Well the quote:
certainly seems to imply we're much tougher.
[X] "There's too many of them, we've got to retreat. Banngard is too far. We should be able to make it to the wizard's tower though, and even if he's a threat we can handle him ourselves if there's a fastness keeping the horde at bay.
Aquadragon10
The Lord of the First Flame
- Location
- Canada
[X] "There's too many of them, we've got to retreat. Banngard is too far. We should be able to make it to the wizard's tower though, and even if he's a threat we can handle him ourselves if there's a fastness keeping the horde at bay.
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Careful, your vote is missing a square bracket!
Great question
Happy to answer this and future questions
Tragically in your current form there are several lovely features you are lacking.
Your shining scales, your mighty wings, your terrible breath of freezing fire.
If someone stabbed you your assumed form is copying skin, it would pierce you would bleed and it would hurt. But it would take a lot more than being stabbed in the "chest" to kill you. Something that's close enough to your weight class to be a genuine threat is the kind of thing that you'd clearly notice( well probably you are a meglomaniac).
Your companions are reasonably skilled and capable but they are tragically not you
A terrible fate truly
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[X] "If we keep going we're sure to find their leaders by those ziggurats in the inner wall, we've risked this much why not risk it all"
[X] "There's too many of them, we've got to retreat. Banngard is too far. We should be able to make it to the wizard's tower though, and even if he's a threat we can handle him ourselves if there's a fastness keeping the horde at bay.
Nemesis_Scar
Опомнись
- Location
- The Earthly City, not the one on a hill
- Pronouns
- She/They
[X] "There's too many of them, we've got to retreat. Banngard is too far. We should be able to make it to the wizard's tower though, and even if he's a threat we can handle him ourselves if there's a fastness keeping the horde at bay.
Vote closed
On Wizards
I've gone back and forth about how much information to give and elaborate on because I love doing worldbuilding but you're also playing a character who doesn't actually care that much (and some things I've never actually 100% settled on so not getting into detail spares me being on the spot.) I think my preference is that I try to find more ways to put worldbuilding/ lore directly into the quest without being all like [X] to get one (1) lore fact. But the following is information you would know and is relevant. Like a codex lore pop-up if there were a CRPG. If people like this way of doing things I may try and do more as relevant and as occurs me to me
Whizard lived in an age so far into the ancient past that it is the stuff of myth and child's stories more than is the domain of scholars and there are countless stories of his exploits. Unlike the great founder of our Empire, who came of age in this chaotic era and has even more deeds ascribed, passed down traditions give us an actual name. But unlike our glorious first Emperor we cannot be truly sure that Whizard ever existed. There are many tomes, magical formulas and "easily learnable cantrips" that are attributed to Whizard and claim that antiquity, but to the best of my knowledge no tome or artifact has even been found that is actually of sufficient antiquity to be possibly contemporary to Whizard. The truth matters little in this case. Whether it was the legendary Whizard or many anonymous mages over the course of centuries if not millennia in time a body of work attributed to Whizard came into being- tomes, grimoires, diaries, scrawlings and scrolls- which were said to contain insights on the fundamental nature of magic and secret programs to follow that would enable even someone without magical talent but with sufficient mental rigor and discipline to gain the abilities believed to be impossible for them to learn otherwise.
These works, of varying levels of quality and authenticity, existed for a long time without any proof that they had merit- something that caused magical scholars to snicker about the gullibility of the ignorant, and believes to alternate between claiming that no one with the necessary qualities to succeed had tried yet, or that people had succeeded but had kept it a secret to avoid stigma and the attention. Two thousand years ago Slarin the Twisted proved to the world that it was possible to learn magic this way, though with acts that even the strongest of advocates for the merits of Whizard's works generally admits it would have been better hadn't happened. The wicked life and deeds of Slarin the Twisted are beyond the scope of this text, so let if suffice to say that the Older brother of the King of Kirolseg, utterly worthless in all the martial arts that all of us in the Empire honor had spent his entire life overshadowed and replaced by his noble and talented junior. Like cheese left in the sun too long his resentment curdled and ripened and became truly rotten. He forsook the Empire and threw himself into Wizardry, the study of the works of Whizard and far darker magics than that. (For even the greatest critique of Wizardry will admit that it is not an art that is inherently evil.) His reign of terror ravaged not only the Empire but the whole continent and he left behind countless legacies of evil, but he also left behind the precedent it was possible to learn magic through Wizardry, and become puissant at that.
