The Journey

“Archmage Khalib, Master, the captain says we’ll see land soon. We should arrive within a day.” the boy reported.

“Thank you Jahwu.” his master nodded. 

The man stood on the boat’s prow and faced the sea, a tall and proud figure with a strong build, dressed in pure white robes with blue and golden details, which contrasted and accentuated his mahogany skin tone. He wore a small amount of jewelry, some rings, piercings, and a necklace. They were small and understated, merely tasteful accents of his wardrobe, but made from pure gold, finely crafted and engraved by particularly skilled artisans. Any piece of his wardrobe was worth a small fortune. His clothes and posture easily identified him as someone of high rank. 

The boy was almost the diametrical opposite: medium height for his age, but lanky, dressed in a plain and baggy grey robe, well maintained and cared for, but whereas his master’s bright clothes accentuated his confident and bold stance, the boy seemed to hide his chestnut skin in the grey fabric, making it clear he preferred to not be the center of attention. He wore no jewelry but a small pendant, hidden deep in his robes, that identified him as his master’s student.

Even without looking away from the sea, the master could notice the apprentice’s hesitation.

  “Speak Jahwu. What is on your mind?” 

“What is the purpose of this trip, Master? It is… Unusual, for you to offer no reason or explanation.” the boy inquired while fiddling in his pockets with some coins, a ritual he used to help himself focus.

The man smiled to himself.

“Ah dear apprentice, but, if you recall, I have told you why we are here.” the master replied. “We are here to answer your question.”

“Which question, master…?” he knew there was a purpose to his master’s prodding, Khalib seldom did something with no purpose, and Jahwu admired his master greatly, but he had to admit to himself he did sometimes grow tired of the archmage’s indirectness.

“About the tournaments. I know you’ve been researching. Asking questions.”

Jahwu could feel his cheeks burn red. 

“Master… I… I was… I mean…” he bumbled. 

The archmage laughed gently and waved him off. 

“Jahwu, boy, when have I ever punished you for curiosity?”

Somehow, this had made his apprentice more embarrassed.

“Relax Jahwu. I told you, we are here to answer your question.” the master waved his pupil forward to stand by his side, and the boy abided. “It is not the first time I have seen these waters or made this trip. I too was once infected by the same curiosity. Searched for the same answers.” he smiled, and the boy realized that what his master was staring at wasn’t the sea they were seeing, but the one he had seen years earlier. “No Jahwu, I do not punish curiosity. But, I do think it should at times be guided. I will not stop you from seeking The Tournaments as I once did, but I will offer you some…  context, if you will. Some guidance. And then, you may do as you wish.”

The boy nodded, grateful. He considered himself very lucky to have a master like The Archmage Khalib. Someone of formidable magical skill, and wise enough to be in The Council of Nine back in Enuma, the king’s personal advisors.

He knew better than to ask when they were starting. 

Knowing his master, they already had. 

*

“Our first stop.” the Archmage had said as they stepped out of the carriage. They had hitched a ride with a trade caravan, but after only a couple of days they bid them farewell. It was late in the afternoon, and the sun was setting when they came to a rest. 

“This town?” the boy looked around while offloading the few bags they carried. “It’s… quaint?” he said as the archmage paid and thanked the caravan runners. They traveled light, with little more than the essentials.

“Yes. Gramshire.” his tutor said while grabbing his own bag. “Specifically, their Grand Library.” he pointed towards the very large building at the town’s center. “But first, we’ll need a place to stay.”

They traveled in silence towards an inn. To Jahwu’s slight frustration his master seemed in no hurry, taking his time to take in the view: If Enuma was a sprawling capital of the southern continent, this place was a comparatively modest town. Not exactly provincial, it had cobblestone streets, buildings with multiple floors, and even a small handful of neatly decorated plazas, after more modern fashions. A lot of effort obviously went into the town’s presentation. But you could see the entire town in a day. Even on their short walk to the inn, Jahwu could see how the whole town was arranged:

The Grand Library at the center. A circular building with an admittedly grandiose architecture and stature, even by more absolute standards. In comparison to the rest of the town it was titanic. It acted as the town’s core, with rings of streets spawning around it.

First, from the inside, were a couple of streets obviously dedicated to commerce. Shops, restaurants and inns of all kinds, and their current destination. A few performers stood outside, either hoping to earn themselves some coin with their entertainment, or advertising their establishment. The night was still alive and well here, with all manners of torches and lights keeping the dark at bay, and roaring voices making it clear the day was far from over for many here.

On the outer streets was the residential area, along with a handful of public service buildings, such as a soldier’s barracks, very obviously intentionally placed within direct eyeshot of the main street, making it clear that while the town was open and friendly, they also had means to deal with undesirable behaviour. Less colourful and raucous, more drab and quiet, with a few sparse decorations. A functional place, intended for rest. They did not have to walk long until they reached their destination: The Dragon’s Hoard.

As they walked through the door, a plump and bald middle aged man looked up from a counter, obviously ready to run them through the motions, but immediately stopped, noticing their dark skin and strange clothes.

“[Aw, you’re one of them southern folks. Shame. You look like a nice sort. And good business…]” he said, recognizing Khalib’s jewelry as expensive. He seemed happy talking to himself, trying to mimic towards his mouth and ears, pointing them next door. “[Unfortunately I don’t speak a lick o’ yer tongue! Not a word I’m afraid. Can’t really host ya correctly if I can’t tell ya nothin’…]” 

“[It is fortunate for you then friend, that I speak yours.]” responded Khalib politely.

The old man startled with genuine surprise. Jahwu found himself surprised as well, and then surprised by his own surprise: of course his master could speak Northern Common.

“[Oi! That's a pretty good Common you got there sir! Startled old Gill you did! Never seen one of ya darker folks speak it!]” The man seemed apologetic and even slightly embarrassed. “[My apologies sir, didn’t mean nothin’ by it. We don’t get many of you southerners stoppin’ in our little town you see.]” he bowed his head to them contritely.

“What is he saying…?” whispered Jahwu. Khalib simply touched his shoulder, which the boy correctly interpreted as “I’ll tell you later”.

“[No need to apologise. No offense taken friend!] Khalib smiled and waved the man’s worries.

“[Thank you kindly sir! Much too kind on ol’ Gill! Anyways then! To business!]” the man seemed to find his footing quickly again now that they were back on script. “[Welcome to The Dragon’s Hoard! We’ve got good beds, better drinks and some o’ the best stew in Gramshire! How can I help you?”]

“[A room then, for two nights, if you’d please. One room with two beds. Or two rooms. Whatever you have available. And some of that stew sounds quite nice.]” replied Khalib.

“[I have just the room sir! Quite nice. Two beds. Not very large, but comfortable! Or my name ain’t ol’ Gill! Will yous be having the stew in the common hall, or in your room? And May I interest yous road wary folks in a bath?]”

