The Origin of Vendara the Sorceress

Entry 1

I told the elders that the girl was too young to carry the power she holds. When she appeared before the professors, she was starved, hollow, angry, a half-elf girl not more than 16 years of age. Her test scores showed promise, but the power she held was overwhelming her limits. It made her shape look distorted through my mage vision, red and black blurring the lines of her form.

“You passed our test,” said the High Mage. “But you deceived our administrators. There should have been no way a child could have taken the exam, let alone a half-breed.”

“What have you to say for yourself?” asked Bryn, our Mage of Air. Her voice was gentle, as light as the magic that worked through her, but it held steel with those words.

The girl said nothing in the moments after. Her eyes were burned with that overflowing magic energy.

She spat at the floor.

“I earned me place,” she said. Her accent was thick, uneducated.

How could she have learned enough to pass the test? I wonder still.

“Don’t make me laugh. Your flamin’ rules say you have to keep me. Article 17, Verse 3: No eligible student will be denied access to the university and its library if they are willing to learn and carry the power of our kind.”

“Our kind,” replied Bryn. The nostrils of her hawk-like nose flared.

“Yeh? Am I not ’your kind’ enough?” The girl raised her fists–she actually raised her fists to the head of the air magic department. I almost smiled. The High Mage lifted a hand.

“She knows our rules,” he said. “There are few clauses that could counteract that article, but they do not allow for the exclusion of any with some of our blood.”

He looked to me. “Isn’t that right, Gael?”

I should not have let her in. I should not have let that comment anger me the way it did.

But looking at this bold, angry girl made me want to see something burn. I should have known.

Entry 2:

The girl came to my door again today. Her face was bruised, her arm broken. Again. My magic healed what it could.

“It takes time to heal,” I said. The gravel in my voice did not match any of the elves’ I worked with. “You never give it time.”

“I don’t HAVE time,” she snapped back at me. It had only been a year, but already her injuries had continued to accumulate. She had barely grown since the first time I had seen her. The food in the Hall was not filling her out; her cheeks were still hollow, her eyes bruised dark with sleeplessness. I tried my softest tone.

“What hurries you so, little one?” I asked. “You are the youngest to enter our ranks in years, and not even of the proper race. There is much to overcome.”

“Our ranks?” She snorted. “You will never be one of them.”

I fixed my herbs back into order, saying nothing. It always ended like this in these meetings. She never came to me to advise her. Only to take my potions and share her insult.

I held my tongue when I sensed the creature growing inside her. It was not an Eidolon, it was another thing entirely. A child. I gave her Moon’s Bane to ease the pains and prevent this thing, but she left the herbs at the door.

Entry 3:

The girl has vanished. I cannot say where she went. No one is concerned. No one asks after her.

It is as if she never had been here.

Entry 4:

I recognized her as soon as she knocks on my door. I do not recognize the smile on her face.

It is hard and cruel. It misshapes her mouth and makes her black eyes glint darkly.

“I’ve enrolled again, Master,” she says. “I hope to resume my studies with you as my advisor.”

I hesitate to respond. I do not wish to assist her, but I know that she would not have come to me if she had any other choice.

I have no other students. I let her in.

Entry 5:

Her research has moved beyond this plane. I have guided her to step into the other dimensions accessible to us, but that is not enough for her. She has begun to spend more and more time in one sole dimension. Her research papers focus obsessively on the Chaos Plane. I try to reason with her, tell her that research into the Chaos Plane goes nowhere fast, but she is adamant.

She comes to me with texts that have been forbidden by the elder mages, things that shift in and out of this plane. Dalygus follows her around like a lost puppy, the only other strange student in this place. He does not know why he asks for text that change, information that only he can find a way to access with that hidden office of his. She asks for explanations I cannot give and then seeks them on her own.

Who can possibly attempt to understand the impossible?

Entry 6:

I have seen her Eidolon feeding off of mutilated creatures in the woods. It bathes in their blood.

I cannot continue to advise this woman. Something is terribly wrong.

Entry 7:

She has asked to see the texts of my ancestor, Gaia. How she learned of my grandmother’s name, I do not know. The name has been erased from the mage’s lists. After all, what type of mage would marry an Orc?

A dark one, that’s what. I cannot give them to her. I tell her I burned them.

Entry 8:

Ther eis not muchtime left. Vendarahas not foundthetexts. I have hiddenthe m. But I wil pay the price.

My children mus t know: Shewi ll die seeking the m. The power re m ains hidden.

This is all I can–


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