Since those days the existence of those that try to follow in the footsteps of Whizard, or Wizards (/wɪz.ɚd/) is no longer in doubt, but wizards who do not have a sinister reputation are as rare as the tears of a dragon. The sort of person with the necessary focus to successfully follow the path of wizardry and the ambition to seek out such a path to power is already a strange and dangerous sort, combine this with an incredibly infamous precursor, countless secretive traditions and rites believed to be necessary on the path of wizardry and the effects that what is effectively twisting your soul to copy the shape of a possibly mythical mage thousands of year dead has upon a mind and you have the recipe for the sort of person who is charitably called eccentric because it is unwise to offend with the word insane. Wizards tend to live alone away from civilization because the civilized shun them, and shun them more for their suspicious isolation.
In my next volume I will discuss with Sir Vera Kesalg varying reason a knight may have to call upon the dwelling of a wizard, proper greetings and protocols and numerous efficacious techniques for killing a wizard.
On Wizards
From the writings of Sir Solan Arcoudis, Knight of Athryas
One of the first rules that any budding mage learns is that are very few- if not no- rules at all. Magic is much more sensation and instinct than artisan's craft. A skilled mage may take an apprentice and give instruction but ultimately much of that instruction turns into taking the lessons and principles your master knows and reworking them to fit the way magic works for you. It is an ultimately deeply personal discipline, one is either drawn to it or one is not and those that do find themselves touched are all more or less unique. Certainly there are tendencies and recognized categorizations, to a certain extent a frost mage is a frost mage, but the exact way the pulse of creation feels to that sixth sense that those without the talent lack is a individual thing. No one has ever drawn up rules and principles of mage that stand up to inspect and can be broadly recreated. No one has ever found ways to teach magic to those that just simply lack that ineffable something needed to learn. No one that is, except for one man, a mage named Whizard (/ʍɪzɚd/).
Whizard lived in an age so far into the ancient past that it is the stuff of myth and child's stories more than is the domain of scholars and there are countless stories of his exploits. Unlike the great founder of our Empire, who came of age in this chaotic era and has even more deeds ascribed, passed down traditions give us an actual name. But unlike our glorious first Emperor we cannot be truly sure that Whizard ever existed. There are many tomes, magical formulas and "easily learnable cantrips" that are attributed to Whizard and claim that antiquity, but to the best of my knowledge no tome or artifact has even been found that is actually of sufficient antiquity to be possibly contemporary to Whizard. The truth matters little in this case. Whether it was the legendary Whizard or many anonymous mages over the course of centuries if not millennia in time a body of work attributed to Whizard came into being- tomes, grimoires, diaries, scrawlings and scrolls- which were said to contain insights on the fundamental nature of magic and secret programs to follow that would enable even someone without magical talent but with sufficient mental rigor and discipline to gain the abilities believed to be impossible for them to learn otherwise.
These works, of varying levels of quality and authenticity, existed for a long time without any proof that they had merit- something that caused magical scholars to snicker about the gullibility of the ignorant, and believes to alternate between claiming that no one with the necessary qualities to succeed had tried yet, or that people had succeeded but had kept it a secret to avoid stigma and the attention. Two thousand years ago Slarin the Twisted proved to the world that it was possible to learn magic this way, though with acts that even the strongest of advocates for the merits of Whizard's works generally admits it would have been better hadn't happened. The wicked life and deeds of Slarin the Twisted are beyond the scope of this text, so let if suffice to say that the Older brother of the King of Kirolseg, utterly worthless in all the martial arts that all of us in the Empire honor had spent his entire life overshadowed and replaced by his noble and talented junior. Like cheese left in the sun too long his resentment curdled and ripened and became truly rotten. He forsook the Empire and threw himself into Wizardry, the study of the works of Whizard and far darker magics than that. (For even the greatest critique of Wizardry will admit that it is not an art that is inherently evil.) His reign of terror ravaged not only the Empire but the whole continent and he left behind countless legacies of evil, but he also left behind the precedent it was possible to learn magic through Wizardry, and become puissant at that.
