Varen_Tai
2007-01-23, 11:52 AM
To the judges:
This rivalry and the non-italicized quotes are from my campaign, Redemption. I did not see anywhere in the rules that the content had to be original to the contest. Though Glikker is the player for Gadianton the lich, I did not include any information that he contributed to the character, only what I did without his input, so it does not violate the rule about team efforts. Only what is listed here is actually what is being judged.
Good thing there were no rules about the length of an entry. ;)
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The old man leaned in closely to his young apprentice. “Are you certain you want to know why? Where the demons came from? Why the gods are gone? These are not easy answers, but I know more about it than anyone else alive.”
The young man nodded emphatically. “Yes, yes! I want to know!”
After a long, apprising look, the ancient wizard nodded. “Very well. But the answers will not make sense right away. If I tell you, you will understand the entire story, not just a part of it, but why this connects to the crisis we face today will not be clear for some time.”
Confusion wafted across the young man’s face for a moment, but he nodded again. “I do want to know. I just thought that it would be a simple answer, something you could say ‘Evil force x bound the gods and created the demons!’” He shrugged, embarrassed.
The old man shook his head. “If that is the kind of answer you desire, you are in the wrong place. Answers like that are deceptive in their simplicity. It becomes easy to blame others, imagine yourself in that situation and doing better than they without truly understanding what these people faced. Understanding is different than knowledge of facts. I offer understanding and wisdom, not a recitation of facts. If you wish a history lesson, devoid of personal feelings, you are asking the wrong man. These were real people facing real situations. Even though they occurred well over a thousand years ago, they bear a great deal of relevance to us. I tell you the full story, not the abbreviated one.”
The young man’s eyes widened. “But then, how do you know them and what happened? Are you that old yourself? I thought only the elves were immortal!”
“There is a great deal you don’t know, and how I know this may remain one of those mysteries, but perhaps not. Do you desire this? Truly? You do not comprehend fully what you ask, yet I think even if you knew, you would ask still.” He stroked his beard for a short while, thinking. The young man, not daring to interrupt, sat quietly.
Finally, the old man nodded slowly. “Very well. You have been asking to see real magic? Here is your chance. You will hear the story behind the story, and the story behind that one.” He stood and spoke some arcane words. The doors in room slammed shut and the magical lights drifting about the ceiling dimmed. The young man glanced around nervously, but held his tongue.
An image formed between them, of a very old man sitting on a dusty stone bench with the translucent form of a younger man floating in front of him. The image grew until it filled the whole room. Blinking in surprise, the apprentice noticed that the room he sat in looked identical to the room in the image, aside from the dust. The stone benches were in the same place, indeed he and his teacher were sitting on the very stone bench the old man in this image sat on, though now both of them were invisible in this scene.
Abruptly, the image came to life, the old man spoke to the floating image. He spoke of many things, of himself and others while telling a story. As promised, he did not understand what this scene had to do with the demons rampaging through their world and the binding of the gods, but he listened and found himself drawn into what the old man said and the old man himself. There were particular moments that burned into his mind, like when the old man spoke of coincidences:
“I do feel to observe something here. There is no such thing as coincidence. With all the watching and meddling I have done myself, being a player moving my pawns around my board, I have come to the inescapable conclusion that coincidence is a word used by the pawns to describe the seemingly random occurrences created by a player such as myself. Even the gods sometimes seem to dance to invisible strings that they themselves are unaware of. I myself have wondered if Fate itself is a force under control from another higher power. Perhaps Fate is simply the name that we who are affected by it give it to try and reduce it to a philosophical form that we can understand and think we have some control over.
“I have often wondered if there is such as thing as true agency. Seeing things from my unique perspective as a player in the grand schemes of the truly powerful, I often feel as if I was driven to become what I am today, as if I had no choice in what I do now. Are there others pulling my strings? I feel sure of it, and sometimes I want to fling rocks at the impenetrable heavens to protest what it seems Fate has made me into. So where does Fate end and Agency begin? Do we really control our destinies or are they given to us by others?
“I cannot question that I can control all manner of forces myself, that if I chose, I could snuff any mortal’s life or make it better with seemingly wild coincidental fortunes. But this question torments me – are my own choices dictated to me or do I choose my own path? Am I a pawn in someone else’s board? And even worse, do my own pawns exercise control over me in some way? I ask these questions, but do not know the answers. Indeed, I do not know if I *want* to know the answers.
“Maybe I am simply content with my own self-delusions of being truly powerful.”
More time passed, and the young man watched carefully, learning much both through the story and what the old man said. He learned of the Watchers, these powerful beings that vie for power and control, working behind the scenes beyond the sight of any other mortal. And then he spoke of the lich, his enemy, and the young man sat up, listening intently.
