Tales of a White Mage
Sands of Blood
(Chapter 1)
The wind was howling across the sands. It was a blistering hot day, the sun beating down relentlessly upon all those unfortunate enough to be found beneath its gaze. "Then again, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. It's always hot in the dunes" a man in a dark cloak said to himself as he walked across the desert. "I'll just consider it added incentive to get to Selbina as soon as possible."
The man was on a journey to the small coastal town of Selbina. It was rumored that he could find a merchant there who possessed arcane scrolls which he might find useful in his travels. Perhaps he could even find a spell of protection more powerful than his already potent abilities…
Suddenly, a familiar noise interrupted his musings. A battle was raging not too far from his current location. Still, he remained unconcerned. Nothing in the area was any match for him. The dunes were a popular training grounds of sorts for fledgling adventurers. Combat masters across all of Vanadiel would send their pupils to the dunes in order to prove themselves in battle against beastmen, particularly against the goblins who so often frequented the area.
The situation was best for everyone involved, except perhaps the goblins. The settlement of Selbina remained protected, as did the caravans that often traveled there from Bastok. In return, the adventurers were able to gain much needed combat experience. Oftentimes, the adventurers would team up with the students of other masters to combat the beastmen together. These relationships formed early in their careers were frequently invaluable to them during later quests. And so it was that the wanderer very nearly decided to simply walk around the outskirts of the battle and continue on his way. Until a cry of pain gave him pause. A human cry of pain.
Abandoning any thoughts of ignoring the battle, the cloaked figure ran over the high dune of sand separating him from the fight as fast as he could. The sight which awaited him at the top was not a pleasant one. A robed female hume was lying in the sand clutching her shoulder. Her hand was covered in blood that flowed from a deep dagger wound. She was sobbing slightly as she faced down the goblin ambusher who was standing over the prone form of her obviously dead elvaan companion. It seemed as though she were trying to cast a spell towards the goblin, but her pain and terror, and likely the grief she felt for her fallen companion, destroyed any attempts at concentration. As the goblin stood over her, she closed her eyes and waited for death, defeated.
Her eyes quickly snapped back open, however, when she heard the sound of metal hitting metal. Before her stood a tall figure dressed in a dark cloak. The goblins dagger had pierced straight through the front folds of the cloth, but was then stopped. The young woman barely dared to hope that her life may be spared.
The goblin took a step backwards, confused by its failed attack. The dark figure took advantage of its hesitation and removed his cloak, throwing it directly at the stunned goblin. The eyes of the young black mage widened. Standing before her was a tall man, dressed in the ceremonial plate armor reserved for high ranking members of the Order of White Mages. He didn't appear to be much older than she was, but his eyes belied the extreme difference in the amount of experiences each had gone through. At his side was a shining battle hammer, blessed by the high priests of Altana for the battle against evil.
Impressive as the hammer was, it played no part in the goblins defeat. Surrounded by an overwhelming aura of pure white magic, the mage put one hand forward and shouted, "Holy!" The ultimate destructive spell of the white order tore into the flesh of the unfortunate goblin, and reduced his body to mere ashes in a matter of seconds. After taking a deep, calming breath, the man turned to face the young woman.
"Are you alright down there? I see you took a nasty hit on your shoulder before I showed up."
The younger mage looked up at her savior, but could not bring any words forth as the events of the past few minutes finally took their toll on her. Looking at the body of her deceased friend, she promptly broke down into tears, sobbing until rivers of tears began flowing across the blazing sands.
The man slowly walked over and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. When he removed it, all traces of the wound had vanished. The young woman took little comfort in this fact, however. She was still overcome with grief by the loss of her friend. She doubted she would ever find comfort in this awful world again… "Hey there, there's no need to cry. I'll have your friend up and fit to travel in no time."
The black mage raised her head immediately. Looking into the eyes of her rescuer, she finally seemed to find her voice. "That's impossible. I have studied with some of the finest mages on all the continent. No one can bring back the dead. Why would you put such cruel false hopes into my mind?" she asked in a wavering voice.
