Post by Colquitt on Mar 9, 2008 21:27:08 GMT -5
Colquitt's muscular arms, rough hands and broad shoulders at first give you the impression of a warrior. It is only when you notice his staff and clothing that you realize he is a mage. His blonde hair is perpetually unkempt and frequently falls over his pale blue eyes. He seems friendly and eager and has a raucous, if not entirely genuine, laugh. If you watch closely and surreptitiously, you may catch him staring off into nothing, as if distracted by a distant memory. You notice a small, silver pendant in the shape of a snowflake hanging from his neck.
History:
You're not a mage, so you're not going to understand this. You only know the outward appearance of magic: the sparks and sounds of a spell taking shape. You don't know what it feels like to have the energy that drives magic careen through your body. You've never felt a spell start as tingles on the top of your head, then crawl down your neck and into your lower back. Properly done, magic feels like the caress of a lover. Once you've experienced it, you never want it to end.
My home for almost my entire life has been the town of Juroon. It's a small village tucked into the mountains of Lordaeron, the kind of place where work travels quickly. Our town's records don't go very far back, but they do show that my father was a mage, just like his father in a string stretching eight generations. A small town like Juroon doesn't often have a mage, so my family quickly rose to prominence; my grandfather was alderman for a few years after I was born.
I learned to use magic before I learned to walk. My mother says I used to freeze balls of ice in my bathwater, cackling with delight. I remember using my magic to frost the hillside behind our house so that we could sled well into spring. My proudest moment, though, came when I was eleven years old. A flash flood stranded our village's cattle on the far side of a raging river. Some of our strongest men were almost washed away by the powerful current as they tried to reach the frightened animals. As the adults argued over the best way to proceed, I wandered to the water's edge, dangled my fingertips in the stream, and closed my eyes. A few seconds later, I heard the cries and footfalls as the townspeople came running up behind me. When I opened my eyes, I saw that I had frozen the deluge solid! We walked the cattle across the icy torrent to safety, and we all caught a glimpse of how powerful I would become.
It wasn't long after that when Kimber entered my life. We'd grown up in the same town, of course, but young boys and young girls rarely see eye to eye. Kimber's mother wanted her to learn a musical instrument, and my mother was delighted to teach the alderman's daughter. Kimber came for flute lessons once a week, and as we got to know one another, she and I would retreat to the hills above Juroon to practice together. Looking back, that was one of the happiest times of my life.
When Arthas began his dread war, many of Juroon's finest went to fight in defense of Dalaran. Teenagers being teenagers, Kimber and I took advantage of the lack of supervision every chance we got. Under the pretense of practicing our music, we stole away into the hills and into one another's arms. Many were the evenings we sat under the trees, holding and kissing one another. Each night I used my magic to change the falling dew into a light snow. Kimber loved the things I could do with my powers, and I loved the smile I put on her face. That smile was as addicting as any magic I will ever hope to wield.
On Kimber's sixteenth birthday, I gave her a small, silver pendant in the shape of a snowflake. I'd saved half a year's allowance for it, and ordered it specially made by the silversmiths of Ironforge. That night, we met in the hills under our favorite tree. When I arrived, Kimber had spread out a red blanket and invited me to sit next to her. She greeted me with a lingering kiss, then got to her feet. With a shy smile, she pulled her dress over her head and stood before me. Her skin glowed in the moonlight, and the silver snowflake sparkled as her breath quickened.
We wrapped ourselves in that red blanket and kissed for an eternity. Her skin was incredibly soft against mine, her hair smelled sweetly of peacebloom, and her green eyes looked up at me with furious love. With her hands clasped behind my neck, she invited me to become one with her. I was so scared and nervous, but Kimber seemed so calm and natural. She guided me with loving hands and patient giggles. Her smiles became purrs, purrs became moans, and moans became squeals of delight. Each time I hesitated, she assured me that everything was right and felt amazing. She begged me to let go and give in to my passions.
And oh, what passion I felt! No spell could every feel this incredible! I surrendered myself to the crescendo of sensation that coursed through me. Kimber's screams drove me onward until the waves of pleasure exploded in my head and I collapsed onto her, my heart pounding.
