Methfannar didn’t like this. Not one bit. He was not a fighter. He was hardly what one would call a productive worker. Only doing the smallest amount of work he could to get by. It was a wonder that the handful of industrious dwarves that found themselves in this village put up with him!
He was young for an elf. And very much the rebellious sort. His family tried to get him to into the tutelage of a famed Loremaster. But he didn’t have the patience. Before he even turned the obscenely young age of 30, he ran away and ventured to the human lands.
And despite the occasional war, it’s been a good life. At first, with his natural talent with with a bow, he hired himself out as a scout. But he had one too many run ins with things that shot, stabbed, or even bit back for his liking. So he quickly learned to depend on his silver tongue and wits, usually playing on his “exotic” elven nature to con some fool out of a few coins.
Unfortunately, he eventually found himself in the village of Untergard. There times were lean and even the fools had their purses sewn shut.
Methfannar thought about leaving, but considering their were roving bands of mutants out there that were the scouts of a nearby Chaos warhost, he opted not too. Instead he allied himself with the most unlikely of allies… the dwarves. A race known for being hard workers. Even their laziest sort put any honest working human or elf to shame.
So he soon found himself once again putting his neck on the line fighting these beasts off in a huge battle that lasted nearly a ten day. He survived, though his dwarven employer, Durak Thunderstone, did not. So for the last few days he’s hung around with the dwarves that remained when the Imperial army moved on.
And he was quite fine with that until now. Today once again trouble reared its ugly head. During a impromptu celebration of bread and wine, a mysterious shot rang out and handful of mutants swarm across the bridge towards the revelers!
Not having any desire to party with the mutants for obvious reasons, the would be revelers ran off. Instinctively Methfannar pulled his bow struck one mutant solid in the chest.
In hindsight, Methfannar knew he should of just ran. Afterall, he was no longer getting paid to protect the town. But you know what they say about hindsight, “If only Morai-heg would share her pouch.”
But he couldn’t very well run now. Instead, at the thick of the battle, and for some Asuryan forsaken reason, he found himself pulling his sword to try and vainly pry some mutants off of one of his dwarven drinking buddies.
He barely even tickled the mutant and he nearly lost an arm for his efforts.
But fate had a different plan for him. As he laid there bleeding and praying that he wouldn’t come back in his next life as some crazy halfling, he had a vision.
In this vision he was in an impossibly huge library. There were shelves of books so tall and wide that he could see no end. And on these shelves were books with names written in never before seen languages. Books that emitted an aura of power.
Suddenly he heard a cough as if someone was trying to get his attention. Not of his own free will, he suddenly found himself spin around. And behind him, where there was nothing before, was a desk. And sitting at the desk was an ancient elf. And though he had never seen this visage before, he knew instantly that this elf could be none other than Hoeth, God of Elven Knowledge, Learning, and Magic!
Hoeth finish reading a page and then looked up at him with a grimace. He was not happy.
“How dare you ignore you’re calling!”
Methfannar didn’t know what to say. Not that it mattered because he somehow knew he could not talk.
“I gave you gifts to wield magic and an easy path to learn under the greatest of Loremasters and you foolishly throw it aside!”
Suddenly Methfannar found himself pulled toward Hoeth so that he was face to face with him in an iron like grip!
Hoeth then continued “This will not stand! You WILL pursue the path of magic! You WILL learn it’s ways! And you WILL learn it fast! I have a destiny for you and the clock is ticking!’
Hoeth than relaxed his grip.
“In the meantime help the villagers of Untergard. If anyone needs your help, it is they. Now wake up.. come on boy… wake up… come on you long eared…”
His vision blurred and for a moment it sounded as if Hoeth’s voice was becoming more feminine, albeit grainy. And Hoeth seemed to have suddenly developed a serious case of halitosis.
But then his vision cleared and he saw himself staring up at the kindly face of the elderly village wisewoman.
Was his vision just a delusion brought on by blood loss? Or was it a real message from Hoeth? Or was some trick of the mutant blood that was currently mixing with his on the ground? Methfannar did not know. But he figured, that he could not take chances. He was going to have to become a mage!
Trouble was, he had not a clue how!