Chapter 6: Journey to the Teacher
"What? What in the name of Ilithax's third foot?!" Queleven sputtered the moment he opened his door, flustered to no end, "Why is it that you people just keep showing up out of nowhere, and continue to hound me? What do you want this time? Can't a wizard get on with his careful studies in peace? Have I not already done everything you've wanted? Must I spell it out for you all?"
Magnus waited calmly until this outburst was winding down. He and his group had met this grizzled old man during the course of their journey, a renowned sage of Fire. He had provided invaluable knowledge in obtaining the four artifacts, and had proven to be a vital asset in their endeavor with his assortment of magical items and spells. His tower too was a famous landmark, situated in the great city of Mercala.
However, it was not the only spire in town, but rather, one of four. One for each of the elements. The other sages had been away or preoccupied with other troubles during this time, and were not quite so well versed with elemental lore as Queleven. Not having any other closely tied acquaintances on the Prime, Magnus had no other place to leave his airship, he now being the soul owner. Thus he flew it straight to Mercala, mooring it off against the balcony to the great Fire Tower. And Queleven couldn't have been more displeased.
"You want me to do what?!" he bellowed, his already beefy face growing all the redder, as Magnus nonchalantly explained things. "That's ridiculous! I'll not have some giant floating monstrosity hovering over my head day in and day out, whilst you're off somewhere fooling about! Find another place to park that tub! This isn't a harbor!"
A response that Magnus had expected, as Queleven had always been quite touchy and grumpy at anything that may inconvenienced him, such as any sort of contact with another living thing. But when it came to helping, he was reliable even though his manner might have suggested he did so begrudgingly.
"Yes I know, this isn't a harbor, but I wasn't suggesting that I leave it here under your care for no compensation. I am fully prepared to pay you for your troubles. And it's not as though I'm abandoning it here. I'll be back before long. I'd just rather place it in familiar and trusting hands, then merely leaving it on the side of some road. I'd preferably not have bandits try and plunder it, and unknowingly remove a power crystal, blowing a town off the face of the world." The fire wizard humphed at that.
"Compensation? Hah, so you think you can buy me off with money huh? I may take some for a down payment, but if I let you keep this thing here, I'll need a bit more. Seeing as I know you're a strapping young man, I'm assuming that I can count on you for simple grunt work like before?"
"What is it that you need exactly? I am eager to begin my new training, and the faster I train, the less time I have to leave this here." Queleven stroked his short goatee thoughtfully, giving off that sly grin. The one that he occasionally got when he was being sneaky. Magnus had seen it several times before, and had committed its meaning to memory.
"Well, I don't have anything in mind right now, but that doesn't mean that there isn't something out there that I want. I'll think of it eventually. So, I'll tell you what I'll do lad. You pay me a thousand gold, and promise to come on the run when I call for an errand, then I'll let you leave that junkheap here for a while. But if I get to feeling that you did abandon that thing here, then it's up for grabs, and I'll start taking it apart, and sell it piece by piece. You follow?"
"I follow. Thanks again."
"Yeah yeah, you kids never seem to miss a chance to bother me. You are aware that there are three other perfectly suitable elemental sages across the square to pester? You needn't come here each and every time you have a question or need a favor. By the way, where's the rest of your posse? The hairy one and those two pretty elf girls? You going solo now?"
"They have been sent to other worlds to act as their protectors. It's a long story, one that maybe I'll share with you later."
"Don't bother with it. So long as you can fetch me the occasional dragon eye or manticore wing every now and then, then I'll be happy. Now, if you're done talking my ears off, I do have work to be getting back to. Leave your ship here, and just dump the money anywhere. I'll sort through it later."
With the business concluded, Queleven shuffled back inside his tower laboratory, to resume his works, no doubt involved volatile and explosive chemicals and spells. Whenever Magnus or his group had come by this place, they were always greeted by an explosion, a flavorful smell of burning, and clouds of smoke. That and loud curses, angrily belittling the obviously flawed materials.