“You see, the greatest evils I fight arise from the plots of one of my rivals, perhaps the one rival that has more reason to hate me, and I him, than any of the others.
“I mentioned him briefly before. His name is Gadianton, and he is a lich. We have … history … he and I. He calls me the Meddler because I have foiled so many of his plots, not from some sense of right and wrong like a paladin would, but from sheer mutual hatred. He chose the life of a lich because of me, and I have sacrificed much to extend my own life in order to fight him.
“While I make no claims to being good, he is unabashedly what anyone would call evil. His choice to become one of the living dead burned any hint of compassion or emotion from his already dead heart. And unlike the rest of us, he actively seeks to defy Fate, to thwart it, rather than try and manipulate its touch to his own gain. Don’t misinterpret me, I have never met a more manipulative individual. He very rarely does his own dirty work, and unlike other liches I’ve seen, he has gone out of his way to avoid being a target for some of our world’s more powerful do-gooder types. In fact, I don’t know that anyone aside from the rest of the players and the gods even knows he exists.
“But if I could locate his lair, I’d personally try to wipe that undead aberration off the face of the planet. I know he feels the same. We came to magical blows once. Once, a long long time ago. It was an ugly affair, and both he and I bear the scars from that encounter, as does a large part of the landscape. You may have heard legends of an arcane battle that destroyed a civilization and created the magical wasteland north of here? That was us – regardless of what else you might have heard. Every time I look at it, I feel the hatred for this creature well up inside of me. No small part of my quest for power came because of Gadianton. If I were to discover that someone else was responsible for my actions, that I was determined rather than free, I do not doubt he would be the one to blame.
“The storm I’ve mentioned already centered around the two of us. The other players were definitely involved, but Gadianton and I sparked the whole thing. And I have noted that when he and I come into direct conflict, the others stand back. They all know of our rivalry, and while none of them would weep to see either of us fall, neither would they step in between our feud. Coming between two rabid dogs fighting is a quick way to get bit.
“While I usually take great pains to stay in the shadows, when it comes to that accursed lich, I go out of my way to let him know that it was I who stepped in.”
The apprentice whispered loudly, “Master! Gadianton? Is it the same Gadianton that-?”
“Hush!” came the wizard’s reply. “Be patient!”
The young man lapsed back into silence, and it was not long before the old man in the image spoke of Gadianton the Destroyer once again.
“I think one reason why I have never questioned my path is because he and I have been at odds for so long. I not only never questioned my path, but I never questioned my destination. Every path has a destination, but I was too consumed to look ahead and see where my path would lead me. Fool that I am! How many times have I watched others short-sightedly begin down a path they thought would give them what they want, only to find that it took them farther away from their ultimate goal? I see it time and time again, and yet in watching and judging others, I never saw this flaw in myself. My black pride would not allow it.
“I recall telling you that I may have trapped myself in a cage of my own making, a cage created of power lust and hatred. This rivalry, this burning hatred has made me a different man than I was before. I was a good man, once, long ago. I was a high ranking Lord in my government, close to the heart of my noble King and friend. I used my own wealth to alleviate the sufferings of those peasants in my realm of influence, and I did many things that I would call good.
“But Gadianton wanted power. He formed a group, small at first, but it grew much larger. This group, bound by secrecy and blood oaths, vowed to destroy the government of my land and take it for themselves. The members lived only to plunder, murder, lie, and backstab their way into power. One of them, Kishkumen, killed my friend, the King, while he sat on his throne. This murderer was caught, tried, and executed for regicide, but he refused to give up the names of his friends. Even magical interrogation availed us nothing – Gadianton was a dark wizard, and all who joined his group were laid under powerful protective enchantments that even my own substantial power could not break.
“With the prodding of this secret band, the realm soon disintegrated into chaos due to the in-fighting of the remaining sons of my King. And I was helpless. I could do nothing but watch as my beloved nation crumbled on itself and was subsumed by its neighbors. I swore vengeance on those responsible, though I had no knowledge at that time of Gadianton’s treachery, and my brother, also a gifted mage, said he would help me. But I found every path I searched out blocked, every witness dead. I couldn’t find a trace of who was responsible, and my brother was having the same luck.
“It was one of those coincidences I’ve talked about that finally led me to the leader of that dark band. My brother had sent me a message, telling me of a possible trail he had stumbled across. I wanted to converse with him further, so instead of following that trail right away, I went home quickly to question him on a critical detail I felt I needed. As I walked in the door, I felt the unmistakable chill in the air unique to the dark powers of necromancy. And I suddenly realized that my brother was the target. Shouting his name, I ran upstairs gathering my power, prepared to blast into oblivion whatever was assaulting my family. I ripped the door of our lab off its hinges with magical might, and stopped suddenly.
