Phindarn the Knight of the Apocalypse

Immortal Comments

Role

Chapter 11

Hopefully I'll write again soon. Miss you,
Your beloved son,
Phindarn
Future greatest Artificer of Thera
Future greatest Antipaladin of Thera
Innocent of all charges

Role

Chapter 10

Kaezin glared at the letter sitting upon her desk. It was slightly grubby,
and it was placed just so that it didn't quite align with the rest of her
stationary. Intentional, she was sure of it. The familiar neat scrawl that
identified the sender more than the name penned guaranteed that, for did
that fool boy not live to vex her? Where had he even got off to; this was
the first corespondence she'd received. Admittedly, one did not simply send
letters to Thar-Acacia, but still. With the disdain of one who was lowering
themselves to a task, she slit the envelope open with her letter opener and
fished the slightly less grubby piece of vellum from within, then began to
read:

To my dearest mother,

I'm sure you're thrilled to hear from me. I know it has only been a few
years, but I've got so much to tell you! I wanted to write sooner, but
everyone I asked to send a letter looked at me oddly then told me to take
it myself. People are a bit trying in the outside world sometimes, but you
know me. Nothing a can do attitude can't fix, so I teleported around until
I recognised something! Where is Thar-Acacia anyway?

Caezin pinched the bridge of her nose. She did wonder sometimes: had she
given birth to a genuine moron? Or was he just painfully naive. Perhaps
their had been neural damage from the procedures? No matter, something to
ponder at a later date. She continued to read.

I've met so many interesting people! Lots of members of my new guild (I
joined the guild of Antipaladins don't be mad)-

Caezin's hands jerked almost tearing the letter in two. Oh. That was
surprisingly brilliant, how had she not considered that? Perhaps the boy
wasn't a complete lost cause, this was a positive development.

- and they're all so friendly! They seem to desperately want to be my
friend for some reason, which I find a little odd. All the books I read
said that we should be attempting to brutally murder each other, but I
suppose they're just outdated. I haven't decided if I'll accept all the
truces yet, but its good to have friends. Right? Right! I've learned so
much about wands especially, I bet some things not even you know.

Caezin sighed. Never mind. Her spawn was an imbecile and was going to get
himself predictably betrayed. Why could she not have been blessed with a
daughter?

That's not why I'm writing though. I wanted to tell you I think I might
have got myself into some trouble. There was this svirfnebli, and I
remembered what you always told me: if they're under three feet and don't
wear robes, assume they're a villager and murder them with prejudice! Well,
turns out he was actually a magistrate hopeful (they're the enforcers of
the cities in the outside world) and I think the Tribunal (that's like a
union for Magistrates) hate me now. I remembered what else you told me
though and denied everything, so I think I got away with my definitely not
clear my (our) good name.

Role

Chapter 9

* Subconsciously suspicious of inately chaotic races.

* Has a mild sense of 'how can I use this to kill people' at all times.
This might be jarring because he's otherwise very personable for a drow.
He'd see nothing wrong with bringing it up in conversation and would be
entirely oblivious with why people might be put off.

* Other stuff as he grows!

- Sphere: passion.

- Orderly due to upbringing.

- Cabal: will let this happen organically, though likely empire or scion.
I'm not in a rush since my hours may still be hit and miss for part of
March. Scion would probably be longer term if it does go that way just
because he'd need to grow into being a full on doomsday cultist instead of
just mildly unhinged.

- Religion: will seek Joihe.

Role

Chapter 8

- Phindarn was the product (and son) of a Thar-Acacian mage's illegal
experiment to replicate the original anti magic warriors from information
retrieved from the ancient lab of the order magi beneath the slave mines of
Sitran. She failed utterly in this, though she did produce some odd
abnormalities in our intrepid villain.

- Phindarn is terrible at almost all magic. Invocation? Right out.
Transmutation? Not a chance. Conjuration? Noone wants to see that. He is
fairly adept at more negatively inclined magic, but one of the results of
his mother's experiments on him is he is hopeless at finesce work. Throwing
disease and such around, sure. Animating a corpse or the complexities of
the becoming? Not on his best day. As a result of this he is quite abnormal
for a drow in that he does not have a superiority complex at all, at least
starting out!

- As a result of this, Phindarn intended on joining the Thar-Acacian guard.
He'd always enjoyed fighting for some reason (more on this below), and
figured since he couldn't be a proper mage he'd do that instead. His mother
however was having none of that peasantry and got him an apprenticeship
with an old artificer instead, something Phindarn actually found he loved.
He's facinated in the creation of magical items of all kinds and this is a
genuine passion of his.

- Phindarn's artificing mentor abruptly died some months later. Someone
teleported in with the plague and infected the locals (as you do), and the
Veil was so thick that the transmuters couldn't save him. There are no
traditional healers in Thar-Acacia, so with the Veil being thick nothing
could be done.

- Phindarn began to wonder if it was possible to make something which could
not only thin the veil, but actually destroy it. This is his ultimate goal.

