0: Past is Prologue
"Sometimes, it feels like I'm in a million pieces—scattered across time and space."
Magellan Mystfall has become unstuck in time.
It begins, as it will end, in a raging inferno. Though he didn't quite know how or when—nor what was the beginning or the end, for that matter.
He knew that Blackstone Keep was a place of legends, with decades—nay, centuries—of history steeped in adventure, peril, and danger.
Though he couldn't yet be sure why, he knew he was in the right place.
In the right... no not right.. a time.
The Trials of Magellan
Re: The Trials of Magellan
I: Mistvale
"The secret of magic is that sometimes, it's more art than magic."
"BLACK OMEN! BLACK OMEN!" the raven croaked, perched atop a bust of an old wizard just above the chamber door.
Magellan would have been worried—if it weren’t for the fact that this was, indeed, the only thing his familiar could say.
"If everything is a black omen, then nothing is a black omen, my friend," he said, without taking his eyes off the instrument before him.
"BLACK OMEN! BLACK OMEN!" replied the raven.
The laboratory of Mistvale was all set. He knew he was technically an intruder in this domain. A little portal magic had taken him into the tower and granted him access to the laboratory on the top floor. But he figured that if the Lady of the Tower knew his purpose, she would have let him in anyway. Thus, it stood to reason that permission had, in fact, been granted—just not yet. In the arcane profession, one sometimes had to take a broader perspective on these things.
He meticulously adjusted tiny crystals on the alchemist’s table in front of him. "Do you know what this is?" he asked his familiar.
"BLACK OMEN! BLACK OMEN!" cried the raven.
Magellan shrugged. "I walked right into that one." He spun around and looked up at the bird. "No, this is a time crystal." He turned again to the pulsating crystal in the middle of the room.
"If anything in this realm might offer us some insight into our current predicament, it will be this."
He stepped forward and reached out to place a hand on the crystal.
"And don’t worry about black omens—this is perfectly—"
The explosion could be heard all the way to Skara Brae.
"The secret of magic is that sometimes, it's more art than magic."
"BLACK OMEN! BLACK OMEN!" the raven croaked, perched atop a bust of an old wizard just above the chamber door.
Magellan would have been worried—if it weren’t for the fact that this was, indeed, the only thing his familiar could say.
"If everything is a black omen, then nothing is a black omen, my friend," he said, without taking his eyes off the instrument before him.
"BLACK OMEN! BLACK OMEN!" replied the raven.
The laboratory of Mistvale was all set. He knew he was technically an intruder in this domain. A little portal magic had taken him into the tower and granted him access to the laboratory on the top floor. But he figured that if the Lady of the Tower knew his purpose, she would have let him in anyway. Thus, it stood to reason that permission had, in fact, been granted—just not yet. In the arcane profession, one sometimes had to take a broader perspective on these things.
He meticulously adjusted tiny crystals on the alchemist’s table in front of him. "Do you know what this is?" he asked his familiar.
"BLACK OMEN! BLACK OMEN!" cried the raven.
Magellan shrugged. "I walked right into that one." He spun around and looked up at the bird. "No, this is a time crystal." He turned again to the pulsating crystal in the middle of the room.
"If anything in this realm might offer us some insight into our current predicament, it will be this."
He stepped forward and reached out to place a hand on the crystal.
"And don’t worry about black omens—this is perfectly—"
The explosion could be heard all the way to Skara Brae.
Last edited by Se7en on Fri Feb 14, 2025 8:32 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Re: The Trials of Magellan
II: Homestead is Where Your Heart Is
"-safe"
Something was wrong. He was looking up at a starless, black sky. The warm comfort of Mistvale’s laboratory had been replaced by a chilling, deathly wind in the night air. What happened? Magellan thought. How did I get here? And where is here?
"Thou hast sought to grasp the power of time itself."
The voice boomed within his mind—neither of age nor youth, but one that carried the weight of eons. It was a voice both soothing and commanding, as if it had been uttered across distant eternities, yet resided here, within the very air surrounding him.
"Was I not supposed to do that?" Magellan asked, half to himself, half to the voice.
“‘tis a poor healer who doth attempt to cure, without first knowing the ailment,” the voice reverberated through him, thick with ancient authority.
His eyes struggled to focus, but the black sky obscured his vision. “I cannot argue with that,” the mage confessed.
