Medran Emberborn
(a.k.a. Speeter)
What began as sound sleep for Medran quickly devolved into fitful dreams — visions of the past, of things his waking self tried often to forget.
He found himself in a large open room. The smell of musty old books filled the air, alongside the aroma of various incenses that coated the space with a fairly thick cloud of perfumed smoke. Seemingly every inch of the walls in the large space was filled with shelf after shelf of books — mostly ancient tomes, but amongst them some newer leather-bound volumes as well.
Master Upan stood over his desk on the opposite side of the room, staring down at the large book in front of him, holding a large crystal to his eye that allowed him to read and understand what would otherwise be gibberish. His long white beard stood in contrast to his dark, wrinkled complexion. He wore the dark blue robes trimmed in gold of a high-ranking wizard of his order.
Medran knew all these details clearly; he had replayed this scene a thousand times in his head. He stood at the opposite end of the study, soaking wet, breathing heavy, and holding a crumpled note in his right hand. His rough grey apprentice robes hung heavy with the weight of the rain water that dripped to the floor and was already beginning to form a large puddle around his feet.
“Ah, Medran, I have been expecting you for some time,” said the old man without looking up from his work, “You are late to your studies. Even later than usual.”
“Master,” Medran blurted out, hardly allowing the man to finish his greeting, “Master, there is something urgent we must discuss.”
“Urgent?” Upan asked half to himself, finally looking up at the soaking wet figure shaking at the other end of the room. “Urgent is but a state of mind, my boy. What is urgent for one is not for another. Everything is urgent, and yet, nothing is urgent.”
“I do not have time for your riddles today, Master,” Medran responded, sloshing forward towards the wizard. “I received word tonight via raven. My village. Ember. It’s dire.”
“Well that is urgent,” Master Upan chuckled to himself, closing the book and setting down the crystal in front of him. “Let me see.”
The vision shook and blurred momentarily, as if leaping forward in time ever so slightly. Medran now stood, still sopping wet, about halfway to the door with his back to his Master.
“If you leave this place, Medran, you can never return. You know the rules: those pupils who leave the Tower without having finished their training cannot seek reentry.”
Medran continued toward the door.
“Please, Medran! Don’t throw it all away. You have gifts most wizards could only dream of. Speed up spells, make them more powerful, and other things you cannot even imagine. Don’t throw it all away. You show the promise to be the most powerful wizard in a thousand years!”
At that, Medran stopped. Slowly, he turned back toward his master, face cast downward.
“Maybe I’m not meant to be a wizard. Maybe, I’m something else...” With that, he slammed the door behind him, leaving the old man alone in the empty study.
The vision faded into nothingness.
Children
Eyes
Golden
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Red, scaled
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