“[A bath sounds excellent too. But we’ll eat first. We’ll come down.]”

Gill nodded to himself making some mental calculations. He was right, they were good business.

“[Very well. Anything else I can do for you, before I show you the room?]” Gill offered.

“[Yes, actually. The Grand Library. It is still open during the night?]”

“[Of course sir! Pride of our town it is! Open all day, every day! The day the library closes you can close the whole town!]”

“[Excellent! Rooms then, if you’d please! And then food! We are tired, and hungry!]”

*

Much to Jahwu’s surprise, and slight exasperation, they spent most of the next day walking around town, casually sightseeing, only heading towards the library after lunch, stopping right outside its gates. 

“The Grand Library of Gramshire.” said the master. “Did you know, Jahwu, that once this whole town was little more than a patch of dirt in the middle of nowhere?”

Jahwu found it easy to believe.

“This little town… It was far enough from the coast, with no natural attractions, and opposite of the way that most trade caravans went in their more established routes… They were struggling to survive. And yet. They decided to carve their own place in these lands.”

Jahwu listened intently. Was this a lesson? Was this related to The Tournaments?

“They decided to build a library. Why a library? I do not know. But they saw knowledge as their salvation. And save them it did. The Grand Library… It is not the greatest library in the world. But it is important enough to draw people in. Enough people to justify some trade caravans stopping by. And the more people are drawn in, the more money the town gets. The town then funnels some of that money to the library, making it grander, more important, drawing more people… and so on. And slowly, the town thrives and grows.”

“Master… what is your point?” the apprentice asked.

“Merely a bit of history before we go in. About how knowledge, and a smart if unexpected move, saved this town. But now, what we’re here for.” the master smiled and walked in with his excited pupil in tow.

As they walked in and the scale of the place hit the young man, he braced himself for a long time of digging through endless volumes and arcane papers. While most young men would balk at the idea of spending hours or days reading ancient scrolls, Jahwu was positively excited at the prospect of immersing himself digging into endless lore, and the little secrets and knowledge treasures he might find… And therefore was more than slightly disappointed when his master simply walked to the reception and picked up a small volume after a short conversation with the lady sitting there.

“I sent word last night. If you know what you’re looking for you can just ask them, and they’ll find it for you. Very practical!” said the archmage triumphantly, handling Jahwu the book as they walked to one of the many available study rooms around the place.

“Alliadore’s… Jo-...Journal…54?” guessed Jahwu. “I can’t read Northern Common master.” 

“Correct nonetheless. Alliadore was a noble who lived many lifetimes ago. His journal was my first source on The Tournaments. And you should learn Northern Common if you wish to travel the world and join The Tournaments.” said Khalib. “But, for this journey, I’ll be your translator. Sit.”

The boy sat as his master opened the journal on a marked page and started reading.

“...The Tournament of Mages! Or ‘The Tournaments’ as they are often referred to. No one knows exactly who started them, or why. Both facts seem to have been forgotten by time, and no one seems to have met a single soul related to running them. Many claim to, of course, like any other such unknown there will always be imitators and fraudsters ready to falsely claim authorship, but such claims often fall immediately under the slightest scrutiny. 

No, despite being a massively important event for some of the wisest, most powerful, and resourceful people alive, and having been so for generations, The Tournaments manage the seemingly impossible feats of both staying a relatively secret ordeal, and of keeping their author anonymous. For that alone I’m inclined to believe their authors are powerful beyond our wildest understanding, which lends credibility to many of the claims around it.

I, The Great Alliadore, have become obsessed with joining them! I do not care much about the power they claim to offer, but am instead enamored with the mystery! Imagine, a secret set of tournaments since time immemorial! And I had never heard of them until recently, and even then only by chance! I admit I am a second rate mage, certainly compared to some of the greats like Kismaine or Dhalia the Black Rose, but I am a first rate adventurer and explorer, second to none! That such a mystery lay beneath my very nose my entire life is… Extraordinary! 

  Alas, finding concrete information about where and when to enter these tournaments is even harder than finding out they exist! Here’s what I have learned so far:

The tournaments are real. No doubt there. 

You must perform a small ritual to enter. A relatively simple one, but very demanding of your mana and casting ability. This seems to double as both a way for the tournament holders to track you and to act as a filter for weaker mages. I admit, I do not know if I’m capable enough as a mage to perform it. We will find out soon enough!

There is only one winner. And the prize seems to be access to some nearly unlimited source of knowledge.

I am meeting with a promising contact in a month. I hope to learn more then, and thus I’ll regale you all with my findings soon!”

“...And? What next?” interjected Jahwu after Khalib was silent for a little too long.

“Nothing.” replied Khalib as he closed the small book. “That was the last journal Alliadore ever sent back to his publisher. No one knows why. Maybe his contact was not so promising after all. Or maybe he met an unfortunate end. Maybe he did get to enter the tournaments and lost. Or maybe he won. Or maybe, even, he simply decided to walk away from it all one day.” he shrugged. “As I said, this journal is older than even this town. But it’s the first concrete piece of information I found about the tournaments.”

“That… wasn't much…” confessed the boy, unable to hide his disappointment.

“True… but, it does tell us two other important things.” hinted the master. “Care to guess?”

Jahwu pondered for a few moments before trying to guess at his master’s riddle.

“Hmm… Well, I think I got one of them: You have made sure to point out this text is old. Very old. Older than this place even, so we must be talking hundreds if not thousands of years… and yet, they refer to the tournaments themselves in much the same way… So the origins of the tournaments… They are ancient.” the boy looked towards his master for approval.

“Correct!” Khalib smiled proudly and nodded. “...and the other thing?” he prodded.

The boy considered for a while longer before admitting defeat.

“I have no idea. That Alliadore is dead? That mages like knowledge…?” he shrugged.

“Ah! All likely correct, but no. That whatever powers that be that run them wants them to remain somewhat of a secret, how else would you explain them not being more famous after existing for so long… but not too much of a secret! You see, they clearly want strong mages to join, they even seem to test if they're strong enough… so, if they can control things enough that people don't talk about it more…” 

“...then it must mean they also make sure some information exists!” replied the student. 

Khalib nodded approvingly.

“Yes. And now put those two together.” suggested the master.

“So information exists, but seems to be somewhat manipulated at least, kept a partial secret… one that wants to be found by the right people…” the boy's mind was working hard putting all the pieces together. Khalib crossed his arms quietly and enjoyed not interrupting his student. “So… so that means… most information, will either be found in somewhat recent or even living sources, probably in places a strong mage would be expected… or, anything else will be accidental or ancient history…” he finished his reasoning by once more staring at his teacher for confirmation.

“Very good Jahwu! Correct on all  counts.” he said, before waving theatrically around himself. “And, my dear student, where are we right now…?”

