Land of Salvania

  Osran, a young wizard of the Order of the Hidden Gateway, didn't mind his incarceration too much. They fed him twice a day and kept his water jug full. He had a window to look out when he was bored. It was not much worse than university. He had his spell book which the two city guards had not tried to take. Being mostly illiterate and entirely ignorant of a wizard's - even a young one's - power, the guards only took his small dagger. Osran smiled at the memory. The two jelly heads thought they were safe. No dagger, no danger. He stepped back from the window and opened his ornate leather spellbook and began meditating. "What would be fun, today?" he asked silently. He felt a familiar cool breeze flow through his mind. The book said, "We could turn the bars into licorice twists. Or maybe turn a guard's member into a limp noodle?" Osran chuckled. "You're naughty." "You know it, babe," the spellbook echoed in his mind....

Osran stood back in the crowd, trying to be inconspicuous. He watched the traveling seer, named Ivakius, perform an elaborate ceremony with a smoking bundle of sage. He wore ceremonial face paint, and he had stripped down to a thin tunic in the summer swelter. "Now, my friends, this place has been purified," Ivakius said, his voice deep and serious. "I will begin to reach into the realm of spirits, and we shall see what we may." As the seer closed his eyes and mumbled, Osran reached out with his astral thoughts, seeing the situation with the Deep Magic. He almost giggled. There was no more magic about Ivakius than a house cat. No, he was being unfair. Osran had seen some house cats with a glint of magic, and this charlatan had none at all. "I can feel a spirit that wants to speak to someone in the crowd. Has anyone lost their father?" Osran smiled as half the crowd raised their hands. Of course. Ask enough vague questions and you can steer the cr...

The wizard Osran of Sangrey City followed the bright new star with the long tail west each night. He slept during the day in a Bubble of Seclusion, which inexplicably did not work on pixies. Indeed, the pixies seemed to be drawn to the simple magic like hummingbirds to a honeysuckle. Each evening, he awoke and collapsed the bubble, now simmering with pixies glinting in and out of existence all over the surface. Usually, within a few minutes, they would scatter in rainbow light to their usual forest haunts. But not today. Today he crossed the White River, slept, and awoke before sunset as usual. But the pixies over here positively clung to him, flashing like jewels as they came and went through the ethereal realm, clinging to his clothes and hair. At first, it annoyed him, but he got used to it. It actually worked in his favor. As he walked through a town the next evening, the cloud of pixies drew a crowd. So he stepped up on the town fountain and went through his usual busking...

    "State yer business," the gatekeeper growled. Osran had no immediate answer, so he just said the first thing on his mind. Sometimes, that worked. "You are the gatekeeper?" The old man stared, his scowl deepening. "No. I'm the bloody faery princess." He thrust his flickering lamp almost into Osran's face, close enough to smell the tallow. Osran tried the truth. "I am looking for a special person. His name is Elzalore." The gatekeeper's brow furrowed. "He ain't special." Osran held up a gold coin. "Would you help me find him?" The old man took the coin and growled, "He ain't here no more. Been gone two days. Headed north on foot with a pack mule." The old man stepped back into the courtyard and slammed the gate in Osran's face. /// Copyright