Since those days the existence of those that try to follow in the footsteps of Whizard, or Wizards (/wɪz.ɚd/) is no longer in doubt, but wizards who do not have a sinister reputation are as rare as the tears of a dragon. The sort of person with the necessary focus to successfully follow the path of wizardry and the ambition to seek out such a path to power is already a strange and dangerous sort, combine this with an incredibly infamous precursor, countless secretive traditions and rites believed to be necessary on the path of wizardry and the effects that what is effectively twisting your soul to copy the shape of a possibly mythical mage thousands of year dead has upon a mind and you have the recipe for the sort of person who is charitably called eccentric because it is unwise to offend with the word insane. Wizards tend to live alone away from civilization because the civilized shun them, and shun them more for their suspicious isolation.
In my next volume I will discuss with Sir Vera Kesalg varying reason a knight may have to call upon the dwelling of a wizard, proper greetings and protocols and numerous efficacious techniques for killing a wizard.
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So it can be "hwizard" like how Hank Hill says "I tell you hwhat"
Cliff notes: You either have the spark of magic or you don't. There's no one concrete system for mages.
Wizards are different. You have to follow some weird steps from a guy named Whizard who may or may not exist and warp your soul to become a wizard, but people without the talent for magic can do it. It's hard to do and dangerous, so Wizards tend to be more than a little crazy.
Chapter 1.5 In which a useful rule of thumb for dealing with wizards is handed out for free
For a moment you consider trying to push onward. Those ziggurats fascinate you and likely are where all the good loot is. But a quick look at your companions makes you think better. They are clearly painting and strained and -ugh- sweating. They probably don't have a lot left in them. You have not lived as long as you have without having a clear understanding on when the time is to retreat. Sure you attack the city and rant about your grandeur but one has to know when to not overstay your welcome. You live forever, you can always come back. Any defeat is merely a setback. "There's too many of them, we've got to retreat. Banngard is too far. We should be able to make it to the wizard's tower though, and even if he's a threat we can handle him ourselves if there's a fastness keeping the horde at bay." You say to Emelda, and you turn to shaping a wall of ice to block the gateway, not even waiting to hear if she agrees or not. Ice is very good at this sort of thing. When you've finished temporarily sealing the way behind you, you turn to see your companions already ready to go and starting underway. The sound of weapons chipping into ice and the pounding of hordes of feet follow behind you. If you had thought the fast pace set chasing your quarry here was bad, two hours of straight up sprinting the other way is outright suffering. One day you will destroy all swamps in your territory. The sight of the guard tower turned wizard lair is a merciful break from trees and muck and slime and muck and insects and muck. You don't know how much time your wall bought you but so far it seems that any pursuit hasn't caught up. The tower is tall and aged, but with a stout wall of oak, which is clearly warded. Emelda tries the door, finds it unsurprisingly locked, and then slumps exhausted against the stone wall. "Does anyone know how to pick locks?" she pants out. Agni shakes his head no. You definitely can't. You've never even bothered with locks in your lair, because anyone who could make it your lair was hardly going to be stopped by a lock. Sindri smiles, taking from his shoulder a very animated Zeno. "I can't pick locks, but I do have a certain friend who can." There is a distinct schluping noise as the little creature slips under the door holding a lockpick. You sit there and rest and scan the horizon for enemies as the sound of clicking from the other side of the door.
Eventually there is a particularly loud click and the door swings open. The four of you rush and slam the door behind you. The inside of the tower, what was once an austere military garrison has been turned into a ramshackle laboratory, filled with all sorts of strange glass shapes filled with oozing liquids and dark shapes of creatures. At the top of spiral stairs that lead higher, a figure you assume is the Wizard Xolair stares down at you. He is dressed in thick flowing robes that are dark green with golden toads decorating the green, and a white hem. His face is obscured by thick white sideburns and his hair covered by a large pointed hat that is the same pattern as his robes. "Judging by the fact that you are more concerned with closing the door behind you, I am assuming that you are in fact not here to kill me for whatever imagined evil deeds have been attributed to me lately. I am sure you understand that when a band of what are clearly adventurers break into one's tower, one becomes concerned about their intentions."