Contented that he knew that he wouldn't need to worry about his ship any further, Magnus pulled from his new Bag of Holding a large handful of gold coins, and left them on a nearby table. It was more than a thousand, but he figured a little extra was in order. He and his group had come by and asked an awful lot from the man over the last few weeks.
Now unhindered, Magnus made ready to begin his journey. His course was set, but there was one thing he needed to determine before he began. There were six names on the list that Zigar had left him. Six possible teachers that could educate him in some form of power. The question that now stood before him was…which one to visit first? There were several interesting names in the bunch, they being somewhat famous throughout the world.
Alfador Melvak, a wizard, or warlock as a matter of fact, who wielded great power, a hero of his hometown of Muldahar. Then, there was High Priest Quaid, a cleric of the Flame, whose connection with his god was so strong; it was said that it was difficult to determine if one was speaking to the man or the deity. Magnus had a hunch he'd be able to tell. And who could have missed Dalan Noh, said to be the world's best swordsman. This claim had never been substantiated, but naturally it was difficult to be mistaken with that title unless it was very near true.
To Mangus, one man was as good as another, he didn't really care as to which he chose first. But yet…he did. His primary power had always been his psionics. Wizardy and clerical magic's were fascinating, true enough, but he was a psionicist, and if there was anything he should increase about himself, he should start with that. He knew that in terms of power, he was a great master, but his primary focuses had always been Psychokinesis and Psychometabolism. He knew little about Clairsentience or the mysteries of Telepathy. Now was as good a time to find out as any.
As it was, the remaining three names on the list were known psionicists of high standing. All three were names that Magnus hadn't heard of, but seeing as psionics was a widely unknown practice, and even considered a crime in some places, it wasn't really surprising.
The first name was Verdande, located far across the ocean, outside of a city called Oten. The second was Zellra; located far north in what looked to be the middle of an island covered with snow. The last one was simply labeled as M. K.; the address was in the middle of the Hills of Black Lightning.
Not that the distance to these sites really mattered, but Magnus was the closest to the last name. Which in a way was good. The simple two letters had sparked his curiosity. All psionicists were enigmatic by nature; it went with the territory, but something tickled him about this. It interested him. It may very well have been nothing at all, but he had a hunch that this might be something more than a regular psionicist.
"Only one way to find out…" Summoning and concentrating the two psionic disciplines of Psychoportation and his limited forms of Clairsentience, splicing them together, he projected his mind outward to locate the land feature. They were hard to miss. After choosing a landing site, he activated the science of Teleport, instantaneously sending him hurtling through space and time, only to erupt back onto our world with a flash of light and a snap of energy. He stood atop a peak and surveyed the scene.
They were called the Hills of Black Lightning, but they hardly were hills. Mountains they were, but not the nice sort. Not the gentle snow covered slopes of the Silver Mountains', or even the rising daunting and dramatic towering of the Darthbor. No no, this mountain range wasn't extremely vertical, but rather it covered an extensive area, with unfriendly terrain. Huge jagged peaks and rather nasty looking cliffs and chasms of dark rocks, shadows clinging to every surface. A breeding ground for evil creatures such as giants, dragons, and other more horrible things.
What sort of teacher would intentionally inhabit such a forsaken pit, Magnus wasn't sure, but it must be someone who obviously could put up with the constantly foul weather that hung over the place like a noxious gas.
From his current position, Magnus scanned around the area, turning in a full circle and straining his eyes to see. It was no good; everything just looked like more sinister mountains, so to aid himself, Magnus called upon his psionics once again to increase his five senses, making his eyes and ears become far sharper and clearer than before. He could now see like a hawk, and hear like an elf. And should he want to, smell like a bloodhound. Double checking the area with his now enhanced sight still yielded no results of anything that might have been a dwelling.
