The Lore of Magus Ilyas of the Swell

Lost I was within the ocean swells that near-capsized me. I began to pray that if I passed alive through soaking hell I’d serve the greater good for all my days, think not of pleasure, profit. When the storm spit me onto the shore, I wept with thanks and walked into a tavern to get warm. A mug of ale, a hearth with embers banked and me, all lost in thought. A fire is more than opposite of water. It creates new life. The whole world is its lonely shore, like water, coursing through trickles and spates, so off I to the burn, to toil and spin my tale—or maybe I’ll throw myself in.

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