“The Grand Library of G-...” the boy stopped suddenly, shocked by how obvious it was now that he knew what to look for.

“...The biggest repository of knowledge and research for many days around.” completed his master. “Yes Jahwu, I do not think Alliadore found the tournaments by accident. Nor do I believe his journals made their way here by chance. It’s enough to make you wonder about this town’s very nature…”

They shared a look that made it clear they were both having the same thought: Why would anyone think to build a library here, in the middle of nowhere?

*

“Master Khalib, why did we come back to this town?” asked the apprentice as they walked the same port town streets they had first landed in a few days earlier.  

“Because, my dear apprentice, private coaches are very convenient, but also very expensive.” replied his mentor. “We couldn’t really wait for another caravan that happened to go our way, those are not very frequent in Gramshire, which is why they have a thriving coach rental business. And those businesses are why they don’t sell or rent horses. But taking a private coach towards our next destination would cost a small fortune. So we travel back here. Short trip, and port towns have a lot of trade-related traffic so there are plenty of caravans to join.”

“And… What is our next destination…?” asked the boy.

The Archmage smiled while casually sight seeing the many stalls around the town’s commercial district.

“What about we turn this into a game?” he said, and Jahwu resisted sighing. “With what you know already, see if you can guess our destination before we get there? Come now. Don’t give me that look!” Khalib said casually without even looking towards the face he knew his student was putting on. “A little harmless fun for me, and a small test for you. Not like it changes anything for you to know where we’re going. A little challenge for you.”

Jahwu sighed out loud and shrugged theatrically. 

“As you wish, master, but don’t blame me if your entertainment is short lived.” the boy replied, allowing himself a small smile. He had to admit a good puzzle did sound entertaining. “But then…” the boy interjected. “I’d like to make a request, if you’d please Master.”

“Oh? Go on.” Khalib turned to give him his full attention. It wasn’t often the boy made requests.

“I would like you to teach me Northern Common while we travel. You were right. I should learn it, and what better time? I have a great teacher, and I should not lack chances to practice while we are here.”

“It would be my pleasure!” Khalib bowed and laughed. “But don’t think this buys you time away from your normal practice. Here’s your first hint: You’ll have plenty of time to study before we get to our next destination.”

*

“[Teacher. I know… where we… arriving!]” the boy half stammered. 

“[Oh? Look at him Khal!!]” joyfully interjected a large and bearded man they were sharing the coach with, energetically gesticulating towards the boy. The man was large in every sense of the word. Taller than Khalib by a noticeable margin, and more than twice as wide, with a long brown, neatly braided, beard, a dark brown and red suit and thick gold jewelry. He was loud, borderline raucous, but extraordinarily polite and disarmingly friendly. He spoke as much with his hands as he did with his mouth, pointing, gesticulating, holding… He seemed like a man who had set out to enjoy everything in life to its fullest, and was well on his way to accomplishing such a goal. 

“[‘Where we are going’, Jahwu.]” replied the master looking up from his book with a smile. Jahwu was one constant surprise after the other. “[But you are right Master Gila. His progress is most impressive. I am blessed with a hard working and gifted apprentice.]”

Khalib caught Jahwu blushing slightly and looking away embarrassed. Yes, you can understand that much already.

“[Indeed! We been travelin’ for what now? Two weeks? And I swear the boy didn’t speak a word of Common when we started!]” the large man roared happily, before taking a sip from his mug - he always seemed to be eating or drinking something, usually something expensive looking, and was always keen to share. “[And please, Khal, just Gila! No need for Masters. We’re all friends here aye?]” he clearly had already decided so. “[Besides, I’m just a humble banker Khal. You don’t flaunt it, but if I’m not much mistaken you’re far more important than me. At least… where you’re from.]” he smiled keenly before taking another swig of his drink. “[I can tell. Part o’ the job to read people, you see.]” he smacked his lips tasting his drink again. “[Exquisite. Seriously Khal, are you sure I can’t get either of you some? It is a fantastic cask I just opened, older than the boy, I reckon, and I do enjoy drinking more with company.]”

Khalib glanced with amusement at Jahwu, who was clearly struggling to follow the man’s lively and slightly accented speech. Another week, I think, and you’ll manage boy…

“[Apologies Gila. My own culture is a little more formal, so don’t take it as a slight against you. For example, I have long stopped telling my student he may refer to me by name...]”

“[Ahhhah! I see, I see! No offense taken Khal. And what about that drink?”] bellowed Gila.

“[Very well mas-... Very well Gila.]” he stopped himself, Gila laughing and nodding approvingly. “[But first, something I must discuss with my student?]”

“[Of course! I’ll get your drink ready meanwhile. It tastes better if you let it rest a little first, you see.]” with this Gila started moving his immense mass with practiced precision, grabbing a wooden flagon with one hand while fetching an extra mug from one of his many travel bags with the other. Everything about the man seemed neat and tidy, from his perfectly kept suit to his carefully braided beard and manicured hands, but he treated food and drink with exceptional care. The way he poured his drink was beyond professional, and more akin to reverential.

Khalib found the man absolutely fascinating, along with his wife, a similarly tall but slender woman who, somehow, was still asleep despite her husband’s thunderous conversation and seismic motions that could sometimes rock the whole carriage. 

“Anyways…” the master turned his attention back to his pupil. “Jahwu, you said you know where we’re going?”

The boy smiled. A rare sight.

“Yes Master. With 2 weeks to spare.”

“Go on.” the teacher encouraged.

“I was hoping to figure it out before, but I had to wait until we had cleared that last intersection towards… what was it called again?” 

“Ravenholm.”

“Yes. If we are not going to Ravenholm, the only other place it could be is Messegrah.”

“And why is that?” Khalib inquired, lounging in his seat.

“You said it yourself Khalib…” he stressed his master’s name, implying he had been following along better than his master had expected. Khalib grinned proudly. “...Other than by random luck, we will find more information about our objective, where you would expect great mages to go naturally, yes? Well… I’ve been doing some reading…” the boy searched his pile of discarded books and pulled out a book of local history - written in Common. For the briefest moment Khalib could see the smallest hint of smugness in his student as he opened the book and flipped to a marked page. “... And two names stick out outside of the capital, which we don’t seem to be heading towards: Ravenholm and Messegrah.

  Ravenholm is an islet on the west coast known for a lot of Ravens, which is where the name comes from I believe, and… apparently crabs…?” he shrugged. “It seems an uncommon amount of well regarded mages come from there given the size of the town. No one seems to know why, but legend says the local crab-based diet, has something to do with it.

Messegrah is a bigger town, more central. Used to be a small town, then, at some point a long time ago, was razed to the ground during some war. When they rebuilt it, they built an academy for mages too. Brand new, at the time, apparently quite well funded. And it still stands today. One of the pillars of the city.” he closed the book and faced his tutor expectantly. “Outside of the capital, it has probably the biggest concentration of mages around. If there is a place where these tournaments would want to ‘recruit’ entrants, it would be there.”

