((Numerous parts of this story are being adapted from discord roleplay and may be altered, changed, and/or augmented for the sake of logic, flow, or plot.))
“Guardian Amicus Mourchaux of Elyria, I write this letter with urgency and I pray that it reaches you. Your crow seems to have a talent for finding people in need. I hope the rumours about Zareth are true in that regard. I digress. I write to you from the Mage’s Hall of Coast Brookvale. Don’t bother looking up the location on any map you have, because I’m sure you will not find it. Ashes is a few months sail from Elyria. I, myself, would not know of Elyria if I had not stumbled across it during my expeditions out east. Along with this letter is a map and directions on how to reach the Realm of Ashes and Coast Brookvale. I plead to you, Guardian. A dark force grows just outside of town and could threaten the entirety of the realm. Though I know your primary concern is Elyria, wouldn’t another realm’s destruction have future consequences for you? Perhaps you may find the place enjoyable. Magick has yet to dwindle, though you may find the power quite foreign here. Sincerely, Archmage Traven Victorious.”
Amicus folds the letter and tucks it back into his tunic, hanging on to the side rail as The Horizon, a Tyrian carrack, sails into view of Coast Brookvale. The waves crash against the hull and wind barrages the sails, rocking the ship and giving a few crewmen without proper sealegs stomach aches. He looks over the waves and sees the town, along with its fisher boats and simple architecture. In the distance, a swirling black cloud of thunder and rain hovers over a snow capped mountain.
“I’m afraid we have to send you by row boat, sire!” The Mydarrian captain shouts across the deck. “I shall let you know as soon as the boat is prepared.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Amicus responds, keeping his eyes fixed upon the mountain top.
“Anytime, sire.”
The crew gets to work wrangling the row boat together, fighting the wind and rain as they hoist the boat off the side and lower it into the water with Amicus, along with Professor Hoshiha Mugen. They both took turns rowing the boat across monstrous waves until they reached the fishermen’s docks of Coast Brookvale.
Tying the boat to dock, Amicus asks the professor to get a room prepared at the inn, assuming the town had one, while he ventured to the glittering tower on the hill. He enters the Mage’s Hall, looking over all the book cases, floating decorative instruments of study, and robed people hunched over workstations and ancient tomes. It is clearly the newest, and most ostentatious, building in the town. While the other structures are made of driftwood and rusty iron nails, the hall and side tower is composed white, chiseled stone, heartwood doors painted in lapis lazuli, and stained glass windows enclosed in gilded frames. It is no wonder why the mages that gather and study here seem to have a dreamy, far off look. Though most seem more occupied with keeping their noses stuck in their books. Save for a man in equally ostentatious robes, walking towards Amicus. Golden buckles, silk strapping, fur lined cape, and a silver helm made this man stand out.
“You must be the Archmage here,” Amicus quickly says, pulling a dry cloth from his satchel to absorb some the water from his damp, black hair. “Ello…”
“And you must be the Guardian I have heard so much about. Protector of the supernatural. Defier of Tyrants. Scholar of infamous repute…” The Archmage looks Amicus down from head to toe and back up again. “To be honest… I thought you’d be older.”
“And I thought you’d be younger,” Amicus retorts, stepping past the Archmage to get a better look of the hall. “I suppose we’re gonna have to be a tad disappointed today.”
“Witty, as the tales say.” Travan gives a polite chuckle and quickly moves to the side. He pulls a golden cord, moving two curtains apart to reveal a spiral staircase. “My office is this way. I’d prefer to talk in the solace of privacy. Especially about this matter.”
Amicus nods, following the Archmage up the stairs to his office.
If there was one room more extravagant, it would be the Archmage’s chambers. If it wasn’t coated in gold, it was covered by some kind of precious stone. The room by itself made the whole of Tyria, a place that liked to show its art, look like a piece of fancy driftwood.
“I would have talked more about this matter beforehand, but I don’t know how far this malice is spreading,” Traven says, opening the glass doors to his balcony and pointing at the mountain just a few miles from the town.
Amicus grabs a gilded, ticking device from the Archmage’s desk. He holds it up to Traven. “Is this thing safe?”
Traven looks over his shoulder and blinks at the Guardian. “You’ve never seen a clock before?”
“What’s a clock?”