Your party exchanges glances. You haven't met a hostile reception, but you don't exactly trust the figure you assume is Xolair right now. Fortunately Sindri steps forward to fill the silence, flashing his rows of pointy white teeth. "Our traveling band stumbled upon an orcish encampment while exploring the Morass, and were forced to depart quickly with a warband behind us. We weren't sure we could make it all the way to the city so we thought we could take shelter in this tower." It's not exactly the truth but neither is it a lie. If Xolair notices the tension in the room, the way that everyone is ready to spring into battle at an indication of hostility he does not show it. "Orcs huh? Well I wouldn't recommend riling them up. I'm almost never bothered by orcs here. They used to sometimes ask me to arbitrate some disputes but they don't really do that anymore. I'm not really one for visitors but I suppose you can stay for a little-while, as long as you don't break anything. Oh and never ever ask me why I do things. That out of the way- Dinner?" He doesn't even wait for a response, he just turns and walks upstairs. Another series of glances are exchanged before a silent decision is made to follow. Better to keep in sight and you may as well accept hospitality.
Soon you are seated around a large lumpy, possibly breathing round "table". You are offered a muffin that appears to have been made from mushrooms, and a truly foul smelling fish bashed drink. You respectfully decline. "So why did you choose to live here? I have not been in this morass very long and I have already decided that I hate swamps." Xolair chuckles, "I am attempting to breed the largest species of toad that magic can enable. You can see my progress so far, Hubert here is tremendous and very well trained. Isn't he doing a great job at the table? Yes he is, yes he is. I think I can do better though I'm hoping for at least one the size of a large wagon, I'm just gonna keep going until I can't anymore." This revelation explains so much about the character of the table. You are about to ask why this man has devoted his life and magical talents to producing particularly large amphibians when you remember that you were advised to never ask why. Everyone keeps on polite smiles, pretending to consume the food- except Sindri who is guzzling the fish based beer. Mercifully Xolair soon excuses himself claiming he needs to return to his work and points you to a floor that was once a barracks where you can stay the night. It is not a comfortable berth, the tower is cold and slimy and the entire building rumbles with a thousand croaks at night, but it is safe. Tomorrow Emelda groans clutching her gut, she will get us an audience with the Archon.
You stand awkwardly in the reception room of Ban's Keep. You honestly have no idea who Ban was, or why the city is called Banngard or if there was a person named Ban. Frankly you had always assumed it was some weird name for the gap it guarded, but the name of the palace makes you wonder. With Emelda currently on bedrest with her sounds, Agni tending to her, and Sindri significantly hung over it has fallen to you to speak for your companions about recent events. Your feet slip slightly on the cold polished marble, and the imperious and impassive gaze of the Archon's guards are only exceeded by the busts and portraits of countless generations of previous rulers, all gazing at the interloper. Another person might be quite intimidated or daunted, but you of course mostly find it just obnoxiously austere. The Grand Dukes had excellent style, all these suits of armor and unflinching guards is just ... .boring. Eventually the Archon Militant himself arrives, and the sea of soldiers parts around him. His sabatons clank as he advances upon, clad in sable finery and with a light Vair cloak. Around his brow is a simple iron band and at his side is a ceremonial mace. It takes you some time to read the expression on his face. Eventually you realize that it is disinterest, almost boredom, an expression that you have never previously encountered facing your direction. You do not like it.
"When I deigned to grant my wayward vassal a meeting, I did not expect her to send one of her traveling companions in her place. Particularly not you, Madam Elf. I would expect from what I hear of your recent time spent in my city that the vagaries of human life do not seem particularly high priority to you. This is not your land, its people not your burden to defend. Tell me this Wryss, before you speak on what Emelda claims to have seen in the swamp. Why is it that you care about all this? Why come speak to me if Emelda could not-you hardly seem a natural courtier."