“Fear not... I shall reveal unto thee how deep the wound doth run. Then shalt thou comprehend.” It was as much an instruction as a command.
Magellan attempted to sit up, but his muscles wouldn’t obey.
"Hey... are you alright?"
It wasn’t the voice. It was someone else. A younger man suddenly appeared in his field of vision.
"Let me help you up."
The young man grabbed Magellan’s arms and pulled him to his feet. Magellan nodded and offered a courteous bow.
"I am Magellan, and Magellan is me," he said. "And you are?"
"Karl is my name... and this—" He turned around.
Magellan’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, and in the faint torchlight, he could make out several stone buildings.
"—is Homestead..." He sighed, a sigh of exhaustion. "And we could really use your help."
"-safe"
Something was wrong. He was looking up at a starless, black sky. The warm comfort of Mistvale’s laboratory had been replaced by a chilling, deathly wind in the night air. What happened? Magellan thought. How did I get here? And where is here?
"Thou hast sought to grasp the power of time itself."
The voice boomed within his mind—neither of age nor youth, but one that carried the weight of eons. It was a voice both soothing and commanding, as if it had been uttered across distant eternities, yet resided here, within the very air surrounding him.
"Was I not supposed to do that?" Magellan asked, half to himself, half to the voice.
“‘tis a poor healer who doth attempt to cure, without first knowing the ailment,” the voice reverberated through him, thick with ancient authority.
His eyes struggled to focus, but the black sky obscured his vision. “I cannot argue with that,” the mage confessed.
“Fear not... I shall reveal unto thee how deep the wound doth run. Then shalt thou comprehend.” It was as much an instruction as a command.
Magellan attempted to sit up, but his muscles wouldn’t obey.
"Hey... are you alright?"
It wasn’t the voice. It was someone else. A younger man suddenly appeared in his field of vision.
"Let me help you up."
The young man grabbed Magellan’s arms and pulled him to his feet. Magellan nodded and offered a courteous bow.
"I am Magellan, and Magellan is me," he said. "And you are?"
"Karl is my name... and this—" He turned around.
Magellan’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, and in the faint torchlight, he could make out several stone buildings.
"—is Homestead..." He sighed, a sigh of exhaustion. "And we could really use your help."
Re: The Trials of Magellan
III: There’s No Place Like Homestead
"Knowledge is power, but what is more like power is power."
He couldn’t be sure if it was the explosion in Mistvale, the machinations of the voice, or both.
But Magellan now found himself in the small village of Homestead.
The name made his mind drift toward homely stone houses, the scent of freshly baked bread, and the refreshing air of a fairy-tale forest.
The truth, however, was quite the opposite.
A dark curse had been cast upon these lands, the old mayor explained. But it had not come from nowhere. When the Lord and Lady of the land returned from a journey to lands Magellan knew well, they had come back… changed.
Not a problem, Magellan thought to himself. A well-placed greater magic missile, a summoned dragon knight, a time-stop spell, and—
As he paused, something felt… wrong. He often got lost in his thoughts, but this was different—his thoughts themselves were missing.
All his knowledge, spells, and power—gone. Stripped completely from his mind. And with them, his trusty adventuring gear.
He glanced down. He was wearing only a simple robe of no consequence.
Was this a test? A lesson? Or something else? Whatever he had triggered at Mistvale could not have done this alone—there were other forces at work.
Though it matters not, Magellan thought. Homestead needed his help, and if that meant relying on a crossbow and the few cantrips he had retained—so be it.
"Knowledge is power, but what is more like power is power."
He couldn’t be sure if it was the explosion in Mistvale, the machinations of the voice, or both.
But Magellan now found himself in the small village of Homestead.
The name made his mind drift toward homely stone houses, the scent of freshly baked bread, and the refreshing air of a fairy-tale forest.
The truth, however, was quite the opposite.
A dark curse had been cast upon these lands, the old mayor explained. But it had not come from nowhere. When the Lord and Lady of the land returned from a journey to lands Magellan knew well, they had come back… changed.
Not a problem, Magellan thought to himself. A well-placed greater magic missile, a summoned dragon knight, a time-stop spell, and—
As he paused, something felt… wrong. He often got lost in his thoughts, but this was different—his thoughts themselves were missing.
All his knowledge, spells, and power—gone. Stripped completely from his mind. And with them, his trusty adventuring gear.
He glanced down. He was wearing only a simple robe of no consequence.