It was only then that I realized Kimber wasn't smiling, or talking, or breathing.
Horrified, I grabbed my pants, wrapped her in the red blanket, and ran as hard as I could for the abbey. I led the priest back to our secret spot. He tried every spell and prayer he knew, but nothing could rouse my love. It was a few days later that we learned what had happened: her heart had frozen solid.
My mother cried for a week. She frantically told everyone in the village that what happened was normal. Mages have to be particularly careful to guard their their powers in times of passion. She had always meant to tell me, but thought I was too young. She knew Kimber liked me, but had no idea how close we'd become.
The alderman was furious. Before her funeral, he thrust the snowflake pendant into my shaking hand. His daughter would never be buried wearing a gift from her killer. It's truly a wonder he didn't kill me. In some ways, though, I wish he had.
The townspeople demanded I be dealt with immediately. Many favored banishment, some were more hostile. My father, a respected man himself, assured them he would make it so I could never harm anyone with my magic again.
Eight days after Kimber's death a robed stranger came into town. My father greeted him warmly and invited him into our home. After exchanging pleasantries, my father produced what must have been a hundred silver coins, easily a year's wages, and gave it to the stranger. The robed man had me sit, approached me, and placed his fingers on my temples. Immediately a chill spread down my spine, and I tried to pull away. Some power rooted me to the spot, and I could do nothing but sit in agony. Wisps of white light traveled up the stranger's fingers and arms, floating off into the air and dissipating. Tears streamed down my face, freezing and bouncing on the floor like tiny hailstones. They did at first, anyway, but by the time he was finished, the liquid teardrops proved he had done his job thoroughly: my magic was gone.
I ran to Kimber's grave and threw myself on the ground before her tombstone. I cried and pounded the freshly dug dirt. I looked into the heavens and screamed, "Why!?" I begged an unseen power to give me back my gift. I swore I'd never learn the art of ice again, if only I could have my magic back once more. My voice echoed into the empty hills, and no answer came.
I sank into a deep depression. You have no idea what it's like to have a part of your soul silenced that way. Imagine looking upon a beautiful painting, captivating and masterful. Imagine you see your own signature at the bottom of the canvas. Now imagine that you have no way to ever paint anything like that ever again. Within the span of a week, my two first and greatest lovers were dead.
I think it was Kimber's mother who first had the idea. In going through her daughter's effects, she came across a diary. She never told me what she read, only that she knew that Kimber would never want me or her husband to live this way. It took some doing, but she convinced the alderman to give me a job in his company as an apprentice stonemason.
Both of us thought Kimber's mother was mad, but as the months wore on, her wisdom became apparent. Being around her family made me feel a part of Kimber still lived, and Kimber's father grew to know me as a talented and capable stoneworker rather than a senseless killer. Over the next five years, he became a second father to me. We talked about his daughter, who we both missed intensely, and in doing so, we were both healed.
Masonry is a tough and dangerous business. When you're working with tons of stone, a simple accident can lead to a quick demise. So it was when one of the carts came loose from its tethers and began rolling toward a fellow mason. I turned to see the source of the crew's shouts just in time to see the cart picking up speed. Instinctively, I thrust my arms outward at the juggernaut and a caused a huge fireball to knock the cart on its side. I stared in disbelief at my hands, a wide smile spreading from ear to ear. My happiness was shattered, though, as the alderman ran forward and tackled me, a look of rage on his face. It took three of the strongest masons to pull him off me.
That night the entire village met in the tavern. I plead my innocence, swearing truthfully that I had never done anything like that before. My cries fell on deaf ears, though, and this time the town's will was seen through. I was given a couple of days to set my affairs in order before I left Juroon for the first time, unwelcome to return.
My father understood all too well what had happened. Though it's possible to unlearn spells, you can never destroy the magic that exists within certain of us. He had hoped that I would never learn to manifest my powers again, but knew this day would likely come. Over the years he had set aside a small fortune, which he gave me with instructions to seek out Northshire Abbey. There I could learn to control my powers and put them to good use, a future I could never have in Juroon.