Khalib touched a clenched fist twice to his chest, Enuma’s version of a proud salute. 

“Correct Jahwu, and in Messegrah we will find our next clue.”

*

“[Once again Gila, Ethel, our thanks for this delicious feast! This dinner is fit for kings!]” said Khalib. 

The caravan had stopped for the night, and, as usual, Gila had invited them to share his dinner. At a hand gesture from Gila a couple of retainers, as polite as they were skilled, would quickly bring in a small table and a feast that would satisfy even the most critical of nobles.

“[Oh say nothing of it Khal!]” thundered back the giant. “[Good food. Good drink. Good company. Good stories. Very few things better in life my friends!]”

“[My dear Gila is right. You have more than repaid us with your wonderful stories.]” added his wife. She was as good natured and warm as her husband, if significantly less exuberant.

In many ways, Ethel and Gila seemed like the opposite sides of the same coin. Both were taller than your average person, but whereas Gila was wide and bulky, in both muscle and fat, Ethel was lean and willowy. Both were warm and friendly, but while Gila was loud and boisterous, Ethel was soft and restrained. Where Gila favored darker clothes with stronger contrasts, like his brown and red suit, Ethel seemed more keen on lighter clothes with more muted patterns.

“[You are… very kind, Master Gila. Miss… Misstress? Ethel? You-... I am most grateful, for this special food.]” said Jahwu. Khalib noted how his Common had improved immensely in just one week. 

“[My boy, watching you learn our language so quickly is worth it ten times!]” roared the giant. “[And I’ll let the ‘Master’ thing slide, only because I know you’re still learning!] he said jokingly.

Khalib noted he spoke a little more clearly and slowly towards the boy. These are good people indeed, he thought. He had been politely resistant to Gila’s hospitality at first, he knew all too well how often such a thing could be charged for afterwards, but as he spent time observing the couple he realized no such a levy would ever be requested - Gila and Ethel Bodum would regularly offer their kindness, material or otherwise, to others in the caravan. Afterwards he started accepting Gila’s invites, which seemed to delight the couple to no end.

“[Say, Khal, would you be so kind as to tell us that story you teased the other night? The one about meeting the Premier of Kôr?]” asked the woman while casually fiddling with her white hair. “[We haven’t gotten around to that part of the world, you see?]”

“[Not so far at least dear!]” remarked the man. “[But, you know, we can a-... What in the world?!]” Gila’s speech was abruptly cut off by some loud commotion outside, drawing them to look out the window.

A band of armed man, at least a dozen, stood on a hill, with weapons and torches drawn, while one of the members, presumably their leader, approached the caravan. As he drew closer the camp became eerily quiet.

“Raiders…” said Jahwu, with as much disgust as he could muster. The boy’s fists were clenched as he reached for his pockets. He was ready to fight. But Khalib would not let it come down to that. Not tonight.

“[Well. I guess it’s my time to pay for your lovely hospitality.]” said Khalib calmly. With a quick motion he flicked out his arm, and chained rings dropped out of their hiding place in his sleeve. He slid them into his right hand with a smooth practiced motion, and started to get up from his seat when a giant hand shot out in front of an unrecognizably serious face and stopped him.

“[No Khal. My apologies. But you are my guests, and this is our land. I will deal with this.]” 

In the short time Khalib had known Gila Bodum he could not imagine him capable of not smiling, let alone of any violence. Yet the man that now spoke to him was not the same gentle giant he had known for almost three weeks. This man had the cold and emotionless edge of a cleaver. 

“[Will you be needing your gear, dear? Or my assistance?]” said Ethel calmly.

“[No thank you love. Take care of our guests while I handle this please.]” he said as he exited their coach. 

Even his movements were different. Gone were the big, sweeping, motions and energetic gesticulating. Gila now moved precisely and efficiently, as if conserving energy had become a priority. With his warmth gone, his titanic stature, in both height and girth, had gone from impressive to downright threatening.

In a few enormous footsteps he was standing between the coaches and the raider leader a few paces away.

“[You look like someone who doesn't want to get hurt.]” shouted the raider. Khalib could barely make out his voice. “[You know how this goes? Give us your cargo and you can go. We’ll leave you enough food and water to make it to the next town. Fight and we’ll kill you all and take your stuff after.]” he sounded almost bored.

“[You are interrupting my dinner. And disturbing my guests and the nice people in this caravan. Leave now and I’ll let you keep your lives.]” Gila’s deep bass voice booming across the field.

The raider seemed insulted at this, raising a sword at Gila and shouting something they couldn’t hear. One of the raiders shot an arrow, which embedded itself on Gila’s chest, causing concerned shouts from the onlookers. 

If Gila noticed the arrow, he failed to acknowledge it in any way, but they heard his reply loud and clear.

“[Very well. You’ve been given mercy, and chose against it.]” 

The giant snapped his massive fingers loudly, the sound like a small explosion, and the camp burst into action.

Two coaches at the edges of the camp instantly dropped their covers and spewed out no less than two dozen guards, among them at least three mages Khalib and Jawhu could see. In a moment, four armored horseman bearing shields and lancers sprinted off, circling widely around the camp, while a group of shielded soldiers moved to charge in from the front. Arrows and lightning flew towards the raiders, dropping several of them dead on the spot.

The dumbfounded raider leader charged instinctively at Gila, only to be instantly dropped by the a colossal fist. He did not get up again.

Gila turned and walked back calmly as his soldiers quickly massacred the startled raiders in the background. They panicked and tried to run, but to no avail, Gila’s lancers were already upon them, encircling the group and cutting off their escape. Arrows, magic and lances culled their numbers and herded them in place while the shielded units moved in like a wall.

Most were dead before the banker made it back to his coach, where one of his retainers raced to meet him.

“[Tell the captain that was beautifully executed, and to kindly clean up when they’re done. And please, make sure the other passengers are well when you have a chance, yes? Thank you.]” they overheard him say, his jovial mood returned, before thoughtlessly ripping the arrow out of his chest and climbing back onto his seat.

“[Apologies my friends. Unpleasant business is, sometimes, necessary.]” he said, utterly ignoring the blood pouring from his wound. [“Apparently they heard we were carrying precious cargo and wanted an easy payday. They were right about the cargo at least, I suppose.”]

“[Master Gila! You're wounded!] pointed out Jahwu with an urgency he was shocked to see nobody else seemed to share as he ruffled through their items for bandages.

“[Oh this, dear boy?]” scoffed the banker. “[Not to worry. Some fights aren’t decided by how hard you hit, but by how hard you can get hit. This is nothing dear boy.]” 