The white mage said nothing in response. Instead, he walked over to the body of her fallen compatriot. Looking the body over, he noted that the elvaan had been stabbed through the heart from behind. 'Attacked from behind,' the man thought to himself. 'They never had a chance.' He stood up and focused on the task at hand. A white aura once again began to build up around his body. The last aura had been harsh, formed of sheer, untamed magic. This time was different. The white magic seemed soothing, comforting, as though it were an old friend. For several minutes the mage stood gathering energy to himself. The young woman watched in amazement. The energy in the air was palpable. Finally, the man shot the white light into the body of her friend, and whispered one word. "Raise."
The white aura that was previously surrounding the white mage moved across the body of the fallen elvaan. It lifted his corpse from the sand and bathed it in white light. Finally, it deposited him on his feet, and as he landed he gasped for air, and his heart began to beat anew. He looked at the man who had saved him and croaked a quick "Thank you" before collapsing in the sand. His female companion quickly ran to his side and proceeded to hug the poor man nearly to death.
"Take it easy on him miss, he's going to be very weak for a while." The white mage panted from his position on the sand. Down on one knee, sweat was pouring freely from his brow to the ground below. It was obvious that this latest spell had taken a great toll on him. "I'm not in the best of shape either I'm afraid. I won't be able to cast any more magic until I've had some time to rest."
The younger spell caster looked at him in awe. "I can't believe what I just saw. You raised him from the dead! I thought that ability was only a rumor!"
"It's commonly thought to be only a rumor because of the massive difficulties involved. Only powerful mages are capable of drawing forth the sheer energy required, and even then the spell can only be successfully performed within one day of the person being deceased. The odds of someone finding a caster capable of the spell in that amount of time is very slim." The man explained.
"Thank Altana you arrived when you did, in that case." The woman replied. Beneath her, the elvaan warrior began to stir. As he became more aware of his surroundings, he looked up at the man and once again said, "Thank you. You saved my life, and that of my dear friend. I don't know how we can ever repay you. My name is Lantis." At this, the woman added, "Indeed, I don't know how we can ever thank you enough. My name is Linya. If you require anything of us, please ask."
"Please my friends," the white mage responded, "you need not think of yourselves as being indebted to me. As a member of the holy order, it is my sacred duty to help those in need. I would never dream of asking for compensation. You may call me Deronis. Knowing that I have helped those in need is all I could ever ask for."
The sun continued to beat down on the three adventurers, but its position in the sky was falling quickly. Night would soon be upon them. "We must find shelter, so that your friend and I can rest until the after effects of the spell have run their course." Deronis quickly scanned the area from his position in the sand, but could find nowhere suitably defensible to rest. "What were the two of you doing so far out here anyways? Most trainees your age stick closer to the highlands."
Lantis was the one to answer him. "My master requested that I journey to the port of Selbina. He said that there I would find an old warrior who could teach me to be more diverse in my talents. I asked Linya to accompany me on the journey in case I ran into trouble. Now I regret bringing her along." Linya's retort came quickly. "Sure, after all, you'd have done just fine on your own, wouldn't you?"
Deronis interrupted the argument before it could escalate. "Now friends, there is no need to bicker about past events. It seems Altana must truly be with us, as she has once again answered our needs." At this, he pointed to distant dune. Sure enough, a caravan could be seen coming close by to their position. The chocobo-drawn wagons would be within shouting distance in mere minutes. "Linya, please intercept the caravan and explain to them our situation. I'm sure that they won't mind carrying a few extra passengers to Selbina, if that is indeed where they are headed."
As night fell, the weary travelers gratefully rode in the back of one of the caravan's wagons. Deronis reflected upon the day's events as his two new acquaintances caught up on some much needed sleep. 'Today hasn't turned out so badly at all. I managed to help those in need, and in the process my trip to Selbina has been made all the easier. Truly this is Altana's method of rewarding just actions.' However, even as he thanked Altana once again for his good fortune, Deronis couldn't help but feel as though a dark presence were looming over the horizon.
To be continued….