An Historical Event in the Life of Fex
The rain stuttered to a stop, yet water still flowed ruddy and rancid from the eaves and gutters of the streets closely set buildings. Midal City. Home of eastern commerce, and host of that which thrives upon it, for better or often worse.
He had been walking from the docks steadily for a quarter hour or so, threading his way down numerous side streets and unmarked pathways. The architecture had shifted from the rotting pinewood wharf warehouses, to the marble-walled and terracotta-tiled merchants square, and then again to the somewhat older section of Flagstone and Flotsam, as it was called.
This section of the city seemed to have no unified theme, save that new construction had invariably been built over the top of the older, sturdier foundations. Most buildings seemed to have a rickety additional floor, catwalk, or fenced section screening who-knows-what, and virtually every manner of building material that could have been scavenged was in use somewhere.
It was here, in the Flotsam, that he found the sign for which he had been looking. The glyph carved into the recessed oaken door matched that on the letter he had received, and the door had been in the place indicated on the crudely drawn map on the letters reverse. He incanted briefly, gestured to himself, and then knocked on the mossy, damp door rather sharply. He waited, and took a deep breath. The air smelled of loam and molding stone.
The door opened and a wiry man with grayed curly hair stood in the gap. He wore the finery of a trade merchant; embroidered silk garments, and a jeweled ring on each finger. A smile flickered to his lips and he bowed deeply.
My name is Kelo, and I apologize for sending the letter anonymously, but such was essential, lest it be traced. It was my hope that you would choose to come, as we have much to discuss. You go by Fex, no?
Yes. May I come in?
Surely, he replied, gesturing inward with a cane. The foyer opened up into a somewhat small yet lavishly furnished circular room. Tapestries and fine rugs predominated, and various pieces of intricate metalwork festooned with semiprecious stones lined the many shelves and cupboards. A curtained marble archway led into another chamber beyond. Kelo took a seat in a carved teakwood chair at a polished ebony table nearest the door, and indicated that Fex should be seated as well.
Fex, I will be as brief as I can, but there is much to know. I wish to tell you of why you were placed in the care of the Sciun Academy from infancy, but please, do not interrupt me until I am finished. All will be made clear.
Fex nodded.
There are groups, and I am sure you are aware, who serve their own selfish ends at a great cost to humanity. There are those of us in this world who do what we can to interfere with such organizations. How you came to be known to me bears on this.
My compatriots and I became aware of the local operation of an order known as the Tower of Maga. They are a foul bunch, seeking to corrupt and subvert the workings of the Academy. Yes, I see how you look at me, but they do exist. This is beyond question.
Regardless, through means that do not matter here, we came to know of their plans at the time. A grand sacrifice was to be made, that one of their number would obtain some terrible power. They had obtained seven children, each of whom held the promise of exceptional magical ability, and they were intending to spill lifeblood out to some hateful entity as an offering.
We were fortunate enough to arrive in time to save six of the children, of which you were one. One child was sent to each of the Academy towers on Atana, where they remained safely for a number of years.
Each, as they came of age and were set to seek their own way in the world, has received a letter, and each has come here and heard this story that I tell you now. You were the youngest, and so you are the last.
Kelo paused briefly, leaning back in his chair and running his hand backward through his hair. He shifted his gaze about the room, then leaned forward and shrunk his voice to a whisper.
Sadly, this time there is an addendum to the tale. We have, through our contacts, come to realize that the Tower of Maga, while obviously a secret society, is but a shadow in the cloak of another, larger association calling themselves the friends of the night. They operate with near utter anonymity, and they have so deeply infiltrated many aspects of society that they are almost impossible to entirely ferret out.
We are aware that those we once called allies may have some of these unnamed servants in their midst, or may even be such themselves. We were not sure if it was safe to bring you here, and to tell you of your past, yet we thought that you should know, and that perhaps, knowing, you as well could choose to lend your efforts toward ridding our lands of
He paused, glancing toward the curtained passageway at the back of the room. What was that?
Kelos hand slid to the elaborately carved leg of the table, where a long throwing knife had been concealed, its handle a part of the woodwork. Just then, as he pulled the knife free, three men with smallish crossbows stepped into the marble archway from the other room. Before they could be recognized amidst the gloom, a sharp twang sounded. Feathers sprouted from Kelos chest, yet he whipped his hand forward and let fly, burying his knife deep into the throat of one crossbowman, who toppled forward.
Fex began an incantation, and the other two immediately fired their quarrels at him. The missiles flew straight toward his heart as well, but just before striking, veered off harmlessly to the side; one sticking in the table, and one in the floor.
The recitation finished, he pointed at one of the men, and a streak of purplish crackling energy shot from his finger and into the mans face. Flesh singed and popped, and he toppled over backwards, smoke streaming from his open mouth.
The other frantically tried to fit his foot into the crossbow prod to reload, but Fex smoothly drew his short sword and darted forward
The clouds had mostly moved further out to sea when Fex returned to the boat that would be giving him passage home. He had been unable to find anything on the dead men that he could use to further investigate either Kelos claims or the source of the murderers, but this had not surprised him. He assumed that someone would be in contact, one way or another.
Standing on the forecastle, he breathed deeply of the tangy sea air. It still held some of the energy of the passed storm, and it cleared the scent of the city from his nose. It would be a short journey home, he knewthe weather was in his favor.