Ethel, who had barely paid the whole ordeal any mind, casually laid one hand on his chest. Both Khalib and Jahwu could feel the mana flowing and shifting before they saw her healing spell repair her husband’s chest.

“[Thank you dear.]” he said, taking her hand in his and kissing it lovingly, his big smile and energetic mannerisms returning, if ever so slightly less loud. “[Anyways, gentlemen, if that hasn’t ruined your appetite, shall we?]”

*

It had been an uneventful week since the raider attack. Jawhu studied his magic and language almost exclusively, while the Bodums and Khalib shared stories and friendly conversation.

They arrived at Messegrah early in the morning.

“Khal, Jah, it has been an absolute pleasure!” said Ethel while her husband discussed operations with their many retainers. “Please, say you’ll visit if you have the chance? If you lose our address you can find my dear husband at the central bank.”

“We would love to. Yours and your husband’s hospitality has been truly something special.” replied Khalib pleasantly, and was surprised to realize how much he would miss these people he had traveled with for a little over a month. “But first, we must attend to our business at the academy here.”

“Oh? The academy?” exclaimed Ethel happily. “Well, then I guess we’ll be seeing each other again really soon!” 

Khalib and Jawhu shared a look. Ethel had been fairly sparse regarding her own background, but neither had given it much thought given her husband’s propensity to accidentally dominate any conversation. 

“Oh, did I not mention…?” she inquired with genuine surprise. “My work is at the local mage academy. Among other things I teach there.”

“Ahah! Ever the modest woman. And you should see her run a class!” boomed Gila, joining the conversation as he wrapped an arm around his wife. “But please. Khal, Jah… You’ll visit when possible, surely?”

Khalib beat his chest twice with a clenched fist, with Jahwu following suit. The Bodums looked in silent confusion.

“In Enuma, that move has two meanings: that you are proud of someone, or that they are close to you.” explained Khalib.

“Someone who makes your heart beat.” added Jawhu, who was now only a few short steps below fluent in Northern Common. His exposure to Gila’s never ending chatter along with his master’s tutoring and his own dedication had reaped dividends. “It means you are important to us. We will see each other again.”

Gila smiled proudly, seemingly close to tears, as he beat a fist like an anvil twice on a chest like a war drum.

“Likewise my friends. Likewise. But for now: farewell, wherever your journey takes you!” boomed the giant.

They finished bidding their goodbyes before Khalib guided Jahwu towards one of the city’s inns.

After a few minutes Khalib stopped so suddenly that even Jahwu was startled.  

“...Master?”

“Ethel.”

“...what?”

“Ethel! White hair. Quite tall for a woman, but slight and slender. Brown eyes. A scar on her left cheek. Stationed at the Messegrah academy…?” Khalib looked at Jahwu as if challenging him to finish the sentence.

“...I don’t understand ma-... Oh.” the boy was silent for a second considering the implications. “…Ethel… Ethel, the Purifier…” 

Khalib nodded, and silently they realized the raiders had actually been lucky that night.

 *

Ethel smiled pleasantly from across the table in her formal black and orange Headmistress attire, in her office, at The Messegrah Academy of Magical Arts. 

“Well, this certainly explains a lot… Mr. Councillor.” she offered humorously waving his letter.

“Likewise, Madam Headmistress.” returned Khalib. 

Despite everything from knowing Ethel to be extraordinarily welcoming and jovial, to knowing his own rank as a king’s councillor, ambassador, and archmage was at least equal, if not higher, than her own, Khalib couldn’t help but feel ever so slightly… Overshadowed. 

There’s something unique to sitting across the table at the headmistress’ own office that can always make you feel like a small child again, thought the Archmage to himself with amusement. 

Jahwu, paradoxically, seemed more curious than anything. After Ethel’s emphatic encouragement, he seemed far too entranced exploring some of the books and fidgeting with the curiosities in her office. Khalib remarked to himself how the usually shy and reserved Jahwu had grown surprisingly comfortable around Ethel and Gila during their trip. Like a cat, he seems to have adopted them, he thought.

“Well Khal, my apologies for not having read your letter before, but as you well know, I’ve been away on business.” Ethel stated, looking over his letter on more time. 

“Not at all! And my apologies for addressing my letter to the old Headmaster… I was not aware the leadership had changed.” 

“Ah, yes, Master Drogg decided to retire a few years ago.” offered the new headmistress. “And, to be entirely honest Khal, I wasn’t looking to take the job…” Ethel said conspiratorially. “...I travel a lot with my husband, which means work piles up while I’m gone.” she pointedly looked to a sizeable pile of paperwork with an aggressively blank expression for a few moments.  “But… you know.” she shrugged, as if that was all the explanation that was necessary.

Khalib figured that, despite her terrifying fame on the battlefield, Ethel was the kind of person that had significantly more trouble saying no to a polite request than to murdering a man.

“But anyways! What can I do for you Khal, Jah? Your letter is very polite, but, I’m assuming intentionally, avoids any real details.” said the headmistress. 

“The Tournaments.” said the Archmage simply, glancing towards Jahwu.

“...Why?” the Headmistress replied. She glanced between them, as if looking for clues in their very presence.

Khalib stayed silent, with Jahwu correctly interpreting his master’s pause as his cue.

“I wish to enter, Mistress Ethel. The tournaments.” 

“Yes, but why?” she studied him closely now. Every action. Every word. 

Jahwu stared right back. Not as a challenge, but as a steadfast defence of his resolve. 

“Because… if the rumours are true, then everything I could learn? Everything I could do? With such power? The lives I could change… It’s worth considering at least.”   

“Jahwu…” Khalib could hear the hint of tension in her voice. She was testing the boy, and he would not interrupt. “There are many who seek power with good intentions. They do say power has a way of corrupting even the kindest heart…”

Jahwu considered it for a moment, weighing her words carefully.

“With respect Mistress Ethel… That is nonsense.”

“Is it?”

He considered it again, as if double checking his own logic.

“Yes. Power isn’t a thing in itself. It is a tool. Power cannot corrupt anyone anymore than a sword can kill. Or a hammer can build a house. People that claimed to have been corrupted? That’s because they were always corrupt from the start. They claim to seek power to do good, but they seek power so they can do what they want. If they seemed good before it’s only because they could not do the wicked things they wished to. 

That’s all power does Mistress Ethel. It let’s you do what you really want.”

“And how do you know what you really want Jahwu? How many of those people were earnest about using their power, only to be met with possibilities they never even imagined. Temptations that were awakened deep inside them. Are you sure you know what lies deep in your heart?” Ethel asked. 

“I do not.” Jahwu replied instantly, much to Ethel’s surprise. “No one can know for sure what lies in their heart Mistress Ethel… But I know enough to keep checking. I know I do not want fame, or fortune. I could get them in other ways. I do not wish to be known, let alone praised. I do not wish to be written about in books, and I do not much care if I’m remembered by anyone but my friends… If I did I think I’d try to be more visible besides my master. If there is such darkness in my heart, Mistress Ethel, I cannot begin to imagine what it wants. But I trust that, if it comes to that, my master will stop me.” 

