literature

Eolo's Apprentice

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Sharsarannon's avatar
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Literature Text

When I first met him, he was sitting on the steps of the library at Velcaarin, a miserable wretch of a boy, for all his potential.
Now, when I say boy, understand I mean that in a relative way; he was thirty one years of age, and at the time I believe I was about one hundred one. A mage lives a very long life if he works hard at learning all he can. The magic ages us, wears at us, but at the same time constant use of it slows the aging. We don't know how, but we're grateful it does. With all we have to study we need all the time we can get.

So at thirty one, the lad already had grey in his dark hair. I could see without needing him to stand that he was of average height, but his face bore the look of aristocracy, even nobility. His clothes and expression wiped all chance of that from my mind though; he had to have slept in that tunic, and the trews he was wearing were muddied like his boots down around the ankles.

Why he was sitting out there in the wispy rainfall that was fast beginning I had no idea, but I took it into my head to go invite him inside the nearest tavern and offer him a glass of something warming. Contrary to what you may have heard, I'm not entirely without compassion. I stepped off the wooden walk and crossed the muddying street toward the library stairs, but as I neared him there came into the back of my mind an ominous hum.

Every mage alive learns how to recognize the presence of magic very early in their schooling. It is essential. As such, no wizard can hide from another of our kind. The older, more powerful magi almost give me a headache to be around, the sensation is so terrific. I approached the stranger with some sudden reservations, for the mental stir his power created in my mind was like the roaring of a mighty river, drowning thought.

"You're bound to get wet if you stay out here too long, Master....? " I waited for a name, or at least a reply.

He lifted his head from his drawn up knees and gazed at me balefully. "Master of nothing." His head returned to his arms.

I stifled a snicker at his utter melacholy, he hardly needed mocking at the moment. "What shall I call
you then?"

"Just a wanderer."

"Or a mage?"

His head snapped back up to stare at me, water dripping off his wet hair. "You dare suggest I would be a worker of-!"

I stopped him with a lifted hand. "It's no use pretending offense, lad, I can tell what you are."

"How-??"

"My gods, you honestly had no idea did you... Who is your master?"

"My master? No one..Who are you?"

I sighed. "One with your same gift, now come in out of the rain and we must talk, I'll buy you a supper."
As the tale of Eolo's Sacrifice was met with such nice comments, I will begin to post, as I write it, this rough draft of what happened back at the beginning- The friendship and apprenticeship of the man known as Elysen, who would become the most powerful mage their land would ever know.
© 2007 - 2024 Sharsarannon
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KittenCourna's avatar
And my wishes are granted! This was good to hear. I remember thinking of Eolo as intellectual, heartfelt, and it emerges again here. He sounds a bit stiff, a bit underused as a narrative voice, but all the same the personality is clear. The appearance of Elysen as melancholic and youthful is both slightly amusing and truthful. His attitude fits perfectly his description.

This piece does have the air of a rough draft about it, but it doesn't disguise the good storytelling behind it. All it needs, I think, is a little bit of time, and maybe a bit of filling out (but you don't have to listen to me there, I'm overly fond of adjectives and side comments, as evidenced within...). Your characters speak and appear so clearly, all the fruits need are a little fermentation :) Excellent job, as always, and I do hope that when you're done with your mad writing dash you return to these stories.