“There on the floor was a dead body, one I recognized, but it was not my brother. It was Kishkumen, the murderer. His spirit hovered in the air next to my brother, Gadianton. And in that moment, I knew. Though I lacked the details, I knew that somehow, my brother was responsible for the destruction of everything I held dear. He had not expected me to return so quickly, and he blanched as I took it all in.
“There was a heartbeat where we looked in each other’s eyes. It was one of those moments where everything in your world changes, and it seemed to last for an eternity. I can recall even now the stillness of that moment where we changed from close brothers to bitter enemies.
“And then I loosed the destructive magic I had prepared for his defense right at his heart. But though he was caught unawares in the moment, he had not successfully kept his secret so long without his own automatic magical defenses, and my blast tore a hole in his side rather than his center. Kishkumen vanished, and chanting a couple of words, Gadianton the Betrayer vanished as well.
“I have hunted him across the centuries, and he me. Master of the secret murder, his skeletal fingers touch every secret organization dedicated to evil.
“But I ask now, was mine the correct path? I have been instrumental in stopping him many times, but not out of a desire to do the right thing. My long life has been one of vengeance, and I am no closer to that goal now than I was a millennia ago. All I wanted was peace of mind, and I thought slaying my brother would give it to me. But I think now that I have been terribly wrong. I do not believe that had I killed my brother so many years ago that I would have found my peace of mind. And now, I look at myself and I see an old man whose whole soul is consumed by the dark desire for revenge.
“Is it my brother’s fault that I am where I am today? Is he responsible for his actions, or did some greater power than us both put us on this path that we still follow after centuries? Do I even have the power to stop myself now? Or have the many years of emotional inertia propelled me into a trajectory that I am powerless to slow or divert?”
The apprentice felt his heart ache for this man. Who was he, so powerful, but so lost? He studied the younger man’s face closely while listening to the older man talk. A thought began to form when Gadianton came up yet again.
“I spoke to you before of my loneliness. As I have watched myself in the mirror for brief periods, as much as I can before I must turn away, I have seen a face etched with lines. I have seen many faces, old and young. Have you ever noticed that the wrinkles on a face are created by certain expressions made time and time again? Those that frown often develop wrinkles in the corners of their mouths that simulate those frowns, making them look unhappy most of the time, even when they are not. And those that carry a constant cheerful disposition bear the marks of those expressions as well, their wrinkles forming a constant look of happiness. Each face tells a story about the person behind it, and I can often tell at a glance much about a person before using any magic whatsoever.
“My wrinkles, though magically lessened, tell a story about me. When I step back and try to see my face as I would someone else's, as if I was a part of one of my own experiments, I see misery and a deep loneliness. My path has brought me no peace, no satisfaction at all. Is it strange that I cannot bear my own piercing looks, the looks I know can make others turn away from me? This person in the mirror, this stranger that I do not know, seems to look through me to the parts of me that I would hide from my enemies and allies alike, and I must turn from his gaze.
“I do not like the story I see written there.
“Is it foolish for someone as old as I am, with all my hatreds and habits binding me as if they were chains, to reconsider my path? Have I traveled this course so long that I must follow it to its bitter bitter end? And I know that a path of vengeance and hate, by its very definition, denies those that walk it any sort of happy ending. There is no room filled with loving friends and family that will gather to wish me well when I pass into the next life. Those that know me either fear me, hate me, respect me, or some combination of those three, but no one loves me. Not one. The rest of my family is long dead. I have no one I would call friend, except perhaps you, but you are silent. What you truly feel and think, I do not know.
“As I look back, I realize that I had not experienced camaraderie so evident in others since I had discovered my brother's betrayal. Powerful as I am, I was helpless to join them. You see, I know how to be a conqueror. A vertical relationship, one of master and servant, is second nature for me.
“But a horizontal one, one of friendship, of shared ideas, trust, passions, frustrations, and life experiences? This is something I have forgotten how to do. As I watched the mortals, I felt like an impenetrable wall separated me and them, one I could see through, but not one I could reach through. And the more I watched, the more lonely I became, and my anger grew as well. Why was I angry? Because we had been very close, my brother and I. I, the dutiful and loving older brother, watching out for my younger brother as we scampered through the trees and sculptures across the estates of our parents.
“I recall the day my power manifested suddenly - we had been climbing trees, and he, always being the more adventurous one, had climbed very high, much higher than he should have. The branch under him snapped, and he fell. I screamed and reached out as if to catch him, and he stopped, hanging in midair. Both of us were sobbing, terrified, and the guards fetched my parents. My father, always gifted in the Art, gently brought my brother down from his precarious position and held us both.