“It tells the time... “
“Oh!” Amicus raises a brow at the clock and shakes his head, putting it back down. “Elyria has candles for that. So!” He claps his hands together, rubbing them, ready for some action. “What is it that needs killing?”
Traven sighs and looks back at the mountain. “The tower’s research of the mountain has concluded one thing. Something dark and evil is growing within the mountain. To the point where it’s causing the environment to react. This rain hasn’t ceased for weeks and parts of the town have already flooded away.”
“Alright. You have a lot of magick and a lot of mages here. Why do you need me?” Amicus asks, stepping back in from the rain.
“You are the Guardian of Light, are you not? Granted the power of Elyria’s Qindred to protect the world?”
Amicus would have seen an amused smirk on Traven’s face if he wasn’t so occupied by the clock again. He looks up and shakes his head. “Oh, no. I renounced that mantle some time ago. I am the Kingdom of Tyria’s Lord Guardian though. I can see why one might get confused.”
“So, you don’t have magick?” The Archmage inquires, sitting down in his desk chair. “I must admit, I’m not too surprised. My expeditions to the East have found little more than primitive holdings. Magick must not like it there too much.”
Amicus snaps his eyes to the Archmage. “So, why bring a primitive to deal with a problem you seem unable to fix?”
“Oh, no! Being primitive is not a bad thing. There is solace in simplicity, after all. In truth, I brought you here out of curiosity. I wanted to see this legendary Guardian for myself.”
“I’m not here to sate your curiosity.” Amicus turns to leave.
“No, you’re here to help protect us. Guardian or no, you did respond to my letter.”
Amicus stops and ponders for a moment, then nods his head regretfully.
“Excellent.” Traven smiles with delight. “On the center table of the hall downstairs, you will find a week’s worth of bread rations and charts detailing how you can get to this malice. We know a temple is within the heart of the mountain, according to our records anyway. The old pathways are sealed, but I trust that a person of your renown will be able to find a way.”
Amicus nods again and leaves the office, rushing down the stairs. He pushes the curtains aside and strides up to the center table in the hall, ignoring the amused looks of the mages. He finds a grimoire of spells born from the realm amongst the belongings and begins to read it.
“Magick here is going to be different than magick in Elyria, Sir,” A woman’s voice echoes over his shoulder. She steps up to the table and looks at Amicus’ new grimoire. “Or so I theorize. I’m really just a novice here.”
“It’s all relative,” Amicus says, keeping his eyes on the text. “Compared to me, in either realm, you are probably a master.”
The woman cocks her head to the side. “Were you not a great mage in Elyria?”
The Guardian scoffs at her words and shakes his head. “No… I gave up that power a long time ago. Not that it matters. Magick in Elyria died quite abruptly. … But, now I’m here. In this new place. Filled to the brim with magick… And I have forgotten how to wield it…”
“Perhaps you just need some practise? I’m Tabitha, by the way,” The novice says with a quick smile. “How about we cut a deal? I’ll help you with your spell casting, but you have to tell me all about this Realm of Elyria you are from. Master Traven’s logs only describe so much.”
The Guardian ponders for a moment, reading the last few lines of the page. Enclosing the ruby amulet he is wearing in his hand, Amicus remembers the first lessons with Guardian Melrose; That sometimes the master must become the student. He looks up at her and nods his head. “Amicus Mourchaux, Lord Guardian of Tyria, Headmaster of Agravaine Academy… Though I suspect those titles mean nothing here. Anyway, you have a deal, Lady Tabitha.”
They shake hands and immediately begin exchanging information. Spellcasting techniques for Tyrian knightly lore. Power weaving tricks for biome based societies. Potion enhancement practices for urban legends and mythologies.
While Amicus and Tabitha study within the candle lit hall, dark clouds and thunder continue to swirl over Mount Brookvale. Lightless thunder clashes in the sky and the howling wind sweeps across treacherous, narrow mountain paths. Amid heavy rain and sleet, a patrol of men and horses make their way up the mountain side.
The rain beats against their purple tabards and dark steel armour. Horses struggle to move through the river of mud flowing down the path. Eventually, the halfling leading them, calls for a withdraw. They would turn about and march back to the town of Coast Brookvale. They were aiming for the temple as well, but conditions are unkind. Although, it is likely for the best. Their steel blades could not hope to defeat that which is imprisoned within the mountain. An old, nefarious foe, that started at the beginning and will end with Amicus.