This meant nothing though, as the range itself was massive, the chances of finding it easily weren't very good. But now being immortal, Magnus had all the time in the world to search, so he began to do just that. He moved to another section, and began the process of once again searching carefully for anything that might be a place that a person could live. Again nothing. Thus, a teleport and search pattern went on for more than two hours, Magnus remaining completely calm in this normally aggravating activity. Then, finally, he almost passed right by what he was no doubt searching for.
Just as he was finishing up with yet another section, and was preparing to teleport away to another, he caught sight of a slight glimmer from across a wide fissure at the bottom of a craggy valley. It caught his eye, as it was the first lustrous thing he had seen since his arrival, everything else around him was drab and dark. He paused and examined the area in question more thoroughly. Whatever it was, it didn't move, and Magnus was curious to see exactly what it was that shimmered. Quick as you please, he teleported across the chasm, and scanned about again. This time, he knew he had hit the mark.
Where he now stood was a path, almost hidden by several enormous boulders, unobservable from where he had been standing previously. It led downward into an even deeper section of the vale, spanning to the bottom. There, built into the very walls of the canyon around him, was a largish structure, a sizeable two-storied building of simple and rustic design, of both wood and rock construct. Around the grounds of this building was other evidence of human life. A small pool of water, complete with a water wheel, a small row of fences, and stables. For there were a number of horses tied to posts, while others were meandering about.
The shine in question that had caught his eye earlier had been a bronze coin, tied to a length of dull coppery chain, almost like a medallion. It had been dangling from a plain wooden pole, about six spans in height. Carved into the pole were not but two letters. M.K.
"Seems I've found it," he said aloud. Instead of again teleporting down, he began to casually meander down the path, familiarizing himself with the layout. He also took in the sights. The building had been constructed in a convenient and very sensible place, deep down in the mountain crevices, away from the harsh storms that blew and howled right above. The heavy rock faces shielded everything, keeping things safe. Though one would have to constantly endure the moaning and wailing of the rushing wind, that would unceasingly rage across and through the mountains.
As Magnus approached this strange building, he at once picked up on several familiar sensations originating from within. As a matter of fact, he could both sense it and see it. Ripples of force cascading along the air, spiraling up and away, while others merely hung about, dissipating into nothingness. On his skin he could feel the tingles, these demonstrations of physic power. Being as skilled as he was with his abilities and as used to other psionic thoughts as he was, he could sense nearby users of psionic impressions without even consciously doing so.
And what's more, he could even see them, as incredible a phenomenon as this might have been. Psionics were forces and thoughts, things that didn't take physical form. Magnus could see the distortions of the world around him, as these energies flowed onward their appointed tasks. Even more evidence that this was what he had been looking for.
There were several doors to the place, which seemed far larger now that he stood on its doorstep, but Magnus approached the largest entrance, with the plain wood and iron hinges. The weighty bronze knocker was ancient looking, crusted with flakes of rust, but nonetheless sent a pounding resonance throughout the whole building. This faded away into silence, which spanned for many minutes.
Then, from the others side of the door there was a quick and intense flash, along with the telltale popping that accompanied one who teleports. With the sounds of heavy locks and bars being removed, the door groaned opened, and an almost ridiculously small man stepped out. He was perhaps only five spans tall, but to almost compensate for his limited vertical size, he was quite round. His face being very heavy, with puffy cheeks, a thick neck, and a glossy bald head.
His garb was that of a monk; robes of dark burdensome hues, brown and gray, but with a splash of bright orange from the sash over his shoulder. This robe was tied around his extensive midsection with a dried leather belt, which had several pouches hanging from it, and a basic pair of thatched sandals on his pudgy feet. Almost expectedly, he was also wearing a pair of spectacles, very thin and wiry, hardly going around his round head.
This man squinted behind his glasses, but his expression was not unfriendly. "Greetings," he hailed, craning his laden neck outward. Magnus responded in kind, with a nod of his own. "Hello." At once, Magnus sensed and saw waves of physic thoughts generating from this man, reaching out towards him, circling around. He immedietly became aware of another presence in his head, slipping around, searching for answers. It was a rather impressive force he was sensing, but one that Magnus could have easily repelled if a psionic contest had been waged. But such violent means were not his style, lest there was no choice.