- He begins diving into research of magical weapons, looking for any hint
of things that can cut the immaterial. He comes across a discussion of AP
(a terribly brutish and unrefined practice, yes indeed), and it resonates
with him both because of the demonstrated capability to cut something
nonphysical (souls) and because it actually is something he thinks he could
do, not being finesce work and still being negatively inclined. Plus, he
even gets to hit things. Win win win, a good start.

- Phindarn gets much more excited about the big exciting ideas than the
small and likely sensible ones. Instead of staying in Thar-Acacia to do
more research with their vast reserves of knowledge and people who know
what they're doing, he decides he must leave to study to be an anti paladin
(since it isn't something taught in Thar-Acacia, pure mages only!)

- As a result of the experiments performed on him, Phindarn has certain
vague attributes that the order mages might have wanted in the original
antimagic army, but his mother got it all wrong so he only has the mental
benefits. This psychosis broadly consists of:

Role

Chapter 7

Phindarn spent the next year scouring his former mentor's collection of
books for anything which could give him a place to start.

Unfortunately, the old gnome had been much more interested in the
construction of wands than anything else; while that was great and all,
Phindarn didn't think he'd find what he was looking for there. Like quite
often in Phindarn's life, he was in fact wrong.

It was an offhand comment in one of the tomes concerning the output of a
wand. Phindarn couldn't follow the ins and outs so well just yet, something
about the material composition. He'd almost moved on to a different text
entirely when a line gave him pause.

"Student's of the barbaric disciplines practiced by the guild of
Anti-Paladins are however said to have developed a secret technique for
enhancing certain wands output independent of the above variables. A claim
this author has been unable to verify, given the violent and undisciplined
nature of most members of the guild of false magi..."

The author clearly felt strongly on the subject, for the paragraph went on
in far more excitable detail about how awful this guild of glorified thugs
was, but Phindarn was already moving on. He'd heard about this guild very
tangentially, but only in the sense that it was a discipline not practiced
in the city for reasons he'd never really had the inclination to endure a
lecture from his mother on the reasons for. If they could enhance wands
though, perhaps that could be useful? He went and looked for a book about
the guild.

"Secrets to Everlasting Life... nope, can't animate... Transcending the
Elements: how to start... I already stopped... Cleaving the Soul: a history
of Zurcon's knights... aha!"

Some hours later, Phindarn set the book down. This was incredible! If
they'd learned how to cleave the soul, could there be a secret there to
cleaving something else immaterial? Scale was still a problem of course,
but you needed somewhere to begin.

Besides...

He'd long since given up on being able to actualy use magic. That dream had
withered and died many years ago.

But this?

This might change that. This was not finesce work, but more like invocation
and necromancy had had some deformed offspring together. It was perfect for
him!

But to learn it, he'd have to leave. He could never learn it here.

So he did.

Role

Chapter 6

Time passed, and Phindarn grew to truly love the art of artifice.

He still had not even made his first scroll, but month by month he got
closer. His teacher was free with earned praise, and Phindarn grew quite
fond of the stuffy old gnome. He'd long since discarded the notion of being
a guard, though he still visited the training guards; there was something
soothing about engaging in a bit of the old ultraviolence, though he wasn't
really sure why. Probably not important. No. Phindarn was going to be the
greatest artificer, and that was that. He'd even make his dear old mother a
talisman when he could for her birthday, though maybe he'd send it by
courier just to be safe.

Then, quite suddenly, his mentor died.

It had not been meant to happen. He'd come down with something brought in
by an outsider's teleportation spell, and the transmuters had been sent for
to purge his system of whatever disease it was.

They had failed. The Veil had been too thick. Even there best had been
unable to muster the power required.

The event had a profound impact upon Phindarn.

It seemed so senseless. So avoidable. All the miracles of modern magic and
it had come to nothing in the end.

He kept to his studies, though the room seemed somehow emptier without the
old man and his commentary. He kept working upon his penmanship.

But he also began to study the Veil. It had never mattered to him before,
really. He was hopeless at magic with and without it.

At first it had been a part of his grieving process, but then he had
learned that even magic channeled through devices must still be drawn
through the Veil. Suddenly, it had become all the more important.

The more he read, the more he learned. How there were ways to thin and
thicken the Veil, but how it always stayed intact.

And in the darkness of his former mentor's home, books scattered across the
table and piled upon the floor, Phindarn asked himself a question which
would set his feet upon a long, and very dark road indeed:

Could you make something to cut something which cannot be cut?

He could imagine the response from his old mentor even now, though from a
time he'd asked a far simpler question.

"You can make anything, my young friend. Artifice is the key which opens
all doors."

Role

Chapter 5

Phindarn had to be honest.

His mother had got this one right. Artifice was amazing. Before they'd sat
down he'd been shown a brief demonstration. His mentor had pointed a wand
he'd apparently made at a target dummy, and the whole thing had been
engulfed in a fireball bigger than anything Phindarn had ever seen a mage
make on there own. The old guy definitely had his attention.

"What is the measure of a wand, young man?" asked the ancient artificer
Phindarn was working for. "What is the metric by which we determine its
value?"

