McIan
Journeyman
“A great, noble, and majestically honorable deed you must do my love,” Virani had told him. “The Elder promised me. If you do this, as detestable as it may be for any of us, it will serve as the cost you must pay first to regain your flesh and blood again, as did he.”
Magnus vowed to do it. Already he was in the throes of despair and depression as his life unfolded before him, day after day, a half-man, half-spirit existence that satisfied neither form. The gods of light had told him of this – that he must undertake a quest, one of great consequence to the cause of light and virtue, to be freed from this living death. He had, at first, thought it might be the slaying of his tormentor, the Elder, now Damian Racsen, or even of his consort, Virani, both of which were impossible for him. Damian was too powerful for him in honorable combat, as he refused any underhanded means to slay him. His love for Virani would never allow him to harm her much less kill her even though she lived as a vampire. Besides, vendetta, revenge, killing was dishonorable to him and could not be the action any gods of light would approve. No, it must be something else.
He knew there was an operation going on in the Lost Lands. Virani had told him about it in casual conversation. The Elder’s right hand, an unnamed shade, wraith or some such, was overseeing a team of operatives who were capturing wild timber wolves to train and enhance their features with some kind of potion. It made them grow in size to enormity, quickly, hardening their skin and making them almost immune to pain that would ordinarily incapacitate any normal creature. They were trained and kept in a compound hidden away in the dark, forbidding, land mass between Papua and Delucia. The handlers used whistles to summon them back after releasing them for random attacks. This entire venture was designed with one purpose in mind: to sow the seeds of doubt in the Elder’s son’s mind, to torment him into believing he was the cause of it all. No one knew how well this was working or even if it would, but it was going on, and could go on indefinitely.
Magnus did his research well. He discovered the one who had invented the formula and forced her to duplicate it or die. He did so anonymously; without her ever knowing who he was. He told her that if she revealed she had given it to him, she would be slain by the Elder or Virani and so he was certain she would keep silent.
He found a suitable courier, having disguised himself, and paid him handsomely to deliver it to Sanctuary, where Scar resided… an anonymous missive containing only the recipe for the potion.
Scar would have to take it from there, using his own wits and the counsel of the wise.
He would do this good thing, and others as well, but he was not going to make it simple for them. All in all, it would be a great, magnanimous deed, sure to infuriate the Elder and perhaps Virani, but, in the end, the resumption of natural life, not the boredom of an undead existence, was his goal.
Magnus vowed to do it. Already he was in the throes of despair and depression as his life unfolded before him, day after day, a half-man, half-spirit existence that satisfied neither form. The gods of light had told him of this – that he must undertake a quest, one of great consequence to the cause of light and virtue, to be freed from this living death. He had, at first, thought it might be the slaying of his tormentor, the Elder, now Damian Racsen, or even of his consort, Virani, both of which were impossible for him. Damian was too powerful for him in honorable combat, as he refused any underhanded means to slay him. His love for Virani would never allow him to harm her much less kill her even though she lived as a vampire. Besides, vendetta, revenge, killing was dishonorable to him and could not be the action any gods of light would approve. No, it must be something else.
He knew there was an operation going on in the Lost Lands. Virani had told him about it in casual conversation. The Elder’s right hand, an unnamed shade, wraith or some such, was overseeing a team of operatives who were capturing wild timber wolves to train and enhance their features with some kind of potion. It made them grow in size to enormity, quickly, hardening their skin and making them almost immune to pain that would ordinarily incapacitate any normal creature. They were trained and kept in a compound hidden away in the dark, forbidding, land mass between Papua and Delucia. The handlers used whistles to summon them back after releasing them for random attacks. This entire venture was designed with one purpose in mind: to sow the seeds of doubt in the Elder’s son’s mind, to torment him into believing he was the cause of it all. No one knew how well this was working or even if it would, but it was going on, and could go on indefinitely.
Magnus did his research well. He discovered the one who had invented the formula and forced her to duplicate it or die. He did so anonymously; without her ever knowing who he was. He told her that if she revealed she had given it to him, she would be slain by the Elder or Virani and so he was certain she would keep silent.
He found a suitable courier, having disguised himself, and paid him handsomely to deliver it to Sanctuary, where Scar resided… an anonymous missive containing only the recipe for the potion.
Scar would have to take it from there, using his own wits and the counsel of the wise.
He would do this good thing, and others as well, but he was not going to make it simple for them. All in all, it would be a great, magnanimous deed, sure to infuriate the Elder and perhaps Virani, but, in the end, the resumption of natural life, not the boredom of an undead existence, was his goal.