The Lore of Archmagus Ronald of the Sun

| PROLOGUE

You learn that your senses tell you lies mixed in with fact. A snake is but a snake coiled in her jungle tree. Fire in her eyes suggests your wicked spear’s a big mistake: eventually, after too many scars you learn. Magic is just another sense to eat with, or be eaten. By the stars I hunted with the Sun Tribe. Two years hence I’ll likely be the last of us. All gone to ash, or stone, or sailed across the sea we are. But still I make my prayers at dawn and count the blessings that are left to me, remember ages past that brought me here, and tell my tales, before I disappear.

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