Phindarn knew this one, but admittedly he was cheating. He'd heard it on
the training ground; what was the measure of a sword?

"What it can kill," he said proudly, much to his mentors chagrin.

"And a barrier wand, young man?"

Phindarn scratched his chin. Maybe...

"What it can help you kill?"

The mage sighed, pushing his spectacles up his nose. Phindarn resolved to
get some, they made you look like you knew what you were doing. "The metric
by which we measure the value of a device is by the potency of the affect
that it may exert upon the context in which it is used."

Phindarn nodded. That's what he'd said.

"Scrolls are simpler than wands," his new favourite person in the world
lectured. "Before you can run, you must walk, and before you can walk you
must crawl. Thus we shall begin with scrolls, and to begin with scrolls..."
He set a pen down next to a sheet of parchment in front of Phindarn. "We
shall work upon penmanship."

Phindarn winced.

Okay. Maybe this would have give and take.

Role

Chapter 4

"A guard?" His mother appeared as if he'd just dragged a corpse into her
chambers and told her it wasn't fresh; that transition between curiosity
and contempt between the moments of him telling her he had an idea what he
could do and learning the reality of his revelation. "Absolutely not."

"I am good at fighting, though," Phindarn pointed out.

She got that thoughtful gleem in her eye at that. That one she got when he
said certain things he could never quite connect the dots between, inocuous
statements natural but which obviously sparked some thought. Usually tests
soon followed, though not today.

"You may train with the guards," she magnanimously begrudged him, "But I
have already made arrangements for an alternative line of work. It is time
you started being useful."

Phindarn's elation at getting half his way sank faster than the last elven
request for research into odourless embalming fluid; what dreadful thing
would she have him doing?

"I have obtained you an apprenticeship with the artificers," she said. "You
may be an utter failure at casting, but wand and scroll creation is a
respectable enough calling, and of course a magus who can create weapons of
power shall never want for funding."

Phindarn had to admit to himself he was interested. Wands were okay he
supposed, and weapons were great: but he couldn't help addressing the ghoul
in the room. "What about talismans?"

The embalmed kidney nailed him in the forehead. "Talismans are a peasants
work! Out!"

Role

Chapter 3

Phindarn was a disappointment.

He knew that. It would be hard not to know it.

His mother made a point of telling him every day, after all. Every other
day at worst; sometimes she pretended he didn't exist.

He didn't let it get him down though. Always look on the bright side of
life and all that!

It hadn't always been this way. He remembered in the very early years, as
much as a child can at least. She'd spent much time with him. casting
spells, making notes. Telling him to focus, though focus on what he never
really understood.

But whatever she'd been hoping for clearly had never materialised.

Then, to cap it all off?

Phindarn was an absolutely hopeless mage.

How can you be a drow and so bad at magic? That was the common refrain from
his contemporaries. It wasn't even asked with spite usually, just a sense
of bewilderment, as if he had somehow violated some fundamental rule of the
world.

How could he explain it to them? He didn't even know himself. It all made
sense. Magical formuli and incantations, intonation and diction. Simple.

But when he tried to actually cast magic? He was lucky to produce a mist or
puff of smoke, let alone fire, water, or the other primary elements. He had
a little better luck with the darker magics; but it quickly became clear
that the delicate work of animation would never be his. "Like bringing a
hammer to shape glass," as his mother had bluntly put it. A cruel irony:
the one magic he had some aptitude for was the one requiring subtlety and
finesce, when he inately was predisposed to neither.

Luckily though, there were alternatives.

Role

Chapter 2

Grem didn't like this mage.
She'd checked out, sure. Had a writ (probably bribed, no way this robed
wimp is getting her hands dirty), had slipped Sitran a sack of gold to get
the wheels a greasing, and had passed him a bag of silver to be his guide.
A polite fiction, obviously. No way they'd be letting some posh snob wander
around the mines unattended, but he appreciated getting paid for the damned
inconvenience. Paying people got you a long way in life.

This place gave him the creeps though. If it was up to him they'd block
this place off and forget all about it. All came back to money and labour
though, and old Lolk wasn't going to sign off on wasting either. So it goes.

So he followed the snob around the weird underground lab tucked away
beneath the earth, and thought nothing of it beyond what he'd be spending
the silvers jangling in his pouch on later that day.

And Kaezin studied blasphemy.

Role

Chapter 1

Kaezin was not a good woman.

She knew that. She accepted that. It was fine not to be a good woman in
Thar-acacia, after all. They were above such base concerns as morality.

At least, so the evil women among them would claim. The rest? Who knew what
they thought. Who cared?

The city of discipline was one of the greatest citadels of magical learning
on the continent. They had books lesser magi would think myth if they read
the titles. They had everything the aspiring magus could desire, so long as
he or she could learn discipline.

There were just a few simple rules.

Rules learned through a legacy of bloodshed. Through a litany of mistakes
that even to this day leave Thera ravaged. A set of simple dictates
inviolable.

No. Kaezin was not a good woman.

And certainly didn't follow rules.

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