“But though I was terrified, at the same time, I was exultant! I could feel the flow of power through me, and I knew that I had saved the life of my brother. Not long after, my parents paid for a tutor to teach me how to shape and control this gift of magic that so spontaneously sprung from the wells of my soul. Gadianton and I spent less time together after this, though he began his own studies as a mage very soon as well. I recall delighting as we levitated small objects to race against each other, but I never realized that what came so naturally for me, he had to struggle, study, and work for. A sorcerer needs only to shape the magic that flows through them to create the effect they need, but mages must memorize words of power, and spend many hours reading old tomes.
“Perhaps he wanted power because it came to me naturally as well? Being the oldest son, my father's death granted to me the full political powers of a Lord, but he was the forgotten younger brother once again. He was jealous of me! And I was angry at him for being jealous. I did not ask for my gift of magic, nor did I ask to become a Lord, yet both came without effort to me, and he had to work many times harder to gain a fraction of what I had naturally.
“I was blind and proud. Maybe more kind words from me would have averted the coming disaster, maybe telling him that he was still my most beloved and trusted friend, even beyond my own advisors, would have made some difference. But this I do not know. Perhaps all my efforts would not have diverted him from the evil that pierced his heart and killed the good man I knew.
“Was he free? Do I bear some responsibility for what he has become? Is my struggle against him only illuminating the blame I feel in his dark fate?
“We have not talked, he and I, since that day he sent me his message. No words were spoken as I sought his life, and when we battled again, much later, in that now long-dead kingdom, the only words present were words of power as we strove to utterly destroy each other and only succeeded in destroying an empire and creating a vast wasteland. What would I say to him, if we were brought together again, with no power to draw on, and only each other? Does any hint of my brother still live in that blasted soul housed by an undead shell?
“I do not know.”
The image froze, then vanished. The apprentice felt a wet drop on his cheek, suddenly startled to realize he was weeping for these brothers and the grief and pain they had shared over the centuries of their conflict, and he heard his master’s voice say quietly, “That is enough for today.” His eyes cleared from the silent tears and he caught the old wizard watching him closely. The image of the younger man floating in the air superimposed itself over his master’s face, and with a shock, he saw they were one and the same.
“You? He- he was speaking to you?” he stammered out. The old man nodded wearily.
“But how?”
“Before he died, he told me his secret, the secret of immortality, the secret that damned him and brought redemption both. And perhaps someday, I will teach it to you.”
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Immortality:
This is a ritual only possible for sorcerers. It is not a spell, per se, though it is magical in nature. It does not protect the caster from any physical harm, only prevents non-magical disease, strengthens the body, and staves off death indefinitely. The caster is not undead, nor anything aside from normal living mortal in any way except for the removal of death by natural causes. The effects of age are somewhat reversed and then warded against, so mental facilities do not fade due to the natural breakdown of the body. Food, water, and sleep are required a fraction as much as before. One meal a month, one full day of sleep every six months, and water when eating. If these requirements are ignored, the magic will begin to decay and fade, totally vanishing in only a few days. Once the requirement is met, the magic jumps back to full capacity immediately with no adverse side effects.
It cannot be dispelled by anything short of the direct divine intervention of a major god. Not even Wish or other mortal magics can reverse it in any way.
The ritual takes a full week to cast correctly, though no outer components are required. The sorcerer supplies all the magic from his own potential. No one can cast it without knowing what to do – it must be taught by another. How it was first discovered is a mystery never revealed. In addition, there can be no enchantments of any kind acting upon the caster – no magic items, no Contingency spells, nothing – or else the ritual will fail, possibly fatally.
Upon following the instructions, the sorcerer permanently sacrifices a single spell slot from all nine spell levels (meaning at minimum, they have to be level 18). This represents the active magic required to perform the constant physical and mental upkeep that immortality represents. If the ritual is destroyed, it takes a portion of the sorcerer’s potential with it forever – he recovers only the spell slots from levels 1-5.
After casting, the sorcerer gains back the human equivalent of 20 years of life, though it will not reduce him below his prime physical age. If below 14, Constitution is raised to this level as long as the ritual is active.
If destroyed, the sorcerer ages normally from that point with no other adverse side effects aside from the potential loss of that Constitution bonus and the higher level spell slots. Indeed, if he has the spare spell slots, he can cast it again.
It can be willfully destroyed by the sorcerer in this way - he can decide to cast a spell that takes up a spell slot currently occupied by the immortality ritual. If this is done, then the immortality is violently disrupted upon the casting of that one extra spell, causing the instant death, no save, of the caster.