“And what is it you really want Jahwu?” she insisted.

“To make the world better. To do what is right.”

“...To fix the world?”

“No.” Jahwu shook his head, his face leaking a faint smile with a hint of sadness. “No matter how strong I become Mistress Ethel, I do not think I can fix the whole world. And it is not mine to fix. But if I can make it a little better? If I can help some people… That will be good enough.”

Ethel laughed suddenly, instantly melting the tension in the room.

“Oh dear Jah… I don’t think I could have answered it better myself!” the headmistress remarked as she got up from her seat, and with a couple of large steps, reached a shelf across the room.“I admit I’m not entirely convinced you, or anyone really, should enter the tournaments, but I’ll trust you with the decision.”

Ethel ran her hand across the many books on her shelf, before resting it in a particular volume. She whispered something before pulling the book out and handing it to Jahwu. Both other mages in the room could sense the use of mana. Magic, however subtle, had just been performed. 

“I assume this is what you wanted me to give the boy, Khal?” the headmistress glanced at Khalib. “The previous headmaster was very particular about his instructions for whom I should reveal this to.”

Jahwu took the book with a nod of thanks.

“Compendium of International Magic Orders and Groups.” read Jahwu out loud.

“That particular edition has an extra chapter. It’s what you’re looking for. Although it’s not quite as… comprehensive… as we’d like.” Ethel said. “So much about it is still unknown. The previous headmaster was more keen on researching it. I’m... Less so. More of a keeper. I have my hands full with other matters, you see. But that has all you need if you wish to enter. Read it. Please keep your notes to a minimum, and then return it before you leave.” 

Jahwu nodded and immediately started hungrily browsing through the pages.

“Have you told him? I assume you know. About this town?” Ethel asked, obviously directed at Khalib.

“No. The previous headmaster told me once he loved to tell the story himself.” replied Khalib, disrupting his own temporary vow of silence.

“Very well. Jahwu, do you know why this town is called Messegrah?”

“No.” the boy replied, looking up from his new treasure.

“Messegrah… It comes from an old version of our own language. It has been changed and mutated over the years, as words often do. It once meant ‘Mass Grave’.” she let the words hang for a moment before continuing. 

“The story goes that it used to be a small town, with a different name now lost to time. A peaceful little town, where people led normal, simple, lives. A good place to live peaceful and uneventful lives... Until war came.”

Jahwu nodded, remembering what he had read in his local guide.

“Some invading army or force. The defenders put up a good fight, but they were losing. Badly. Most were slaughtered, fighting until the very end. It looked like the town was about to fall… Until reinforcements arrived. Among them a mage who had grown up here. When they arrived and saw the massacre… their wrath was so violent, so brutal, that even their own allies were afraid. 

Maddened by rage, they painted the streets with blood. Turned the city into a funeral pyre and the invaders into kindling. They destroyed everything in their wake.

Suddenly the fight was over, and the small town was little more than a graveyard. It wasn’t until the Academy was founded, many years later, almost single handedly by an anonymous woman, that the town started to recover.

They say the man never did. That he was lost to madness forever. 

This is my last piece of advice Jahwu…” Ethel offered a faint smile. “ …More power means more opportunities. To do good, yes, but also to go down a path of no return.”

Jahwu nodded thoughtfully.

“It is a good thing that I have good guides then.” he replied. “Mistress Ethel, a question if I may?” 

“Of course!” she replied delighted.

“Apologies but… Why did you… step down?”

“Jahwu…” the archmage scolded him with a stare before Ethel’s hand came up to halt him.

“It’s ok Khal. As The Purifier, you mean? The King’s favorite assassin and executioner?”

Jahwu nodded and blushed slightly. Hearing it put so bluntly made him aware of how personal a question that might really be.

“Many think it’s because I met Gila, but they are wrong. That was just a happy coincidence. Truth is… because I was tired, Jahwu. I was tired. I decided one day that I didn’t want the second half of my life to be another bloodbath so, I… walked away. Believe me dear Jah, stepping away from everything you know and everything that you are? It’s dizzying. I was lucky enough to meet Gila quickly after. He broke my fall, as it were. But he’s not the reason I quit.”

“Is that why you ended up here? You wanted to become a builder, instead of a destroyer? Someone who guides life, instead of ending it?” summarized the young apprentice.

Ethel smiled thoughtfully, as if hearing those words had just put something into a new perspective.

“Yes… Yes, dear Jah, I suppose you could say that.”

*

“When Master Gila said he would cook for us, I did not expect him to do it himself!” noted Jahwu, adjusting himself on his horse. Unlike his master, the boy had never enjoyed riding, doing it out of necessity and not recreation. “Much less did I expect him to be that good! The Goddess’s blessing Master, I swear the royal cooks at home would ask him for notes!”

“As well they should. I’ve never heard you sing our own cooks such accolades more than a week after their meals.” The archmage laughed from his horse. “And, if I’m not mistaken Jahwu, Master Gila is a man who enjoys doing things himself.” replied Khalib. They had now switched to speaking Northern Common even in private while they wandered these lands, as requested by Jahwu’s for practice. “A great feast, from great hosts. I should like to invite them to Enuma at some point and repay their hospitality.” 

“I would much like to see them again as well Master.”

They rode on in silence again for a while. Khalib staring into the distance lost in thought, while Jahwu silently twiddled with his horse’s reins.

“Master…”

“Yes, Jahwu.”

“Where are we going now? I thought I could try to guess again, like when we were heading to Messegrah, but… I see no place on our maps that could fit. No major town or relic associated with magic, knowledge, history keeping, or anything like it. There are barely any notable places this way at all.”

“Ah, that is because you will not find our next destination on the map. Not in the same way at least.” noted the councillor. “Brotherhood’s End. Another 3 or 4 days to the north.”

Jahwu searched his bag and unfolded a map as quickly as his limited riding ability allowed. He searched for a second until he found a spot, barely marked at all, as a name on an empty plains.

“Is there a town there?”

“No.”

“Someone lives there?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Is… Are there books there?” asked the increasingly bewildered apprentice.

“No. Not unless someone lost them I suppose.”

“And… You do not mean Elnor, the town to the East?”

“No.” 

“...But…” Jahwu studied the map in confusion, stuck between his trust in his master’s guidance and his inability to find any noticeable points of interest in their destination.

“Brotherhood’s End, Jahwu. It’s our last stop.”

“And there we’ll find the last piece of information we need about entering The Tournaments?” inquired the boy.

