Open Seas, Midnight
The starless sky was pitch black and frighteningly dismal, lit only by the occasional dagger of lightning. The sea was a frenzy of raging tides and harrowing winds, and with every thunderclap, the storm only seemed to worsen.
Hard waves cascaded against the vast 18th century frigate sailing along these tumultuous tides. Somehow, the vessel pushed onward without a hitch, as if untouchable by the strong winds. Though the wind and seas raged on all sides, the vessel continued on a straight path as if it were a clearer day than any other.
The frigate's sails - sky with ornate, golden Victorian symbols - hung dry against the undisturbed mast.
This was impossible, of course. The rain ought to have been beating hard against the sails while the wind played its role in tempting the vessel off course.
An unseen veil of supernatural fabrication, however, saw the frigate sail onward through the storm without any complications. It would be another story entirely, however, it a waterspout were to touch down. Nothing that the wizard behind these fortifications couldn't handle, of course, but the brief moments of intense winds could prove annoying.
The wizard and captain of the ship was housed comfortably in his quarters. Garbed in an azure cloak, Malarach stood poring over notes, scrawls, and tomes scattered across the mahogany surface of a long table.
Candles lit with golden fire illuminated his quarters. Bookshelves, dressers, and other tables had been positioned along the walls. Numerous orbs and magical instruments sat atop the shelves. A few portraits of himself had been hung here and there.
In his left hand, he clutched a quill between his fingers, whilst the other held a roll of parchment against the table. His face was unreadable, but something danced across those eerily scarlet eyes. Excitement? Exasperation? Inquisitiveness? The gleam in his eyes was not unlike that which an avid researcher, scholar, or scientist. In a sense, he considered himself all three.
Without a word, he placed the tip of his quill against the parchment, and began to write.
“Seeking knowledge is a funny thing; the harder it tries to elude you, the more clues to it fate reveals. For me, at least. And if only because I have mastered fate’s hand.”
Another thunderclap. The room didn’t so much as rattle, but the wizard sensed it reverberate through the clouds. He didn’t look up from his parchment.
“My search for clarity of Anti-Magic - a mysterious concept of utter magic nullification - has proved fruitless for years. Decades I’ve spent tracking down many archives on it, only to find stupidly vague, out of place references to it that most wizarding authors are too timid to expand upon. I never was able to find any of those authors, seeing as most of them don’t share my luxury of immortality. Their lack of spines probably caused them to collapse and suffocate under the weight of their robes. A fitting end, to be sure, but vexing to those hoping to make inquiries before they tragically passed on.”
“It is a shame, being the only bold wizard I know.”
He snorted. Malarach couldn’t help but be amused with sorcerers that were too afraid to push the boundaries of magic. They were complacent, sacrificing merit and power for safety and comfort. And in the end, they grew old and died of any number of maladies, in their sleep if they were lucky. So much for comfort.
Shaking his head, he put the quill against the parchment and continued:
“But I digress. You see, as fate would have it, I have been directed towards an arcane archive that I’m confident will set me on the right path to uncovering the mysteries of Anti-Magic.”
“This repository was brought to my attention by a former pupil of mine, whom I only recently sought out. With the magical knowledge I armed him with all those years ago, I’d expected to find him living lavishly, perhaps in a tower or manor some sort, with loyalists at his side, maybe a few wenches here and there; when I first met him, he frankly struck me as that sort of man.”
“What I didn’t expect was to find him wasting away in some dusty dungeon beneath an abandoned monastery, babbling madly about assassins, shadow societies, and archers. He might’ve poorly invoked an eldritch, the way he spoke. The sad fool barely recognized me! With a few, temporary mental corrections and some persuasion, I was fortunately able to make inquiries of him. In those moments of near-sanity, he informed me of a place called ‘The Brick’ – an arcane masterpiece beyond compare. That last part was likely an exaggeration, but it was enough to intrigue me.”
“According to him, this complex building housed all that I was looking for and more. I cannot know for certain if the key to interpreting Anti-Magic is housed there, but I will soon find out. Shortly after telling me this, madness began to overtake my former pupil’s mind once again. At his very request, I ended his life and left his body to rot there [after procuring a sample of the strange restorative fluid running through his veins, of course].”
“What a sad shell of a man my pupil had become. So much potential, wasted. I knew I should have just used him for my experiments with wyrm hearts rather than take him on as an apprentice. What a waste of time. Admittedly everlasting time, but still.”
Malarach’s head raised from the parchment, brows creased, ears alert. A mild shudder went through his quarters. He could sense the storm picking up outside of the vessel, steadily growing in its intensity. A stronger wind was emerging from the storm. A funneling wind.
A waterspout would fully form in a matter of minutes. He needed to finish his ruminations quickly, so that he might prepare another defensive spell before the brunt of the tornado hit.
He hastily dipped the tip of his quill in a vial of ink before putting it to the parchment again.
“I have already set sail to the Ireland’s eastern coast. I could be there in an instant, of course, but why be so hasty? I find these treacherous voyages a tad more fulfilling. I’ll have to set up the usual secrecy and camouflage charms once I arrive, as always. Can’t have potential naval forces getting suspicious, or another drunk sod ambling aboard and reveling in my quarters. The last one didn’t take to well to being force fed a vial of Delver Venom; I suppose I wouldn't like fanged tentacles tearing out of my stomach and ripping me apart either.”
“Perhaps this Montessi DaBrickashaw will hold the knowledge I’m looking for. Perhaps it won’t. Either way, this quest for Anti-Magic has been an interesting one. I truly won’t suffer any if it lasts another decade. A great wizard thinks not of the toil, but of the merit. And I am of course one of the greatest wizards of today. Being undying helps too.”
At that, Malarach set the quill aside. With a wave, the revenant closed and sealed the enchanted journal he used to record his many ruminations. A satisfied smirk, and he turned around and strode out of the Captain’s Quarters.
Another thunderclap resounded from the sky. Unseen forces revolved in the palm of his hand as he prepared to defend his frigate against the waterspout descending upon the sea.
The door to his quarters closed behind him, as if by itself. The candles within remained lit. He would reenter these quarters soon, ready to write, to record, to study, to analyze; ever eager to refine his wisdom…and the power it conferred.
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