Was this a test? A lesson? Or something else? Whatever he had triggered at Mistvale could not have done this alone—there were other forces at work.
Though it matters not, Magellan thought. Homestead needed his help, and if that meant relying on a crossbow and the few cantrips he had retained—so be it.
Re: The Trials of Magellan
IV: The Deep Wound
"Not all wounds bleed; some fester in the shadows, unseen until it is too late."
The battles had been hard-fought. Blood had been spilled, and obstacles overcome.
Through his travels across the lands of Homestead, Magellan had recovered much of his lost clarity—his spells and knowledge returning in kind with each trial and tribulation.
I will show thee how deep the wound doth run, the voice had told him.
Now, as he read the note in his hand, he understood the scale of the infection.
He had found it hidden away in a locker at the end of his journey in Homestead. A vast conspiracy—lurking within the shadows, yet with dark tendrils stretching far beyond the curse of Homestead. Gnawing at the very heart of Blackstone Keep itself.
Now, he knew how deep the wound ran.
Soon after, he had banished the evil of Homestead and lifted the curse.
The dark mist began to lighten, and the path back to the wider realm became clear.
But he knew this was not the end.
No… this was only the beginning.
"Not all wounds bleed; some fester in the shadows, unseen until it is too late."
The battles had been hard-fought. Blood had been spilled, and obstacles overcome.
Through his travels across the lands of Homestead, Magellan had recovered much of his lost clarity—his spells and knowledge returning in kind with each trial and tribulation.
I will show thee how deep the wound doth run, the voice had told him.
Now, as he read the note in his hand, he understood the scale of the infection.
He had found it hidden away in a locker at the end of his journey in Homestead. A vast conspiracy—lurking within the shadows, yet with dark tendrils stretching far beyond the curse of Homestead. Gnawing at the very heart of Blackstone Keep itself.
Now, he knew how deep the wound ran.
Soon after, he had banished the evil of Homestead and lifted the curse.
The dark mist began to lighten, and the path back to the wider realm became clear.
But he knew this was not the end.
No… this was only the beginning.
Re: The Trials of Magellan
V: Further Instructions
“If you don’t know where you’re going, it doesn’t matter which path you take.”
The mists of Homestead had subsided, revealing the path back to the realm once more. Magellan stepped into the forest, his thoughts still lingering on all he had seen.
As he walked the wooden paths before him, he composed himself, reflecting on his journey. An hour passed, then another. The morning air was crisp, the sun’s golden rays filtering through the canopy above, casting soft patterns upon the ground. The weight of Homestead’s curse was gone.
Yet something was amiss.
At first, he could not place it. Then, he listened.
Silence.
No rustling leaves. No chirping birds. No scurrying animals. Even the wind, though he felt its chill upon his skin, made no sound.
A mist began to creep forth from the trees, curling around his feet. But unlike the dark, cursed fog of Homestead, this was something else entirely—soft, pale, almost ethereal. Before he could move, it thickened, enveloping him completely.
There was no place to run, even if he had wanted to.
"Now dost thou see how deep the wound doth run."
The voice.
It was both a whisper and a thunderous decree. Though the white void around him was utterly silent, the voice reverberated through his very bones.
"Only now may thou begin to fathom a remedy."
Magellan turned instinctively, though there was nothing to see. Only an endless expanse of whiteness.
“I did!” he called out, unsure how to address an entity he could not perceive.
“My powers have returned to me! The foes were no match for my arcane arts,” he declared, a hint of pride slipping into his voice. “I realize now that only through magic can I—”
Laughter.
The very air trembled as a great, booming laughter echoed through the void. It was not mocking, nor cruel, but vast—indifferent, as if spoken by something beyond mortal comprehension.
"Thou dost believe thy arcane craft granteth thee power and wisdom over the world. Yet, in thy esoteric musings, thou seest not that which lieth before thine very eyes."
Magellan faltered.
He had always been a wizard. It was not simply what he did—it was what he was. Had there ever been a time when he was not a practitioner of the arcane? It felt as though he had always wielded magic, even before he learned to cast his first spell.
"To grasp the workings of the great cosmic loom, thou must look beyond the reflection of thyself."
“Then tell me!" Magellan's voice was firm, but controlled. "What is it I am to do? If magic is not the answer—then what is?”
"Answers I shall not bestow, for thou hast yet to frame the question aright."
Frustration gnawed at him. He wished to understand, yet the voice’s words danced just beyond his grasp.
