younger wizard for support, "If I can, please don't do anything too rash. You always were a little stupid for such a bright boy. Maybe it's still not time for there to be a Mage. You don't need to fight them over it, do you?"
"With the spell so recently lost, it seems prudent that the Guild be lead by a strong hand, does it not?"
"Child, you know better than that".
The soft rebuke shook Morgan's resolve, once again almost letting go of his spell, he did his best to look resolute. Amberlee Amara may have been the woman who taught him to read and introduced him to the world of magic, but she wasn't his mother, nor was she in charge of him. Not anymore. He knew the Masters had chosen Dunhold to make him face her, a final test of will.
As he approached the door, he saw the chamber was locked with a privacy lock, though no guard was there. There was a note, claiming the guard had gone to the privy and would return with the key anon. The kind of foolishness anyone could see was a final stalling tactic. No one could claim Morgan was denied entry if there was no one to deny him entry. Morgan spoke the words of time and destruction and the lock rusted to reddish powder, and he pulled the door open.
There, standing in the middle of the room were nearly 20 people, all wearing variations on long flowing robes. Many of the robes were embroidered with symbols and sigils, one or two of them were magically meaningful, the rest just for show. The moustaches and sideburns of the men were all wagging in time with the loud discussions, something about the loss of the Spell of the Mind, but when the door opened, and the bearded man in a travel stained cloak was recognized, the voices stopped.
"I am Morgan Overslad, and I come to claim the title of Mage and my proper position as leader of this body".
Rossum, the leader of the Traditionalists (a non-self applied label), stepped forward to end this embarassing display, "Wizard, you are unwelcome in this conclave. You have been voted on and found wanting. Return to this council when you have something other than the scratchings of a few sorcerers to show for you ill advised dalliances in the wilds".
Rossum's rebuke sent a small murmur through the crowd, the smaller faction which had supported Morgan were definitely trying to hide their faces, for Rossum was correct, this was embarrasing. But, for some reason Morgan was pushing the issue.
"I have been given much might since I have even met with this council, including penning a spell with my own hand", the snickers were obvious to all, except seemingly the Wizard. "I bear the Staff of Eyes, and I bear the sign of an Ur-Mage", Morgan hoped he didn't die of shame as he indicated the symbol of illusions about his neck. "Let any who thinks I do not deserve to stand before this council strike me down, I release you from all penalties for your spells of destruction".
Morgan knew that this was a trap that Nivalus, the enforcer and whip of the Traditionalists, would never be able to pass up. It was he who had discovered the user of the raw Word of Destruction (that Morgan called Shards to his dismay), and he who had taught the younger Morgan the ways of War. Now, Morgan knew that Nivalus would happily teach his former pupil the folly of challenging someone without a plan.
The loud shriek of the Word of Destruction reverberated throughout the hall, a few near the door could hear the surprised noise of Amberlee outside, but no one else inside the room spoke. The pillar next to Morgan exploded outwards, a barrage of stone to strike him dead where he stood. But, Morgan stood firm. The shards struck an invisible barrier near him, and fell to the floor. Nivalus was suddenly face to face with a Mage standing over him, "Nivalus, my old teacher, do you now believe that I am worthy of power?".