[ ] "I don't" Maybe it's not the answer he expects, maybe it is. But this means as little to you as anything else. You'll finish the adventure with this meeting but after that you haven't decided if you'll stick around. It depends on your whims.
[ ] "I'm incorrigibly curious." Oh sure you don't really care about the city or its people per se, but you've enjoyed the process of investigating more than you've enjoyed anything for a while. You still have much you don't know, hopefully you can spend more time outside of swamps, but you want to follow the clues.
[ ] "Honestly I'm just horrifically bored." It's generally not your way to admit any kind of weakness but the Archon seems to have a certain amount of the information anyways- perhaps equivocation would be unwise. Besides maybe he will have a suggestion for something more interesting you could do-something that involves far less swamps.
[ ] "Emelda was too wounded and the matter was too urgent to wait." You don't like leaving matters half-finished. An expedition without the report is only half the task. You like to complete the whole task. It's more elegant that way.
Eventually there is a particularly loud click and the door swings open. The four of you rush and slam the door behind you. The inside of the tower, what was once an austere military garrison has been turned into a ramshackle laboratory, filled with all sorts of strange glass shapes filled with oozing liquids and dark shapes of creatures. At the top of spiral stairs that lead higher, a figure you assume is the Wizard Xolair stares down at you. He is dressed in thick flowing robes that are dark green with golden toads decorating the green, and a white hem. His face is obscured by thick white sideburns and his hair covered by a large pointed hat that is the same pattern as his robes. "Judging by the fact that you are more concerned with closing the door behind you, I am assuming that you are in fact not here to kill me for whatever imagined evil deeds have been attributed to me lately. I am sure you understand that when a band of what are clearly adventurers break into one's tower, one becomes concerned about their intentions."
Your party exchanges glances. You haven't met a hostile reception, but you don't exactly trust the figure you assume is Xolair right now. Fortunately Sindri steps forward to fill the silence, flashing his rows of pointy white teeth. "Our traveling band stumbled upon an orcish encampment while exploring the Morass, and were forced to depart quickly with a warband behind us. We weren't sure we could make it all the way to the city so we thought we could take shelter in this tower." It's not exactly the truth but neither is it a lie. If Xolair notices the tension in the room, the way that everyone is ready to spring into battle at an indication of hostility he does not show it. "Orcs huh? Well I wouldn't recommend riling them up. I'm almost never bothered by orcs here. They used to sometimes ask me to arbitrate some disputes but they don't really do that anymore. I'm not really one for visitors but I suppose you can stay for a little-while, as long as you don't break anything. Oh and never ever ask me why I do things. That out of the way- Dinner?" He doesn't even wait for a response, he just turns and walks upstairs. Another series of glances are exchanged before a silent decision is made to follow. Better to keep in sight and you may as well accept hospitality.
Soon you are seated around a large lumpy, possibly breathing round "table". You are offered a muffin that appears to have been made from mushrooms, and a truly foul smelling fish bashed drink. You respectfully decline. "So why did you choose to live here? I have not been in this morass very long and I have already decided that I hate swamps." Xolair chuckles, "I am attempting to breed the largest species of toad that magic can enable. You can see my progress so far, Hubert here is tremendous and very well trained. Isn't he doing a great job at the table? Yes he is, yes he is. I think I can do better though I'm hoping for at least one the size of a large wagon, I'm just gonna keep going until I can't anymore." This revelation explains so much about the character of the table. You are about to ask why this man has devoted his life and magical talents to producing particularly large amphibians when you remember that you were advised to never ask why. Everyone keeps on polite smiles, pretending to consume the food- except Sindri who is guzzling the fish based beer. Mercifully Xolair soon excuses himself claiming he needs to return to his work and points you to a floor that was once a barracks where you can stay the night. It is not a comfortable berth, the tower is cold and slimy and the entire building rumbles with a thousand croaks at night, but it is safe. Tomorrow Emelda groans clutching her gut, she will get us an audience with the Archon.
