Magus Jahid of the Realm
Prologue
The Arcane Arts are as varied as they are esoteric.
To describe them exhaustively would require all the vellum in the world, and more, and yet surely we can say this; They generally fall under three categories; Firstly those who stay on the straight and narrow, taught and pampered in the finest schools, and stick to the ancient ways of the Cosmos. And second their antithesis, those of a more rogue-like persuasion, who find their own path thoguth intuition and will alone. Far away in the lands to the East there is rumored to be another entirely different sort of practitioner of the arcane.
And what, if anything, can one say about the Dark Arts? Obscured as they are in the the shroud of twilight, concealed from prying eyes mundane or malign, we can only conclude that they are indeed up to no good.
Entered by: 0x7f80…aD9E
Climbing to the summit of yet another rise in the rolling hills, Jahid halted and scanned the horizon. Mundane eyes would see very little in the darkness, the moon obscured as it was by a low cloud cover, but the landscape was clear as day to his acute senses. Reaching into his purple robes, he withdrew his most sacred possession and raised it above his head and let go. A humming filled his mind as the horseshoe floated in front of him, slowly spinning about its axis.
Coming this way may have been a mistake, and the journey had been protracted and arduous. His kind was in no way welcome in these regions, this far west his relative liberal views on the application of magic were frowned upon at best, forcing him to resort to subterfuge and the arcane arts to conceal his nature and intent. This he had remained hidden during the days and compelled to slink along under the cover of night. He didn't so much mind the last part, having always preferred the comforting caress of darkness over the harshness of light, but it smarted and stung his pride nonetheless.
The humming grew in intensity as the magial item spun ever faster, followed by a sharp ping! not to different to the sound of a small and clear bell - as the Horseshoe came to an abrupt halt, perfectly level with the horizon pointing eastward. So, his quarry was still ahead of him, but close now. Very close.
His talisman, his magical focus, was not unique in its form - but it was special in its origin; this particualr iron shoe came from a very particular horse. A lifetime ago Garfield had been gifted to him by his father, and for years they had been inseparable. Indeed it was when he shod his exemplary pony for the very first time, on his own with no help form the grownups, that he had truly manifested his magical abilities. But too soon after came the raiders, the fires, the deaths.
Shaking off the haunting memories, dismissing the scent of charred wood and burning flesh, Jahid turned east, faintly glowing eyes hard as stone under his hood.
Entered by: 0x7f80…aD9E
