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- Joined
- Jan 14, 2009
- Location
- Canada
Magic was a part of this world. Anyone who said otherwise was fooling no one, not even themselves. Too many things had happened in the past to try andhide the existance of magic, and every court the world over held a wizard or two to advise the royalty on all things arcane. Years and years of painstaking training and conditioning made the people who chose to walk this path into powerful figures in teh world, able to reshape small pockets of the world with a gesture, and a few words. But then...the world changed.
Magic seemed to resist being restrained by rules and learning, and small pockets of people began to be born with a talent for the art. It came to them as they approached their adolescent years, and they grasped the power quickly, and with appalling swiftness. This new power, this...sorcery, was unbridled, hard to control, and those who wielded it did so with the kind of ease that only came from hard earned experience for wizards. The people of the lands became increasingly uncomfortable with the burgeoning power, and cried out to the wizards to do something about it.
And so the wizards did as was requested.
An academy, a great house of learing was made for teose with the gift of sorcery, to teach them, train them, and make them into responsible wielders of magic. The making of this academy was nothing short of miraculous, the great structure rising up seemingly overnight, with only a dozen wizards present to account for it's making. The people were still hesitant about the sorcerers, for upon each and every one was levied a curse. Some very minor, some nigh on crippling. But to the people it was proof that the Gosd themselves turned their sight from these people.
The academy has stood strong for nearly ten generations, and many sorcers haave been trained within. And as often as those witht eh gift are found, the wizards ensure they reach this academy. And so it is that all, like it or not, attend this place.
Yoristan Gall looked at the front of the building. He was not overly thrilled about being sent here, but here he stood. The magistrate of his home had been clear. He would either accept this 'educational experience', or face the headsmans axe. It hadn't been much of a choice. He looked around the grounds, not surprised to see very few people around. Teh local village that had grown up in the needs of the academy still did not trust the sorcerer population. As a point of fact, he suspected that people ahd been chosen to live here specifically because of their distrust of sorcerers. He felt a nudge from his 'escort', and sighed, walking forward.
Yoristan Gall was not a slight man. Taller than most, nearly six feet in height, he was built well. He came from a family of farmers, adn noe of that line of work had ever been afraid of hard work. Hair the colour of sun bleached sand covered his head in a shaggy mess that would never be tamed, no matter how he tried. Some part of him wondered if that was part of his sorcerers curse. His eyes were an even grey, like the granite the academy was crafted from. His hands were weathered and beaten, years of work making them such. He had hidden away his power for so long that he had nearly avoided notice all together. But once the secret had been out, it was only days before he'd been taken. Now nearing the twnetieth year of his life, he'd lost his home, and was nw here to see about making a new one for himself. He only hoped that he might find a few sould within the grounds that might be worth knowing.
He entered the academy.
Magic seemed to resist being restrained by rules and learning, and small pockets of people began to be born with a talent for the art. It came to them as they approached their adolescent years, and they grasped the power quickly, and with appalling swiftness. This new power, this...sorcery, was unbridled, hard to control, and those who wielded it did so with the kind of ease that only came from hard earned experience for wizards. The people of the lands became increasingly uncomfortable with the burgeoning power, and cried out to the wizards to do something about it.
And so the wizards did as was requested.
An academy, a great house of learing was made for teose with the gift of sorcery, to teach them, train them, and make them into responsible wielders of magic. The making of this academy was nothing short of miraculous, the great structure rising up seemingly overnight, with only a dozen wizards present to account for it's making. The people were still hesitant about the sorcerers, for upon each and every one was levied a curse. Some very minor, some nigh on crippling. But to the people it was proof that the Gosd themselves turned their sight from these people.
The academy has stood strong for nearly ten generations, and many sorcers haave been trained within. And as often as those witht eh gift are found, the wizards ensure they reach this academy. And so it is that all, like it or not, attend this place.
Yoristan Gall looked at the front of the building. He was not overly thrilled about being sent here, but here he stood. The magistrate of his home had been clear. He would either accept this 'educational experience', or face the headsmans axe. It hadn't been much of a choice. He looked around the grounds, not surprised to see very few people around. Teh local village that had grown up in the needs of the academy still did not trust the sorcerer population. As a point of fact, he suspected that people ahd been chosen to live here specifically because of their distrust of sorcerers. He felt a nudge from his 'escort', and sighed, walking forward.
Yoristan Gall was not a slight man. Taller than most, nearly six feet in height, he was built well. He came from a family of farmers, adn noe of that line of work had ever been afraid of hard work. Hair the colour of sun bleached sand covered his head in a shaggy mess that would never be tamed, no matter how he tried. Some part of him wondered if that was part of his sorcerers curse. His eyes were an even grey, like the granite the academy was crafted from. His hands were weathered and beaten, years of work making them such. He had hidden away his power for so long that he had nearly avoided notice all together. But once the secret had been out, it was only days before he'd been taken. Now nearing the twnetieth year of his life, he'd lost his home, and was nw here to see about making a new one for himself. He only hoped that he might find a few sould within the grounds that might be worth knowing.
He entered the academy.