This rivalry and the non-italicized quotes are from my campaign, Redemption. I did not see anywhere in the rules that the content had to be original to the contest. Though Glikker is the player for Gadianton the lich, I did not include any information that he contributed to the character, only what I did without his input, so it does not violate the rule about team efforts. Only what is listed here is actually what is being judged.
Good thing there were no rules about the length of an entry. ;)
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The old man leaned in closely to his young apprentice. “Are you certain you want to know why? Where the demons came from? Why the gods are gone? These are not easy answers, but I know more about it than anyone else alive.”
The young man nodded emphatically. “Yes, yes! I want to know!”
After a long, apprising look, the ancient wizard nodded. “Very well. But the answers will not make sense right away. If I tell you, you will understand the entire story, not just a part of it, but why this connects to the crisis we face today will not be clear for some time.”
Confusion wafted across the young man’s face for a moment, but he nodded again. “I do want to know. I just thought that it would be a simple answer, something you could say ‘Evil force x bound the gods and created the demons!’” He shrugged, embarrassed.
The old man shook his head. “If that is the kind of answer you desire, you are in the wrong place. Answers like that are deceptive in their simplicity. It becomes easy to blame others, imagine yourself in that situation and doing better than they without truly understanding what these people faced. Understanding is different than knowledge of facts. I offer understanding and wisdom, not a recitation of facts. If you wish a history lesson, devoid of personal feelings, you are asking the wrong man. These were real people facing real situations. Even though they occurred well over a thousand years ago, they bear a great deal of relevance to us. I tell you the full story, not the abbreviated one.”
The young man’s eyes widened. “But then, how do you know them and what happened? Are you that old yourself? I thought only the elves were immortal!”
“There is a great deal you don’t know, and how I know this may remain one of those mysteries, but perhaps not. Do you desire this? Truly? You do not comprehend fully what you ask, yet I think even if you knew, you would ask still.” He stroked his beard for a short while, thinking. The young man, not daring to interrupt, sat quietly.
Finally, the old man nodded slowly. “Very well. You have been asking to see real magic? Here is your chance. You will hear the story behind the story, and the story behind that one.” He stood and spoke some arcane words. The doors in room slammed shut and the magical lights drifting about the ceiling dimmed. The young man glanced around nervously, but held his tongue.
An image formed between them, of a very old man sitting on a dusty stone bench with the translucent form of a younger man floating in front of him. The image grew until it filled the whole room. Blinking in surprise, the apprentice noticed that the room he sat in looked identical to the room in the image, aside from the dust. The stone benches were in the same place, indeed he and his teacher were sitting on the very stone bench the old man in this image sat on, though now both of them were invisible in this scene.
Abruptly, the image came to life, the old man spoke to the floating image. He spoke of many things, of himself and others while telling a story. As promised, he did not understand what this scene had to do with the demons rampaging through their world and the binding of the gods, but he listened and found himself drawn into what the old man said and the old man himself. There were particular moments that burned into his mind, like when the old man spoke of coincidences:
“I do feel to observe something here. There is no such thing as coincidence. With all the watching and meddling I have done myself, being a player moving my pawns around my board, I have come to the inescapable conclusion that coincidence is a word used by the pawns to describe the seemingly random occurrences created by a player such as myself. Even the gods sometimes seem to dance to invisible strings that they themselves are unaware of. I myself have wondered if Fate itself is a force under control from another higher power. Perhaps Fate is simply the name that we who are affected by it give it to try and reduce it to a philosophical form that we can understand and think we have some control over.
“I have often wondered if there is such as thing as true agency. Seeing things from my unique perspective as a player in the grand schemes of the truly powerful, I often feel as if I was driven to become what I am today, as if I had no choice in what I do now. Are there others pulling my strings? I feel sure of it, and sometimes I want to fling rocks at the impenetrable heavens to protest what it seems Fate has made me into. So where does Fate end and Agency begin? Do we really control our destinies or are they given to us by others?
“I cannot question that I can control all manner of forces myself, that if I chose, I could snuff any mortal’s life or make it better with seemingly wild coincidental fortunes. But this question torments me – are my own choices dictated to me or do I choose my own path? Am I a pawn in someone else’s board? And even worse, do my own pawns exercise control over me in some way? I ask these questions, but do not know the answers. Indeed, I do not know if I *want* to know the answers.
“Maybe I am simply content with my own self-delusions of being truly powerful.”
More time passed, and the young man watched carefully, learning much both through the story and what the old man said. He learned of the Watchers, these powerful beings that vie for power and control, working behind the scenes beyond the sight of any other mortal. And then he spoke of the lich, his enemy, and the young man sat up, listening intently.