"I'll save you the trouble of a mind probe," Magnus informed the small man, whose eyebrow rose at the comment, "My name is Magnus, and I am…well, many things, but more importantly…a psionicist. I was informed that I might find one here that would be willing to impart his knowledge upon me. Is that information correct, or have I been misinformed?" With this, the psionic projections stopped, and the monk nodded.
"Ah yes. You are here to speak to the Master. Yes indeed, you were informed correct. Please, come in." Magnus nodded again, and entered, trying to determine if this place was a school for psionics, or a monastery. For all around there were many shelves, full of books. Furthermore, in the front hall there were many different types of religion paraphernalia. At the same time, there were hardly any other adornments than that, not having many festive decorations. A sign of both poverty, and modesties. Perhaps it was both at the same time.
"The Master is in meditation right now," Magnus's guide went on, shuffling down the small corridors, "But he is due to return to us shortly. For over a week, his room has been silent. He requires much concentration to bring his mental powers to a maximum."
"I see. And this master's name is…?"
"He does not like for us to speak his name to outsiders, no offence to you. If he feels you are worthy, he will tell you his."
"None taken, and fair enough. Can I ask your name, or am I not worthy to know that either?" The round man managed to twist his neck around, giving Magnus a slightly exasperated eyebrow raising.
"Your tone is skeptical, and our ways do not make sense to you, but it is to be expected. When you meet the master, things will become all the clearer. And yes, I'd be happy to tell you my name. It is Otis. A pleasure."
"Likewise." The dialogue ended there, and Magnus merely followed along in silence, observing his surroundings. They passed a many good other people, most of which were also garbed in robes of a monk. Yet nearly all, if not all of them were projecting psionic impressions, meaning that this place was populated solely by psionicists. Warriors of the mind, Magnus's style. At last, after going deep into the monastery/school, they came to a closed door, with an image of a man meditating burned into it with a hot iron. Magnus could sense from within a tremendous amount of psionic force pouring out, a power as strong as his own.
"It seems he is still in the middle of his meditation," Otis surmised. "Perhaps you might wait in our library until he is finished...?" Magnus would have agreed, as he wasn't in an impatient rush to meet this man, but almost at once, the great power from the room began to diminish, stemming and stopping altogether. From inside, a bolt was drawn back, and the door cracked open. A voice came wafting out.
"Come in," it called, "We have much to discuss. Otis, thank you." Otis bowed at the door, and the man undoubtedly beyond it, turned and waddled away. Magnus shrugged and entered as the voice had bid. Inside was more of the same.
Sparse living items, no bed, a single table and chair, and a bookcase filled with many tomes of all sorts. In the center of the earthen floor was a marvelous rug of lavish design, though a bit dirty and threadbare from seeing many years. Still sitting on this rug was a man, who looked both young and old at the same time. At sensing him enter, this fellow rose, dusting his simple monk tunic off, not being practically crippled with the daunting garments of the others, and faced Magnus.
He was very skinny, with a very slender frame. His arms had a somewhat sinewy look to them, but still being rather bony. His head was bald in its entirety, and he had no hair to speak of to determine what his hair color may have been, for he was missing his eyebrows as well. His face, though young, was as hard as stone, with many lines and creases crisscrossing, evidence of a hard and trying existence. His smile was small, his teeth looking slightly decayed,, and he looked back at Magnus with a pair of yellow eyes. A most peculiar color for a man, being almost sinister in nature, especially when in combination with the somber expression. But the presence he was giving off wasn't one of malevolence, but of knowledge and intelligence.
"Greetings Magnus," this man spoke with a light tone, reminding Magnus of himself. This voice though was slower, and filled with a great amount of wisdom. He bowed low, a sign of courtesy. "I am pleased to meet you. My name is Kual. Kual Laxion, at your service."