“Dear Jahwu, you must have realized by now that this trip was never about how to enter the tournaments themselves. Messegrah had all you needed there. And besides… I could have told you that myself.” Khalib pulled up his right sleeve, and undid a ceremonial wrap around his forearm, revealing a crossed out mark - not a classic tattoo done with ink, or a scar carved into the skin, but a the magical work of mana. The tournament’s own brand.

“[Blood of the gods!]” the boy instinctually cursed in his own native language, nearly falling off his horse in surprise. The sudden instability making the beast complain about its treatment. “[You entered the tournaments!]” 

“Yes, Jahwu. I told you I once sought The Tournaments as you do now. And I found them.”

Jahwu looked at his master and his mark with a mixture of confusion and awe. 

“But… The mark is crossed out. That means… You lost? Someone defeated you? YOU?”

“Ah! Dear student, even I am not arrogant enough to imagine myself as above defeat! Although I was definitely more arrogant back then.” he paused for a moment, staring off into the distance again as they rode, seemingly lost in reminiscence once more. “Yes. I lost Jahwu. In the first battle. But no, surprisingly, nobody defeated me.” 

“...What?”

“My first opponent was a young mage. Only slightly younger than me. With incredibly strong mana, his magic was among the most powerful I’ve ever seen… But sloppy. His technique was poor, and he was inexperienced in the arts of dueling. Even if the strength of his spells was frightening, beating him was trivial. Beginner mages often make the critical mistake of doing too much… and thinking too little. He would alternate between being overly aggressive, exhausting his own mana haphazardly with offensive spells, and swinging into a completely defensive stance, letting me do as I wished. 

He might have gotten lucky and overpowered a weaker mage by sheer strength alone, but I was already an experienced duelist. He never stood a chance. 

But as you now know, thanks to our friend Ethel at the Messegrah Academy, every fight requires a winner. Death or surrender. Nothing else matters. And as I stood there, facing a beaten and broken opponent that couldn’t even stand I asked him to surrender. I had no wish to kill someone unnecessarily. I told him he could not beat me. That he had no need to throw his life away. Do you know what he did?”

“I’m guessing he did not surrender…” speculated the student.

“Correct. He refused. Tried everything he could to stand up, to gather mana to himself. A pitiful sight. And I, in my arrogance, mocked him for it.

‘And what do you think you can do in that state? Bleed over me?’ I asked him. He spat at me. Tears in his eyes and hatred in his voice. He cursed me for mocking him, and said that he would die before surrendering. Shocked, I asked him why. I was willing to spare his life. Why not surrender when he was so clearly outmatched? 

He told me he was fighting to save his family. That when he was a small child, his father committed some horrible crime. He was caught and executed, and his family was shunned as pariahs. They knew nothing of what he had done. They cursed his name. Yet their town, and everyone around them, would have nothing to do with them. They could not find work of any kind and fell into extreme poverty. Their mother had done all she could, from begging, to selling her body, to stealing… Anything to feed him and his two brothers. He had discovered early on his propensity for magic, but had no way to afford an education, even if there was an academy that would take him, which they would not.

So he taught himself, while begging and stealing what he could to survive, hoping to become a great mage one day. Big enough to overcome the shadow on his family’s name. He would die before he betrayed them.

I… Could not kill this man. I have killed before, Jahwu. And I have killed since. I do not enjoy it, but if necessary I will not shy away from it either. But this life I could not take. I was not yet in The Council, but I was a mage of some renown. And wealth. I offered to give him a job if he would surrender. But he was injured and confused, in body and mind. Desperate and lashing out, he mistook my offer for taunting. More than his pride, he thought I was mocking his family. His rage was phenomenal. Blinding. He would have burned himself out completely. Used his last breath as fuel…

…That is when I realized… I told myself I had entered the tournament to help my country. To bring its power to Enuma, but in truth, I entered the tournament for my own ego. I was young, and few could stand up to me in a duel. I wanted to become one of the great mages of legend, that the world would enshrine in history. That was not worth a man’s life.

So I did the only thing I could: I forfeited the tournament. Right there, in front of him. I shouted it out loud and showed him the broken sigil you saw on my arm. He was so shocked he stopped in his place. Still as a stone. So I offered him the job again.”

“Did he take it?” asked Jahwu with suspicion.

“You know him.” hinted Khalib. “Come now my apprentice, there are not those many pale skinned foreigners working in Enuma’s court, and even fewer that I am personally close to.”  he teased.

“Councillor Nassim then.” stated the boy with certainty. “You were his master? You mentored another one of The Council?” a hint of pride in the boy’s voice.

“Yes. Many years ago. Before you were born. And Councillor Nassim was an exceptionally astute learner. It has been many years since I considered him my apprentice. It is amazing what someone can accomplish when they don’t have to spend their days just trying to survive. In the end I did bring more power to Enuma. Councillor Nassim has been invaluable in guiding our kingdom for more than a decade. He’s been worth more than any spell.”

“I never imagined…” admitted the boy with some wonder. “...You seem almost the same age.”

“We are. But I had the benefit of an expensive and thorough education, in one of our continent’s, and dare I say the world’s, finest academies. He had to catch up. But, as I said, he was quite good at learning, and I, if I may brag a little, am not all too bad at teaching!”

The boy did not contradict him, and Khalib understood his silence, and the faintest trace of a smile, as the tacit endorsement it was.

“Anyway, that was not the point of my story.” he turned and locked eyes with his apprentice, challenging him to complete the thought.

Jahwu pondered for a moment.

“The ends don’t always justify the means? And that sometimes, if you pay attention, you can get what you need, even if it’s not what you wanted?”

Khalib looked forward with a smile and nodded. 

“Very well, my dear apprentice.”

*

“What is this place? What happened here?” Jahwu asked in awe.

They had arrived at dusk, staring across a field as strange as it was beautiful. The land here had been cracked and warped into a crater. Blue flowers proliferated inside the hollow, emitting a soft blue glow that contrasted with the faint orange light of dusk. At the center of the bowl stood a statue of a man and a woman embracing each other fraternally.

“Brotherhood’s end. So named because of that statue.” stated Khalib. “What can you tell me about this place at a glance, my dear apprentice?”

“Mhh… Whatever happened to the ground was a long time ago. Very long. Enough that the land had time to heal. Otherwise we would see no vegetation or flowers. But everything else around here is flat, and nature abhors such singularity - whatever weather caused the rest of the land to be flat, would have been working to flatten this as well… So this crater… It had to have been immense when it was made. Whatever power caused it had to have been amazing.” surmised Jahwu, looking at his master for confirmation.

“Very well Jahwu. Anything else?”

The boy considered for a moment playing with the loose change in his pocket.

“I do not know those flowers, but I suspect they’re a hint. They do not grow anywhere else but inside the bowl.”

Khalib nodded pleased.

“Correct once again. Rhododisyum. We would call them [Dragon’s Tongues]. They exist in the south, but are more common in the northern weather. They’re capable of feeding on mana residues, which is why they glow blue and thrive in abandoned battlefields.”