“You see, the greatest evils I fight arise from the plots of one of my rivals, perhaps the one rival that has more reason to hate me, and I him, than any of the others.
“I mentioned him briefly before. His name is Gadianton, and he is a lich. We have … history … he and I. He calls me the Meddler because I have foiled so many of his plots, not from some sense of right and wrong like a paladin would, but from sheer mutual hatred. He chose the life of a lich because of me, and I have sacrificed much to extend my own life in order to fight him.
“While I make no claims to being good, he is unabashedly what anyone would call evil. His choice to become one of the living dead burned any hint of compassion or emotion from his already dead heart. And unlike the rest of us, he actively seeks to defy Fate, to thwart it, rather than try and manipulate its touch to his own gain. Don’t misinterpret me, I have never met a more manipulative individual. He very rarely does his own dirty work, and unlike other liches I’ve seen, he has gone out of his way to avoid being a target for some of our world’s more powerful do-gooder types. In fact, I don’t know that anyone aside from the rest of the players and the gods even knows he exists.
“But if I could locate his lair, I’d personally try to wipe that undead aberration off the face of the planet. I know he feels the same. We came to magical blows once. Once, a long long time ago. It was an ugly affair, and both he and I bear the scars from that encounter, as does a large part of the landscape. You may have heard legends of an arcane battle that destroyed a civilization and created the magical wasteland north of here? That was us – regardless of what else you might have heard. Every time I look at it, I feel the hatred for this creature well up inside of me. No small part of my quest for power came because of Gadianton. If I were to discover that someone else was responsible for my actions, that I was determined rather than free, I do not doubt he would be the one to blame.
“The storm I’ve mentioned already centered around the two of us. The other players were definitely involved, but Gadianton and I sparked the whole thing. And I have noted that when he and I come into direct conflict, the others stand back. They all know of our rivalry, and while none of them would weep to see either of us fall, neither would they step in between our feud. Coming between two rabid dogs fighting is a quick way to get bit.
“While I usually take great pains to stay in the shadows, when it comes to that accursed lich, I go out of my way to let him know that it was I who stepped in.”
The apprentice whispered loudly, “Master! Gadianton? Is it the same Gadianton that-?”
“Hush!” came the wizard’s reply. “Be patient!”
The young man lapsed back into silence, and it was not long before the old man in the image spoke of Gadianton the Destroyer once again.
“I think one reason why I have never questioned my path is because he and I have been at odds for so long. I not only never questioned my path, but I never questioned my destination. Every path has a destination, but I was too consumed to look ahead and see where my path would lead me. Fool that I am! How many times have I watched others short-sightedly begin down a path they thought would give them what they want, only to find that it took them farther away from their ultimate goal? I see it time and time again, and yet in watching and judging others, I never saw this flaw in myself. My black pride would not allow it.
“I recall telling you that I may have trapped myself in a cage of my own making, a cage created of power lust and hatred. This rivalry, this burning hatred has made me a different man than I was before. I was a good man, once, long ago. I was a high ranking Lord in my government, close to the heart of my noble King and friend. I used my own wealth to alleviate the sufferings of those peasants in my realm of influence, and I did many things that I would call good.
“But Gadianton wanted power. He formed a group, small at first, but it grew much larger. This group, bound by secrecy and blood oaths, vowed to destroy the government of my land and take it for themselves. The members lived only to plunder, murder, lie, and backstab their way into power. One of them, Kishkumen, killed my friend, the King, while he sat on his throne. This murderer was caught, tried, and executed for regicide, but he refused to give up the names of his friends. Even magical interrogation availed us nothing – Gadianton was a dark wizard, and all who joined his group were laid under powerful protective enchantments that even my own substantial power could not break.
“With the prodding of this secret band, the realm soon disintegrated into chaos due to the in-fighting of the remaining sons of my King. And I was helpless. I could do nothing but watch as my beloved nation crumbled on itself and was subsumed by its neighbors. I swore vengeance on those responsible, though I had no knowledge at that time of Gadianton’s treachery, and my brother, also a gifted mage, said he would help me. But I found every path I searched out blocked, every witness dead. I couldn’t find a trace of who was responsible, and my brother was having the same luck.
“It was one of those coincidences I’ve talked about that finally led me to the leader of that dark band. My brother had sent me a message, telling me of a possible trail he had stumbled across. I wanted to converse with him further, so instead of following that trail right away, I went home quickly to question him on a critical detail I felt I needed. As I walked in the door, I felt the unmistakable chill in the air unique to the dark powers of necromancy. And I suddenly realized that my brother was the target. Shouting his name, I ran upstairs gathering my power, prepared to blast into oblivion whatever was assaulting my family. I ripped the door of our lab off its hinges with magical might, and stopped suddenly.