The rain stuttered to a stop, yet water still flowed ruddy and rancid from the eaves and gutters of the streets closely set buildings. Midal City. Home of eastern commerce, and host of that which thrives upon it, for better or often worse.
He had been walking from the docks steadily for a quarter hour or so, threading his way down numerous side streets and unmarked pathways. The architecture had shifted from the rotting pinewood wharf warehouses, to the marble-walled and terracotta-tiled merchants square, and then again to the somewhat older section of Flagstone and Flotsam, as it was called.
This section of the city seemed to have no unified theme, save that new construction had invariably been built over the top of the older, sturdier foundations. Most buildings seemed to have a rickety additional floor, catwalk, or fenced section screening who-knows-what, and virtually every manner of building material that could have been scavenged was in use somewhere.
It was here, in the Flotsam, that he found the sign for which he had been looking. The glyph carved into the recessed oaken door matched that on the letter he had received, and the door had been in the place indicated on the crudely drawn map on the letters reverse. He incanted briefly, gestured to himself, and then knocked on the mossy, damp door rather sharply. He waited, and took a deep breath. The air smelled of loam and molding stone.
The door opened and a wiry man with grayed curly hair stood in the gap. He wore the finery of a trade merchant; embroidered silk garments, and a jeweled ring on each finger. A smile flickered to his lips and he bowed deeply.
My name is Kelo, and I apologize for sending the letter anonymously, but such was essential, lest it be traced. It was my hope that you would choose to come, as we have much to discuss. You go by Fex, no?
Yes. May I come in?
Surely, he replied, gesturing inward with a cane. The foyer opened up into a somewhat small yet lavishly furnished circular room. Tapestries and fine rugs predominated, and various pieces of intricate metalwork festooned with semiprecious stones lined the many shelves and cupboards. A curtained marble archway led into another chamber beyond. Kelo took a seat in a carved teakwood chair at a polished ebony table nearest the door, and indicated that Fex should be seated as well.
Fex, I will be as brief as I can, but there is much to know. I wish to tell you of why you were placed in the care of the Sciun Academy from infancy, but please, do not interrupt me until I am finished. All will be made clear.
Fex nodded.
There are groups, and I am sure you are aware, who serve their own selfish ends at a great cost to humanity. There are those of us in this world who do what we can to interfere with such organizations. How you came to be known to me bears on this.
My compatriots and I became aware of the local operation of an order known as the Tower of Maga. They are a foul bunch, seeking to corrupt and subvert the workings of the Academy. Yes, I see how you look at me, but they do exist. This is beyond question.
Regardless, through means that do not matter here, we came to know of their plans at the time. A grand sacrifice was to be made, that one of their number would obtain some terrible power. They had obtained seven children, each of whom held the promise of exceptional magical ability, and they were intending to spill lifeblood out to some hateful entity as an offering.
We were fortunate enough to arrive in time to save six of the children, of which you were one. One child was sent to each of the Academy towers on Atana, where they remained safely for a number of years.
Each, as they came of age and were set to seek their own way in the world, has received a letter, and each has come here and heard this story that I tell you now. You were the youngest, and so you are the last.
Kelo paused briefly, leaning back in his chair and running his hand backward through his hair. He shifted his gaze about the room, then leaned forward and shrunk his voice to a whisper.
Sadly, this time there is an addendum to the tale. We have, through our contacts, come to realize that the Tower of Maga, while obviously a secret society, is but a shadow in the cloak of another, larger association calling themselves the friends of the night. They operate with near utter anonymity, and they have so deeply infiltrated many aspects of society that they are almost impossible to entirely ferret out.
We are aware that those we once called allies may have some of these unnamed servants in their midst, or may even be such themselves. We were not sure if it was safe to bring you here, and to tell you of your past, yet we thought that you should know, and that perhaps, knowing, you as well could choose to lend your efforts toward ridding our lands of
He paused, glancing toward the curtained passageway at the back of the room. What was that?
Kelos hand slid to the elaborately carved leg of the table, where a long throwing knife had been concealed, its handle a part of the woodwork. Just then, as he pulled the knife free, three men with smallish crossbows stepped into the marble archway from the other room. Before they could be recognized amidst the gloom, a sharp twang sounded. Feathers sprouted from Kelos chest, yet he whipped his hand forward and let fly, burying his knife deep into the throat of one crossbowman, who toppled forward.
Fex began an incantation, and the other two immediately fired their quarrels at him. The missiles flew straight toward his heart as well, but just before striking, veered off harmlessly to the side; one sticking in the table, and one in the floor.
The recitation finished, he pointed at one of the men, and a streak of purplish crackling energy shot from his finger and into the mans face. Flesh singed and popped, and he toppled over backwards, smoke streaming from his open mouth.
The other frantically tried to fit his foot into the crossbow prod to reload, but Fex smoothly drew his short sword and darted forward
The clouds had mostly moved further out to sea when Fex returned to the boat that would be giving him passage home. He had been unable to find anything on the dead men that he could use to further investigate either Kelos claims or the source of the murderers, but this had not surprised him. He assumed that someone would be in contact, one way or another.
Standing on the forecastle, he breathed deeply of the tangy sea air. It still held some of the energy of the passed storm, and it cleared the scent of the city from his nose. It would be a short journey home, he knewthe weather was in his favor.
An easier to read version is now online at the following link: 
