Valen the Mage

Valen himself did not join in with the festivities around him. He stood aloof from the people in the ballroom. Valen found such public gatherings a bit overwhelming and preferred the solitude of his simple study. But he understood that official decorum had to be observed and so he had joined Sir Jed at the King's exclusive royal gathering. No one though took offense at Valen's rather austere demeanor, he was after all a member of the White Hand. And few of Allaria's subjects willingly socialized with members of the Order of mages.

Valen did not feel slighted about this of course. It was the way of things. Masters of magick were a necessary force that the Great Kingdom had need of. But most considered mages a necessary evil and the need for such men a bitter reality that could not be ignored but would never be welcomed. After the fall of the Great Empire, nearly a thousand years past, the people had turned their hearts against magick. They felt antipathy toward it and its practitioners, even open hatred. And, of course, fear. Always the fear. For it had been magick and the men who wielded it that had sealed the doom of the Empire. And the peoples of the northlands and the southlands, Haevnheim and Ryngaerd, never forgot that. Never forgot what had brought destruction down on the heads of their forefathers, how those that had survived were forced to flee into the wild lands until, after much wandering, they had found a place to build new homes.

Never again would Mage Lords be allowed to stand at the head of nations. Their place was to follow and to serve; not to rule. And even then, only when it was absolutely necessary. Men of blood and sinew fought their own battles now, wielding steel and fire. They did not hide behind the might of arcane sorcery. And to make sure that no Mage Lord ever rose up again to threaten Men with absolute destruction, the Order of the White Hand was formed. All those who followed the path of the Wondrous Arte could only do so if they submitted to the authority of the Order and followed its strict code.

The code put great limitations on sorcerers, in both what they could do and when. Their fields of study were narrowed down, the scope of their power limited to primarily the defensive disciplines; the healing of wounds, the dispelling of illusions, the warding of evil, combat magick which dealt with the erecting of shields and the creation of obstacles. Offensive magick was for the most part outlawed. Prophecy and scrying were not openly encouraged. Magick dealing with the Netherworlds or with Death was forbidden under threat of execution.

The most important precept the Order upheld was that Magick was a dangerous Knowledge. It was wild, untamed and fearful. Man could never hope to fully master it. Indeed, any who made the attempt would only give it cause to master them. The primal forces that heaved and buffeted the invisible world were many things, clad in many forms, revealed in many aspects. Like a band of midnight revelers at a moon-lit masquerade, the forces of magick were wrapped in many guises and not all were friendly. There were figures of power that stood above the rest, fitted with wardrobes of majesty and light. Others wore gossamer wings and silken capes, with masks of birds and cats; whimsical and ephemeral, these guileful sprites flitted from room to room. But there were other masks worn as well and many were terrible and unholy. Death and pain was the only aim of these revelers of the Night and Man could learn nothing from their Knowledge except bitter regret and mournful folly.

To delve into such forbidden lore would only lead one to madness and destruction. History had proved this time and time again.

And the Order sought, above all else, to keep that from ever happening again. And so adepts of the Order began their training with the principle that not all Knowledge was good knowledge and the admonition never to disobey the edicts of the Order in their pursuit of the secrets of the invisible world. It was only by obeying the rules of the Order that mages could exist within the borders of the civilized nations. And it was only by obeying the rules of the Order that a mage would not risk losing their mind and soul.

It was a matter of pride for Valen, and for the whole of the Order, that no mage had ever betrayed their code. But it was also a matter of survival. For the people would never stop fearing mages and their magick. And sorcerers would always be shunned. That too, the Order did not forget. For that was the way of things. Valen looked down at his hands, the color of the skin upon each of his fingers was bone white. This was the mark of the Order and it branded him as a man apart from the rest of humanity. But it gave him no regrets and he felt no resentment. He had made the choice to pursue the path of magick knowing full well what it would cost him. And how greatly it could reward him. And after years of study and practice Valen had risen to the highest rank within the Order that an adept could attain. And now the Inner Circle of Masters had chosen him, above all the others, to go on this dangerous Quest. This was a great honor for him, and he was sure that if he acquitted himself well in the eyes of his superiors the doors to Knowledge kept hidden from him would open wide.

He knew that the Quest to the Southern Caves was fraught with great dangers and no one really knew what would be waiting for them there, but as Valen looked out at the partiers that filled the ballroom, busily wasting away the night, his heart could barely contain the burning anticipation for the morrow's journey to begin.

1. To the Southern Caves!

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