The presence stirred once more, as if taking pity on his struggle.
"Beyond thy mortal ken doth lie the Power of Kazra, for those bold enough to seize it; the Luck of Lia, for those cunning enough to find it; and the Benevolence of Vor, for those pure enough to seek it."
Magellan stood in silence. He did not yet fully grasp his place in this grand design—but he had a beginning.
"When thou dost truly perceive the grand design upon which thou treadest, then shall we speak again."
And with that, the presence vanished.
The white expanse around him dissolved like mist in the morning sun. In the blink of an eye, he was elsewhere.
He stood in the heart of Oasis.
He had not walked there. He had taken no step. And yet, here he was.
Stranger things had happened.
For now, he had direction. He carried with him the knowledge of Homestead’s conspiracy—and the cryptic guidance of the voice.
He turned his gaze upon the settlement, and a realization struck him.
Oasis.
Yes.
Temples.
The Temple of Kazra. The Temple of Lia. The Temple of Vor.
The next piece of the puzzle lay before him.
“If you don’t know where you’re going, it doesn’t matter which path you take.”
The mists of Homestead had subsided, revealing the path back to the realm once more. Magellan stepped into the forest, his thoughts still lingering on all he had seen.
As he walked the wooden paths before him, he composed himself, reflecting on his journey. An hour passed, then another. The morning air was crisp, the sun’s golden rays filtering through the canopy above, casting soft patterns upon the ground. The weight of Homestead’s curse was gone.
Yet something was amiss.
At first, he could not place it. Then, he listened.
Silence.
No rustling leaves. No chirping birds. No scurrying animals. Even the wind, though he felt its chill upon his skin, made no sound.
A mist began to creep forth from the trees, curling around his feet. But unlike the dark, cursed fog of Homestead, this was something else entirely—soft, pale, almost ethereal. Before he could move, it thickened, enveloping him completely.
There was no place to run, even if he had wanted to.
"Now dost thou see how deep the wound doth run."
The voice.
It was both a whisper and a thunderous decree. Though the white void around him was utterly silent, the voice reverberated through his very bones.
"Only now may thou begin to fathom a remedy."
Magellan turned instinctively, though there was nothing to see. Only an endless expanse of whiteness.
“I did!” he called out, unsure how to address an entity he could not perceive.
“My powers have returned to me! The foes were no match for my arcane arts,” he declared, a hint of pride slipping into his voice. “I realize now that only through magic can I—”
Laughter.
The very air trembled as a great, booming laughter echoed through the void. It was not mocking, nor cruel, but vast—indifferent, as if spoken by something beyond mortal comprehension.
"Thou dost believe thy arcane craft granteth thee power and wisdom over the world. Yet, in thy esoteric musings, thou seest not that which lieth before thine very eyes."
Magellan faltered.
He had always been a wizard. It was not simply what he did—it was what he was. Had there ever been a time when he was not a practitioner of the arcane? It felt as though he had always wielded magic, even before he learned to cast his first spell.
"To grasp the workings of the great cosmic loom, thou must look beyond the reflection of thyself."
“Then tell me!" Magellan's voice was firm, but controlled. "What is it I am to do? If magic is not the answer—then what is?”
"Answers I shall not bestow, for thou hast yet to frame the question aright."
Frustration gnawed at him. He wished to understand, yet the voice’s words danced just beyond his grasp.
The presence stirred once more, as if taking pity on his struggle.
"Beyond thy mortal ken doth lie the Power of Kazra, for those bold enough to seize it; the Luck of Lia, for those cunning enough to find it; and the Benevolence of Vor, for those pure enough to seek it."
Magellan stood in silence. He did not yet fully grasp his place in this grand design—but he had a beginning.
"When thou dost truly perceive the grand design upon which thou treadest, then shall we speak again."
And with that, the presence vanished.
The white expanse around him dissolved like mist in the morning sun. In the blink of an eye, he was elsewhere.
He stood in the heart of Oasis.
He had not walked there. He had taken no step. And yet, here he was.
Stranger things had happened.
For now, he had direction. He carried with him the knowledge of Homestead’s conspiracy—and the cryptic guidance of the voice.
He turned his gaze upon the settlement, and a realization struck him.
Oasis.
Yes.
Temples.
The Temple of Kazra. The Temple of Lia. The Temple of Vor.
The next piece of the puzzle lay before him.