Community

The adventures of Stovic the Wanderer by Skibo the first


The Drinking Trip

Stovic  moved through the forest following his Ouphe guide. The creature had an  eye for magic which was exactly what Stovic needed.

The world  outside the village was dangerous. Magic was too wild, too powerful, and  too unwieldy out here. Stovic’s love of travel had earned the  reputation of an eccentric in his village.

The Ouphe stopped for  a moment, and its large eyes stared out into the dark thicket, “Magic”  he said in a raspy voice. Stovic kneeled down next to the Ouphe and put  on his magic seers. The glasses were a gift from a thornweald archer,  they sharpened the sight and focused the mind.

About thirty feet  away a wild Quadgnoth was consuming a fallen badger. The beast was  immune to most magics. It could easily kill Stovic and the ouphe without  much trouble. Stovic and the ouphe took a wide birth around the  Quagnoth.

The two men reached the elf tree-city of Olda. Stovic  left the ouphe at the forest floor marketplace. The creature could spend  hours looking over simple magical trinkets.

Stovic came to the  pass tree. Only a select few were allowed into the tree-city, most  visitors were restricted to the forest floor market place. Stovic had  the clearances to pass through unharassed.

Stovic stepped into a  shaft carved into the inside of the tree. The bottom of the shaft had a  wooden plug. Stovic touched a glowing green stone. The stone flashed  and energized the wooden plug. The energy caused a large vine to grow  beneath, pushing the wooden plug upwards and Stovic with it.

Stovic  reached the topmost tier of the tree. He walked across the system of  branches and bridges to the main chamber of the elf lord Nador. Outside  the door, two guards stood silently. They nodded Stovic to enter.

The  room was gigantic. It could hold Stovic’s whole house with room to  spare. In the center of the room was a wooden table. At one end sat  Nador, and at the other sat a masked woman. Stovic sat down and waited.

“Sorry I’m late,” Stovic began, “My guide spent a half hour examining a pinecone before letting us pass.”

Nador  gave Stovic a smile, “Stovic the wanderer, how good to see you.” Nador  stood and made a grand gesture towards the woman sitting at the table,  “Stovic I would like you to meet the Lady Ver-Dulla, keeper of the  monastery in the clouds.” Stovic shook hands with the woman, her mask  marked her as an imperial mage.

Imperial mages were renown for  their focus and attention to magic. Stovic had only seen three types of  people cast spells without hesitation: the foolish, the mad, and  imperial mages. Each imperial mage’s mask was the same, a solid piece of  porcelain without eye holes or an opening for the mouth. The mask was  meant to force the wearer to look inwards. Overtime they become adept at  seeing the slightest changes in the magic leylines in the surrounding  areas. The mask’s face was molded and painted in the form of a young  girl’s features.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Ver-Dulla said in a  voice created through the vibration of air before her. She turned  slightly towards Nador, it was for his curtsey as she could easily  perceive everything in the room. “I’m leaving Nador. Reflect at length  on what we spoke of.” She walked to the center of the room, spread her  arms out, and collected magic without a second thought. A transparent  blue sphere surrounded her. In a blink of the eye, the sphere callasped  in and exploded in a brilliant white light. The floor shook and she was  gone.

Stovic sat down, “Now we get into the important business.”  Nador clapped and a thin elf rushed into the room carrying two mugs.  Nador began, “Now my daughter’s getting married in a few months but we  need to start producing the wine now. This first one is a sapwine,  you’ll find it fruity with a slight twang.”

Stovic woke to the  sounds of blaring horns. He and Nador had retried after hours of  drinking. His head pounded as he walked out of the guest chambers into  the main area. Nador was talking to his general. “My liege, a wild  Quagnoth is heading right for Olda. We are evacuating the forest floor  market.” Nador spoke, “Assemble the forces and place them in a wall  along the edge of the town. And Stovic,” Nador looked up to see the  chamber door close, “don’t be rash,” he mumbled.

Stovic rushed  along the branches at a break neck speed. The sun was just peaking over  the horizon. Stovic could see crowds of people headed towards one  direction and a group of guards headed in the other. He went in the  direction of the guards. He reached the edge of the tree line and saw  the beast approaching. There wasn’t much time. The Quagnoth was one of  the most dangerous threats to the elves because elvish archers couldn’t  hit them. If Stovic didn’t stop it many elves would die.

Stovic  looked inwards. He felt the tempest of magic flow around and through  him. He picked up strands of red mana from the chaotic swirls of green  mana. He focused the magic through his arm and bathed the forest floor  in fire.
The beast screeched and wretched as its skin blackened and  its flesh sizzled. It rolled out of the field of fire and into a line of  swords. A young elf warrior drove his blade into the beast’s head. It  whimpered and died.

Stovic stepped onto one of the large leaves  on the branch. Stovic conjured a blade of pure fire and slashed through  the stem of the leaf. Stovic learned leaf ridding from Nador on a whim.  It was the fastest way of getting down from the tree tops. He loved the  thrill of soaring over the forests.

The leaf landed just outside  the group of elves. “Back away!” Stovic yelled as he approached the  dead creature. The elves stood back quickly. Stovic reached deep into  his reserves of mana and produced a stream of fire that consumed the  Quagnoth’s corpse.

Nador came to the side of Stovic. “It saddens me that we won’t be able to relive our battles in the Realm of Thrones.”

Just  as the quagnoth’s body collapsed into skeletal remains. Stovic  collapsed, his arm was crisscrossed with red lines. Stovic was writhing  in pain. “He’s got significant backlash, bring him back into the guest  chambers and make sure he’s comfortable.” Nador commanded.

The  only cure for magic backlash is time. Ironically healing magic only  worsens it. Stovic stayed for a few days, attending many feasts to his  honor. Over the next few days Stovic saw the youth that took down the  quagnoth rise to the level of a favored warrior.

After a week,  Stovic’s arm had recovered and his guide found. Nador saw them off,  “I’ll see you at the harvest moon for your daughter’s wedding,” Stovic  said.

Stovic reached the edge of his home town in the dead of  the night. He had seen his guide off at the edge of the forest with a  payment of gold and magical trinkets. The town was silent. Stovic passed  through to the house on the outskirts of town and entered. He passed  his pet ingus, checked to make sure it had enough tinder to eat, and  went to bed.

It felt good to be home.