So it was that I left my hometown. Before I left, I stopped one last time to see Kimber. The smell of the peacebloom bush I planted at her grave brought back a flood of memories. I knelt at her tombstone, said a short prayer, clasped the silver snowflake's chain around my neck, and set off. I was crushed at having to leave the only home I'd ever known, but exhilarated at the same time about the possibility of reclaiming my lost magic.
History:
You're not a mage, so you're not going to understand this. You only know the outward appearance of magic: the sparks and sounds of a spell taking shape. You don't know what it feels like to have the energy that drives magic careen through your body. You've never felt a spell start as tingles on the top of your head, then crawl down your neck and into your lower back. Properly done, magic feels like the caress of a lover. Once you've experienced it, you never want it to end.
My home for almost my entire life has been the town of Juroon. It's a small village tucked into the mountains of Lordaeron, the kind of place where work travels quickly. Our town's records don't go very far back, but they do show that my father was a mage, just like his father in a string stretching eight generations. A small town like Juroon doesn't often have a mage, so my family quickly rose to prominence; my grandfather was alderman for a few years after I was born.
I learned to use magic before I learned to walk. My mother says I used to freeze balls of ice in my bathwater, cackling with delight. I remember using my magic to frost the hillside behind our house so that we could sled well into spring. My proudest moment, though, came when I was eleven years old. A flash flood stranded our village's cattle on the far side of a raging river. Some of our strongest men were almost washed away by the powerful current as they tried to reach the frightened animals. As the adults argued over the best way to proceed, I wandered to the water's edge, dangled my fingertips in the stream, and closed my eyes. A few seconds later, I heard the cries and footfalls as the townspeople came running up behind me. When I opened my eyes, I saw that I had frozen the deluge solid! We walked the cattle across the icy torrent to safety, and we all caught a glimpse of how powerful I would become.
It wasn't long after that when Kimber entered my life. We'd grown up in the same town, of course, but young boys and young girls rarely see eye to eye. Kimber's mother wanted her to learn a musical instrument, and my mother was delighted to teach the alderman's daughter. Kimber came for flute lessons once a week, and as we got to know one another, she and I would retreat to the hills above Juroon to practice together. Looking back, that was one of the happiest times of my life.
When Arthas began his dread war, many of Juroon's finest went to fight in defense of Dalaran. Teenagers being teenagers, Kimber and I took advantage of the lack of supervision every chance we got. Under the pretense of practicing our music, we stole away into the hills and into one another's arms. Many were the evenings we sat under the trees, holding and kissing one another. Each night I used my magic to change the falling dew into a light snow. Kimber loved the things I could do with my powers, and I loved the smile I put on her face. That smile was as addicting as any magic I will ever hope to wield.
On Kimber's sixteenth birthday, I gave her a small, silver pendant in the shape of a snowflake. I'd saved half a year's allowance for it, and ordered it specially made by the silversmiths of Ironforge. That night, we met in the hills under our favorite tree. When I arrived, Kimber had spread out a red blanket and invited me to sit next to her. She greeted me with a lingering kiss, then got to her feet. With a shy smile, she pulled her dress over her head and stood before me. Her skin glowed in the moonlight, and the silver snowflake sparkled as her breath quickened.
We wrapped ourselves in that red blanket and kissed for an eternity. Her skin was incredibly soft against mine, her hair smelled sweetly of peacebloom, and her green eyes looked up at me with furious love. With her hands clasped behind my neck, she invited me to become one with her. I was so scared and nervous, but Kimber seemed so calm and natural. She guided me with loving hands and patient giggles. Her smiles became purrs, purrs became moans, and moans became squeals of delight. Each time I hesitated, she assured me that everything was right and felt amazing. She begged me to let go and give in to my passions.
And oh, what passion I felt! No spell could every feel this incredible! I surrendered myself to the crescendo of sensation that coursed through me. Kimber's screams drove me onward until the waves of pleasure exploded in my head and I collapsed onto her, my heart pounding.
It was only then that I realized Kimber wasn't smiling, or talking, or breathing.
Horrified, I grabbed my pants, wrapped her in the red blanket, and ran as hard as I could for the abbey. I led the priest back to our secret spot. He tried every spell and prayer he knew, but nothing could rouse my love. It was a few days later that we learned what had happened: her heart had frozen solid.