“So a spell caused this destruction.”

“Correct.”

“A fight between mages then? Wait please master.” Jahwu carefully descended the bowl, walking up to the statue, observing it carefully.

“Brotherhood’s End - Together. Forever.” shouted Jahwu from the center, reading the inscription. “A eulogy? Based on the statue a brother and a sister fought here, either each other or someone else?” he asked as his master joined him near the statue.

“Presumably yes. Like everything else we’ve been dealing with, it has happened so long ago that it is hard to separate history from myth, but would you like to hear the story?”

“Yes, master.”

Khalib sat down at the foot of the base of the sculpture, staring out into the field. Jahwu followed his lead. 

“I’ll dispense with the flourishes this time Jahwu. The story goes that two siblings were once inseparable, but, drawn by the tournament and its rewards, fought here. Not just mere flesh and blood, Jahwu, but siblings that grew up together. Lived together. Laughed and cried together. And because of the tournaments… One of them killed the other, right here. They say the winner built this statue out of guilt.

Guilt? Yeah, you should feel guilty. You killed your brother or sister. And for what? Someone this strong needed more power? A statue… Much good the statue will do to the dead sibling…” sneered the archmage, his voice dripping with scorn.

“Do you have brothers, master?” asked Jahwu.

“Had.”

“Oh.”

“Illness. Nothing that could be done about it. Still miss him to this day. The thought of killing them myself… No amount of power in the world could be worth it, Jahwu...”

They sat in silence for a while, watching dusk turn to night under a faint blue glow.

“Do you know why I took you on as an apprentice, Jahwu?” asked the master.

“No.” replied the student earnestly. “I have thought about it, but never figured it out. A personal apprenticeship with someone like you. A great mage, and one of The Nine… Few people in all of the southern continent could afford that. I certainly could not. The orphanages of Enuma provided decent lives for us, but nowhere close to such an extravagance.

At first I took it for a rich man’s fancy, but… No. You must have had a reason. You always have a reason.”

Khalib chuckled and ruffled the boy’s short hair, causing him to emit a performative annoyed grunt.

“The first time I met you was in an alley. I saw a group of children picking on a smaller child, so I moved to stop it… And that’s when you ran in.  I don’t think you saw me. You just  jumped in. No second thoughts. No hesitation. The moment you saw it, you just turned in your heels and ran. Slammed your pack right into the biggest kid’s head, kicked another one straight in the stomach, then stood between them and their target. And they ran. Like most cowards, they were looking for someone to beat up, not an actual fight.”

Jahwu blushed and looked away with some embarrassment. 

“I’m not some kind of hero, master… Just a normal person. It was the right thing to do. It’s what anyone should have done.” 

“Dear Jahwu… Heroes are often just normal people who choose to do the right thing when no one else will.”

The boy nudged him embarrassed and the man chuckled, before they both settled back into silence, watching the final moments of the sun descending and dusk turning to night. As sky light dimmed the bowl became illuminated from below, as the Dragon’s Tongues’s faint blue glow suddenly became the only source of light around.

“You do not think I should enter the tournaments.” said Jahwu after a while.

“It is not my choice to make.” replied Khalib.

 “And yet, you would rather I did not.” 

Khalib was silent for a moment, and then took his closed hand and beat his chest twice.

“[It is not about what I want, Jahwu. I did not bring you on this journey to convince you to abandon the tournament. Nor to join. I brought you here to show you possibilities. The tournament offers power and knowledge, the things most mages crave the most - whether for good or for ill. I wanted to show you what it can cost, and a gentle reminder that what we want and what we need aren’t always the same. Perspective. That is all. You can make your own choices.]”

“[Thank you master. Khalib.]” the boy said, facing the sky above him, trying to keep emotion from his face as he beat his own chest twice in a replica of his master’s earlier motion. “[I swear to you whatever choice I make, I won’t make it lightly.]”

“I know Jahwu.” the archmage said with a smile. “Now then… I do believe it’s time we head on ho-”

They both bolted up to their feet, scanning frantically around themselves. Khalib’s chained rings around his fingers, and Jahwu holding out his coins.

“[...You felt it too?]” whispered Khalib, surveying the landscape with his eyes while trying to feel any disturbance in the flow of mana around them.

“[...Yes. Someone is here…]” said Jahwu as low as he could, sweat forming suddenly around his brow and pits.

Infinitely tense moments that seemed like ages went by, until the archmage suddenly relaxed, causing Jahwu to drop some of his own tension.

“Whoever it was, Jahwu, I think they’re gone.” Khalib said, pointing at a letter neatly and clearly placed fresh on the ground in front of them.

* 

I have loaded this letter with a spell. Burn it after you’ve read it, or by tomorrow it will burn itself. Violently. You have been warned. 

Alliadore’s Journals #55

Dear readers: I found them! I can’t believe I actually found them! The Tournaments! My contact came through. As I said before: A second rate mage I may be, but as explorer I’m second to none! 

Actually, my contact led me to their contact, who led me to their contact… and so on. At the end of that chain, which felt endless might I add, I met a woman, in a dark room with no windows, in a back alley with no name, in a city the world forgot. 

She said her name was not important. That I had questions, and she had answers. I tried to find out more about her, who she was and where or how she had gotten her information - You have to check your sources! I take great pride in the integrity and veracity of these journals, you see. I needed to know I could trust her information.

Her answer had no words, and yet was the loudest and most clear answer possible: she dropped a coin she was holding, and it stopped. At first I thought she was merely levitating the thing, which I need not tell you, makes for a fun party trick but hardly going to impress a mage of any meaningful caliber.

…And then I realized we were in a different room. Surrounded by people. Who were not moving.  And just as quickly, we were back in the previous room. Coin hitting the floor loudly.

Chronomancy. Time warping magic. With a great deal of mastery too. The holy grail of magic. Generally thought of as impossible. And yet.

No, this was not a normal mage. 

“Apotheosis!” I cried! She had become a god amongst men! 

She replied she was no goddess, simply someone given great power.

“Tell me everything!” I implored her! 

She replied that she did not know everything either, but that she would share what she did know. 

Why exactly the tournaments were started, and by whom, was still a mystery to her. Some sources suggested a war. Others as a deterrent to said war. Others suggest it was a means to trigger human evolution. Maybe as preparation for some calamity. Some even offer plain old bored living gods as the genesis of this nearly endless puzzle. 

What was clear, however, was that the intent was creating stronger mages. And in order to do that, they needed a draw. Knowledge. Power. Gold attracts thieves. Knowledge attracts mages.

She told me an ancient and extraordinarily complex spell was in place to manage the event, but whether or not someone, or something, was still around to manage the spell itself was beyond her. 

The woman explained that to enter the tournament, first, you give yourself the sigil.