You stand awkwardly in the reception room of Ban's Keep. You honestly have no idea who Ban was, or why the city is called Banngard or if there was a person named Ban. Frankly you had always assumed it was some weird name for the gap it guarded, but the name of the palace makes you wonder. With Emelda currently on bedrest with her sounds, Agni tending to her, and Sindri significantly hung over it has fallen to you to speak for your companions about recent events. Your feet slip slightly on the cold polished marble, and the imperious and impassive gaze of the Archon's guards are only exceeded by the busts and portraits of countless generations of previous rulers, all gazing at the interloper. Another person might be quite intimidated or daunted, but you of course mostly find it just obnoxiously austere. The Grand Dukes had excellent style, all these suits of armor and unflinching guards is just ... .boring. Eventually the Archon Militant himself arrives, and the sea of soldiers parts around him. His sabatons clank as he advances upon, clad in sable finery and with a light Vair cloak. Around his brow is a simple iron band and at his side is a ceremonial mace. It takes you some time to read the expression on his face. Eventually you realize that it is disinterest, almost boredom, an expression that you have never previously encountered facing your direction. You do not like it.
"When I deigned to grant my wayward vassal a meeting, I did not expect her to send one of her traveling companions in her place. Particularly not you, Madam Elf. I would expect from what I hear of your recent time spent in my city that the vagaries of human life do not seem particularly high priority to you. This is not your land, its people not your burden to defend. Tell me this Wryss, before you speak on what Emelda claims to have seen in the swamp. Why is it that you care about all this? Why come speak to me if Emelda could not-you hardly seem a natural courtier."
[ ] "I don't" Maybe it's not the answer he expects, maybe it is. But this means as little to you as anything else. You'll finish the adventure with this meeting but after that you haven't decided if you'll stick around. It depends on your whims.
[ ] "I'm incorrigibly curious." Oh sure you don't really care about the city or its people per se, but you've enjoyed the process of investigating more than you've enjoyed anything for a while. You still have much you don't know, hopefully you can spend more time outside of swamps, but you want to follow the clues.
[ ] "Honestly I'm just horrifically bored." It's generally not your way to admit any kind of weakness but the Archon seems to have a certain amount of the information anyways- perhaps equivocation would be unwise. Besides maybe he will have a suggestion for something more interesting you could do-something that involves far less swamps.
[ ] "Emelda was too wounded and the matter was too urgent to wait." You don't like leaving matters half-finished. An expedition without the report is only half the task. You like to complete the whole task. It's more elegant that way.
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[X] "I'm incorrigibly curious." Oh sure you don't really care about the city or its people per se, but you've enjoyed the process of investigating more than you've enjoyed anything for a while. You still have much you don't know, hopefully you can spend more time outside of swamps, but you want to follow the clues.
- Location
- Atlanta, Georgia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] "I'm incorrigibly curious." Oh sure you don't really care about the city or its people per se, but you've enjoyed the process of investigating more than you've enjoyed anything for a while. You still have much you don't know, hopefully you can spend more time outside of swamps, but you want to follow the clues.
[X] "I'm incorrigibly curious." Oh sure you don't really care about the city or its people per se, but you've enjoyed the process of investigating more than you've enjoyed anything for a while. You still have much you don't know, hopefully you can spend more time outside of swamps, but you want to follow the clues.
- Location
- Te Ika-a-Māui
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] "I'm incorrigibly curious." Oh sure you don't really care about the city or its people per se, but you've enjoyed the process of investigating more than you've enjoyed anything for a while. You still have much you don't know, hopefully you can spend more time outside of swamps, but you want to follow the clues.
Aquadragon10
The Lord of the First Flame
- Location
- Canada
[X] "Emelda was too wounded and the matter was too urgent to wait." You don't like leaving matters half-finished. An expedition without the report is only half the task. You like to complete the whole task. It's more elegant that way.
[X] "Honestly I'm just horrifically bored." It's generally not your way to admit any kind of weakness but the Archon seems to have a certain amount of the information anyways- perhaps equivocation would be unwise. Besides maybe he will have a suggestion for something more interesting you could do-something that involves far less swamps.
- Location
- United States
[X] "I'm incorrigibly curious." Oh sure you don't really care about the city or its people per se, but you've enjoyed the process of investigating more than you've enjoyed anything for a while. You still have much you don't know, hopefully you can spend more time outside of swamps, but you want to follow the clues.