My mother cried for a week. She frantically told everyone in the village that what happened was normal. Mages have to be particularly careful to guard their their powers in times of passion. She had always meant to tell me, but thought I was too young. She knew Kimber liked me, but had no idea how close we'd become.
The alderman was furious. Before her funeral, he thrust the snowflake pendant into my shaking hand. His daughter would never be buried wearing a gift from her killer. It's truly a wonder he didn't kill me. In some ways, though, I wish he had.
The townspeople demanded I be dealt with immediately. Many favored banishment, some were more hostile. My father, a respected man himself, assured them he would make it so I could never harm anyone with my magic again.
Eight days after Kimber's death a robed stranger came into town. My father greeted him warmly and invited him into our home. After exchanging pleasantries, my father produced what must have been a hundred silver coins, easily a year's wages, and gave it to the stranger. The robed man had me sit, approached me, and placed his fingers on my temples. Immediately a chill spread down my spine, and I tried to pull away. Some power rooted me to the spot, and I could do nothing but sit in agony. Wisps of white light traveled up the stranger's fingers and arms, floating off into the air and dissipating. Tears streamed down my face, freezing and bouncing on the floor like tiny hailstones. They did at first, anyway, but by the time he was finished, the liquid teardrops proved he had done his job thoroughly: my magic was gone.
I ran to Kimber's grave and threw myself on the ground before her tombstone. I cried and pounded the freshly dug dirt. I looked into the heavens and screamed, "Why!?" I begged an unseen power to give me back my gift. I swore I'd never learn the art of ice again, if only I could have my magic back once more. My voice echoed into the empty hills, and no answer came.
I sank into a deep depression. You have no idea what it's like to have a part of your soul silenced that way. Imagine looking upon a beautiful painting, captivating and masterful. Imagine you see your own signature at the bottom of the canvas. Now imagine that you have no way to ever paint anything like that ever again. Within the span of a week, my two first and greatest lovers were dead.
I think it was Kimber's mother who first had the idea. In going through her daughter's effects, she came across a diary. She never told me what she read, only that she knew that Kimber would never want me or her husband to live this way. It took some doing, but she convinced the alderman to give me a job in his company as an apprentice stonemason.
Both of us thought Kimber's mother was mad, but as the months wore on, her wisdom became apparent. Being around her family made me feel a part of Kimber still lived, and Kimber's father grew to know me as a talented and capable stoneworker rather than a senseless killer. Over the next five years, he became a second father to me. We talked about his daughter, who we both missed intensely, and in doing so, we were both healed.
Masonry is a tough and dangerous business. When you're working with tons of stone, a simple accident can lead to a quick demise. So it was when one of the carts came loose from its tethers and began rolling toward a fellow mason. I turned to see the source of the crew's shouts just in time to see the cart picking up speed. Instinctively, I thrust my arms outward at the juggernaut and a caused a huge fireball to knock the cart on its side. I stared in disbelief at my hands, a wide smile spreading from ear to ear. My happiness was shattered, though, as the alderman ran forward and tackled me, a look of rage on his face. It took three of the strongest masons to pull him off me.
That night the entire village met in the tavern. I plead my innocence, swearing truthfully that I had never done anything like that before. My cries fell on deaf ears, though, and this time the town's will was seen through. I was given a couple of days to set my affairs in order before I left Juroon for the first time, unwelcome to return.
My father understood all too well what had happened. Though it's possible to unlearn spells, you can never destroy the magic that exists within certain of us. He had hoped that I would never learn to manifest my powers again, but knew this day would likely come. Over the years he had set aside a small fortune, which he gave me with instructions to seek out Northshire Abbey. There I could learn to control my powers and put them to good use, a future I could never have in Juroon.
So it was that I left my hometown. Before I left, I stopped one last time to see Kimber. The smell of the peacebloom bush I planted at her grave brought back a flood of memories. I knelt at her tombstone, said a short prayer, clasped the silver snowflake's chain around my neck, and set off. I was crushed at having to leave the only home I'd ever known, but exhilarated at the same time about the possibility of reclaiming my lost magic.
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Founded April 26, 2005