The Magus: Part 4

This story was made using the solo RPG: The Magus, by momatoes.

Eventually, the High Sorcerers learned of me, but by then it was too late. Several of the rasher youths tried to dethrone me from my tower but I had grown too powerful for them. Two lay dead, another fled while acknowledging my strength. The wiser sorcerers granted me clemency; a farce and a pantomime, but welcome all the same. I would not have been able to resist them all had they united against me.

But I was one of them now; a Sorcerer in my own right. I did not need to hide my self away and skulk through the underbrush like a timid vole. Now I was the tiger, claiming the region as my own territory.

I dreamed my ghost regularly, drifting through the streets and forests of my land. I saw the people muttering in hushed tones, disgusted at my rule. Many left my lands, eager to live free from my protection. I do not begrudge them their foolishness; I took from them rarely and their blind hatred of my power harmed only themselves. I did not even punish those who spoke out openly against my claims, as I easily could have.

It might have gone differently. Had I not had Trella’s kind heart and gentle words to keep me from the darkness, I might have gone down the same path as so many others.

History is littered with the corpses of those who dreamed of magics beyond their ability to control. The High Sorcerers themselves have slain thousands of mad magi, keeping the world whole, if not entirely safe. Had I not been brought back to myself, I might have been one of them, driven mad by the isolation, the fear, the gnawing power building behind my eyes until I unleashed my power upon the innocent.

But Trella reminded me what it meant to be human. She reminded me of humility, kindness, and the responsibilities of the wise. She taught me, guided me, and in my darkest moments, when the heady grip of the arcane threatened to overwhelm me, her gentle face was all that it took to bring me back to myself; to remember that this world, for all its sins, had good in it.

I will not say how many times the memory of her simple visage saved countless lives. I will not detail the struggles I had with myself that brought me to the brink of devastation. I will simply say that she certainly saved your life, simply by being herself.

So great was the pain when she died, that I fear I fell again.

I had not received a letter as I had become used to, so I sent my dream self to find her. I found her dead, arranged on a funeral bier and surrounded by mourners. The town was holding a wake to commiserate her, and by my soul I would not allow myself to be turned away.

Beyond my reason, I cast aside all sense of deference or caution. I strode through the town square like a torrential squall, ignoring the looks of fear and hatred that dogged my steps. Let them fear me, I thought. If they wished me dead they would not find me unprepared.

I had seen death before. Over the years, I had seen many die too young, a few die too old. I had killed before, to protect myself and once to protect a town. They were all nothing to me; just more events in a life filled with attaining power. People were like the weather — they filled the world outside my tower, but were transient; something to prepare for and work around, not become a part of.

Trella was different, somehow. I never forgot her kindness, and even during the years where my studies took me far away from even her, her regular letters were always there to bring me back. They were the heart-beat of my humanity, a regular reminder that I lived the same as she, and she the same as others.

Now she was little more than dust. Staring at her slowly decaying body, I felt the last vestige of my connection to this world drift away. I wondered then as I wonder now what keeps me here, in this world of meat and blood, too hot and too cold in equal measure. I considered shedding the last piece of my humanity then and there, and yet was still horrified that some part of me considered taking her body back to my tower, to plunder and mine for vital arcane materials.

I fled her side and returned to my tower, possessed of a singular goal. I toiled for years on the underpinnings of a new spell, Dark Rupture of Mathematics; a spell that could tear the world like a threadbare tapestry. I could rend the foundation of this reality apart, see beyond the veil, leave this paltry and empty world behind. Life held no fascination for me, and I needed to find something better.

At long lest I finished the final sigil. I chanted the incantations out over the land from atop my tower. For three weeks I stood as still as a statue, turning myself into a part of the world. My body became the mountains, my blood the rivers. My voice became the winds and my hair fields of wheat. My bones were iron and gold, veins of silver and arteries of copper.

At the end of the third week, the final incantation was whispered by the wind. My body collapsed, and I dreamed.

No, it was not a dream, it was real. Perhaps it was both. Even now I am not sure; so much is lost to me from that time. I saw things that could not be, that a mere flesh and blood brain could not contain. I saw beings, if the word applies, that existed beyond our ken. I spoke to them, and they spoke to me as well. I tried to learn from them, I think, but I do not remember what they taught me…or if they deigned to teach me anything at all.

They did ask of me. They wanted something from me. I remember the yearning…

Did I give them what they asked of me? Did they take what I offered? Why do I not remember what they took from me? Mere time? Something greater? Deeper?

I awoke several days later, exhausted and hungry. I spent days, weeks trying to return to this space beyond the veil. I tried to cast the spell scores of times, but it never worked again. My body remained my own, the world separate. Perhaps it is for the best, the veil might not take kindly to being rent apart again…but even now I yearn to be in this strange and marvelous place.

---

It is time.

I have spent too long in this world. Even now I can see that new levels of power await me, the tearing of the veil could be mere child’s play. I could become the greatest High Sorcerer ever to grace the world with my presence. I could cast off everything holding me back, all my chains, and ascend to something even greater than a Magus.

But why?

Though Trella is dead, she is still with me; the bond is still strong.

She was not my only friend throughout the years. I took an apprentice for a time, though he was content to remain a minor wizard. The local townsfolk always feared me, but over time they feared me like sailors fear the sea. Though I am still reviled in their hearts, they tolerate me, as I have always been here. Though they grumble and fume and blame me for every stretch of ill fortune, they do not believe there is any other way the world could be.

Perhaps that is my fault.

I have taken lovers, though none of them were partners. I have had partners, though none of them lasted long. I have tasted of all the many fruits of this world, and many of other worlds. I have been scarred and blessed in unequal measure, and still I have more to learn.

But after all that I have done, all the dark paths that I have walked and the miracles I have made, I am empty.

Perhaps someday I could rend the veil and step beyond its confines, spend more time with the beings that exist in the unimaginable haze, take on a new form, a new world, a new point of view. But then, what would come after?

No. I will seek no further power; doing so has cost me part of my soul and my mind. I will never regain what the Eye took from me, what I had before I tore the world in half. I will never have again what I had with Trella. She, like the weather, like the world, like me…was transient.

So I must move on.

The Anger of Brokenness has been dismantled, the fury and pain once more settling deep in my chest. The doors are locked, the artifacts and scrolls carefully sealed away. Perhaps some day I shall return to burn them all. Perhaps someone will have come since, and try to protect them from me.

Perhaps I shall never return. Perhaps I will continue to hunt for dreams that will bring me peace. Perhaps my ghost will wander the world forever more, seeing everything and touching nothing. Perhaps I am doomed.

Or, perhaps Trella will continue to save me. Perhaps her kindness, her humility, her love for the world around her will be my candle in the darkness. Perhaps she will keep me whole until this body of mine finally perishes.

All I know is, I look to the future with something like hope. I am at peace, now, and to any who find this journal, heed my words. Whatever you seek, however passionately you seek it; do not forsake the world nor the people in it. That way lies madness, monstrosity, and suffering for both you and others.

Humanity is a gift worth keeping.