“There on the floor was a dead body, one I recognized, but it was not my brother. It was Kishkumen, the murderer. His spirit hovered in the air next to my brother, Gadianton. And in that moment, I knew. Though I lacked the details, I knew that somehow, my brother was responsible for the destruction of everything I held dear. He had not expected me to return so quickly, and he blanched as I took it all in.
“There was a heartbeat where we looked in each other’s eyes. It was one of those moments where everything in your world changes, and it seemed to last for an eternity. I can recall even now the stillness of that moment where we changed from close brothers to bitter enemies.
“And then I loosed the destructive magic I had prepared for his defense right at his heart. But though he was caught unawares in the moment, he had not successfully kept his secret so long without his own automatic magical defenses, and my blast tore a hole in his side rather than his center. Kishkumen vanished, and chanting a couple of words, Gadianton the Betrayer vanished as well.
“I have hunted him across the centuries, and he me. Master of the secret murder, his skeletal fingers touch every secret organization dedicated to evil.
“But I ask now, was mine the correct path? I have been instrumental in stopping him many times, but not out of a desire to do the right thing. My long life has been one of vengeance, and I am no closer to that goal now than I was a millennia ago. All I wanted was peace of mind, and I thought slaying my brother would give it to me. But I think now that I have been terribly wrong. I do not believe that had I killed my brother so many years ago that I would have found my peace of mind. And now, I look at myself and I see an old man whose whole soul is consumed by the dark desire for revenge.
“Is it my brother’s fault that I am where I am today? Is he responsible for his actions, or did some greater power than us both put us on this path that we still follow after centuries? Do I even have the power to stop myself now? Or have the many years of emotional inertia propelled me into a trajectory that I am powerless to slow or divert?”
The apprentice felt his heart ache for this man. Who was he, so powerful, but so lost? He studied the younger man’s face closely while listening to the older man talk. A thought began to form when Gadianton came up yet again.
“I spoke to you before of my loneliness. As I have watched myself in the mirror for brief periods, as much as I can before I must turn away, I have seen a face etched with lines. I have seen many faces, old and young. Have you ever noticed that the wrinkles on a face are created by certain expressions made time and time again? Those that frown often develop wrinkles in the corners of their mouths that simulate those frowns, making them look unhappy most of the time, even when they are not. And those that carry a constant cheerful disposition bear the marks of those expressions as well, their wrinkles forming a constant look of happiness. Each face tells a story about the person behind it, and I can often tell at a glance much about a person before using any magic whatsoever.
“My wrinkles, though magically lessened, tell a story about me. When I step back and try to see my face as I would someone else's, as if I was a part of one of my own experiments, I see misery and a deep loneliness. My path has brought me no peace, no satisfaction at all. Is it strange that I cannot bear my own piercing looks, the looks I know can make others turn away from me? This person in the mirror, this stranger that I do not know, seems to look through me to the parts of me that I would hide from my enemies and allies alike, and I must turn from his gaze.
“I do not like the story I see written there.
“Is it foolish for someone as old as I am, with all my hatreds and habits binding me as if they were chains, to reconsider my path? Have I traveled this course so long that I must follow it to its bitter bitter end? And I know that a path of vengeance and hate, by its very definition, denies those that walk it any sort of happy ending. There is no room filled with loving friends and family that will gather to wish me well when I pass into the next life. Those that know me either fear me, hate me, respect me, or some combination of those three, but no one loves me. Not one. The rest of my family is long dead. I have no one I would call friend, except perhaps you, but you are silent. What you truly feel and think, I do not know.
“As I look back, I realize that I had not experienced camaraderie so evident in others since I had discovered my brother's betrayal. Powerful as I am, I was helpless to join them. You see, I know how to be a conqueror. A vertical relationship, one of master and servant, is second nature for me.
“But a horizontal one, one of friendship, of shared ideas, trust, passions, frustrations, and life experiences? This is something I have forgotten how to do. As I watched the mortals, I felt like an impenetrable wall separated me and them, one I could see through, but not one I could reach through. And the more I watched, the more lonely I became, and my anger grew as well. Why was I angry? Because we had been very close, my brother and I. I, the dutiful and loving older brother, watching out for my younger brother as we scampered through the trees and sculptures across the estates of our parents.
“I recall the day my power manifested suddenly - we had been climbing trees, and he, always being the more adventurous one, had climbed very high, much higher than he should have. The branch under him snapped, and he fell. I screamed and reached out as if to catch him, and he stopped, hanging in midair. Both of us were sobbing, terrified, and the guards fetched my parents. My father, always gifted in the Art, gently brought my brother down from his precarious position and held us both.
“But though I was terrified, at the same time, I was exultant! I could feel the flow of power through me, and I knew that I had saved the life of my brother. Not long after, my parents paid for a tutor to teach me how to shape and control this gift of magic that so spontaneously sprung from the wells of my soul. Gadianton and I spent less time together after this, though he began his own studies as a mage very soon as well. I recall delighting as we levitated small objects to race against each other, but I never realized that what came so naturally for me, he had to struggle, study, and work for. A sorcerer needs only to shape the magic that flows through them to create the effect they need, but mages must memorize words of power, and spend many hours reading old tomes.
“Perhaps he wanted power because it came to me naturally as well? Being the oldest son, my father's death granted to me the full political powers of a Lord, but he was the forgotten younger brother once again. He was jealous of me! And I was angry at him for being jealous. I did not ask for my gift of magic, nor did I ask to become a Lord, yet both came without effort to me, and he had to work many times harder to gain a fraction of what I had naturally.
“I was blind and proud. Maybe more kind words from me would have averted the coming disaster, maybe telling him that he was still my most beloved and trusted friend, even beyond my own advisors, would have made some difference. But this I do not know. Perhaps all my efforts would not have diverted him from the evil that pierced his heart and killed the good man I knew.
“Was he free? Do I bear some responsibility for what he has become? Is my struggle against him only illuminating the blame I feel in his dark fate?
“We have not talked, he and I, since that day he sent me his message. No words were spoken as I sought his life, and when we battled again, much later, in that now long-dead kingdom, the only words present were words of power as we strove to utterly destroy each other and only succeeded in destroying an empire and creating a vast wasteland. What would I say to him, if we were brought together again, with no power to draw on, and only each other? Does any hint of my brother still live in that blasted soul housed by an undead shell?
“I do not know.”
The image froze, then vanished. The apprentice felt a wet drop on his cheek, suddenly startled to realize he was weeping for these brothers and the grief and pain they had shared over the centuries of their conflict, and he heard his master’s voice say quietly, “That is enough for today.” His eyes cleared from the silent tears and he caught the old wizard watching him closely. The image of the younger man floating in the air superimposed itself over his master’s face, and with a shock, he saw they were one and the same.
“You? He- he was speaking to you?” he stammered out. The old man nodded wearily.
“But how?”
“Before he died, he told me his secret, the secret of immortality, the secret that damned him and brought redemption both. And perhaps someday, I will teach it to you.”
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Immortality:
This is a ritual only possible for sorcerers. It is not a spell, per se, though it is magical in nature. It does not protect the caster from any physical harm, only prevents non-magical disease, strengthens the body, and staves off death indefinitely. The caster is not undead, nor anything aside from normal living mortal in any way except for the removal of death by natural causes. The effects of age are somewhat reversed and then warded against, so mental facilities do not fade due to the natural breakdown of the body. Food, water, and sleep are required a fraction as much as before. One meal a month, one full day of sleep every six months, and water when eating. If these requirements are ignored, the magic will begin to decay and fade, totally vanishing in only a few days. Once the requirement is met, the magic jumps back to full capacity immediately with no adverse side effects.
It cannot be dispelled by anything short of the direct divine intervention of a major god. Not even Wish or other mortal magics can reverse it in any way.
The ritual takes a full week to cast correctly, though no outer components are required. The sorcerer supplies all the magic from his own potential. No one can cast it without knowing what to do – it must be taught by another. How it was first discovered is a mystery never revealed. In addition, there can be no enchantments of any kind acting upon the caster – no magic items, no Contingency spells, nothing – or else the ritual will fail, possibly fatally.
Upon following the instructions, the sorcerer permanently sacrifices a single spell slot from all nine spell levels (meaning at minimum, they have to be level 18). This represents the active magic required to perform the constant physical and mental upkeep that immortality represents. If the ritual is destroyed, it takes a portion of the sorcerer’s potential with it forever – he recovers only the spell slots from levels 1-5.
After casting, the sorcerer gains back the human equivalent of 20 years of life, though it will not reduce him below his prime physical age. If below 14, Constitution is raised to this level as long as the ritual is active.
If destroyed, the sorcerer ages normally from that point with no other adverse side effects aside from the potential loss of that Constitution bonus and the higher level spell slots. Indeed, if he has the spare spell slots, he can cast it again.
It can be willfully destroyed by the sorcerer in this way - he can decide to cast a spell that takes up a spell slot currently occupied by the immortality ritual. If this is done, then the immortality is violently disrupted upon the casting of that one extra spell, causing the instant death, no save, of the caster.