Story Magons Exodus



Rapism cures Racism
Jan 2, 2022
Chapter 1 Introduction

The City of Korvosa lay shrouded in darkness, In the accursed sprawl of Korvosa, where the nefarious tendrils of Asmodeus unfurled in every shadowed corner, the city's enigmas lay entombed within a labyrinth of alleys as convoluted as the coils of a demonic serpent. The very cobblestones underfoot seemed to writhe in the umbral embrace of eldritch edifices, conspiring to disorient and beguile. Veiled by a funereal shroud of clouds, argent moonlight seeped through the ether to scribe eldritch glyphs upon the rain-slick stones below. Murmurs reverberated through the gelid night, spectral utterances woven into the air, as if Korvosa itself had forged a clandestine pact to guard its infernal mysteries with unwavering zeal.

I am Magon Vranek, an enigmatic silhouette etched against the tapestry of existence, a man whose raven tresses cascade like a midnight waterfall just shy of his shoulders. An aura of inscrutable mystique enshrouds me, ever elusive to the eyes that dare to probe the depths of my being. Curious gazes are drawn to me as if by some arcane gravity, yet ever they falter, confounded by the labyrinthine essence they sense but cannot unravel. My existence dances on the periphery of the mystical; I am both artisan and sage, forging spells into tangible marvels and translating the cryptic lexicon of the arcane for those audacious enough to seek my transcendent counsel.

Located in Pillar Hill—Korvosa's enclave for the socially undesirable, yet in convenient proximity to the affluence of the Gold Quarter—my magic shop serves as a haven of arcane refuge. Though the neighborhood may be seedy, my shop is far from obscure, standing as a well-known sanctuary against the prying eyes and judgements of the world beyond its welcoming doors.

Inside, shelves teem with esoteric trinkets and powerful artifacts, each suffused with its own distinct aura. Scrolls and parchments, inscribed with ancient runes, lie in revered stillness, as if whispering in forgotten languages to those who have the ears to hear. In this space, situated within a stone's throw of Korvosa's economic heart yet within the confines of its most marginalized district, the very air vibrates with the untamed energies of hidden mysteries. Here, the dualities of high and low, arcane and mundane, are subsumed in the quest for otherworldly knowledge.

"Another late night, brother?" Torian's voice broke through my thoughts as he entered the candlelit room, his muscular frame casting shadows on the walls.

"Indeed," I replied, my voice rumbling deep in my throat. "I must finish this enchantment before tomorrow morning." Torian studied the intricate runes etched upon the silver pendant in front of me, his eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight.

The surface of the amulet glowed with a gentle luminescence. I could feel its latent magic pulsing through my veins as I traced each rune with my finger, murmuring softly as I spoke words of arcane power. The energies coalesced into a single point, before cascading outward like a tidal wave, imbuing the air around us with a tangible sense of ancient secrets and hidden power.

Torian watched in awe as I continued to work on the spell until late into the night. Finally, when dawn began to peek over the horizon, the amulet was ready. Its surface had taken on an incandescence that rivaled that of any star seen in the night sky, and a faint hum radiated from it—the sound of powerful enchantments awaiting their release.

With one final flourish, my work was complete. Smiling proudly at Torian's impressed expression, I placed the amulet safely inside its velvet box before finally turning away from my labours and allowing sleep to take me at last.

"Your dedication never ceases to amaze me."

As my fingertips lightly grazed the surface of the artifact, a palpable energy surged up my arm, its vibrant oscillations interlacing with the very sinews of my being. This electricity, ethereal yet viscerally potent, threaded itself into the intricate tapestry of reality, as though stitching the corporeal and the arcane into a unified whole.

"Are you sure you don't need any help?" Torian asked, concern etched on his face.

"Your offer is appreciated," I replied after a moment's pause, "but this is something I must accomplish alone. I appreciate your unwavering loyalty and support, brother."

He nodded and withdrew, leaving me to my work. As the hours passed, I became one with the enchantment, feeling the power of the runes as they settled into the pendant's core, binding it with an invisible leash of arcane energy.

As I finished the final stroke, a sense of satisfaction coursed through me, followed by a sudden wave of exhaustion. The weight of my responsibilities pressed upon me, yet beneath it all was a spark of determination, fueled by the knowledge that I had the power to shape the world around me.

"Are you finished?" Torian asked softly, appearing in the doorway once more.

"Indeed," I responded, lifting the completed pendant from the table and admiring its newfound power.

"Then let us close up shop and retire for the night," he suggested, "for tomorrow brings new challenges and opportunities."

I nodded, extinguishing the candles and plunging the room into darkness. As we locked the door behind us, I couldn't help pay attention to the ever present beat of the drum and screams emanating from the nearby Cathedral to Amadeus as they are possessed as hymns are sung.

A biting wind swept through the narrow streets of Korvosa as I stood at the entrance of my magic shop. The city's oppressive gloom seemed to grow heavier with each passing day, and even the flickering lanterns that lined the cobblestones did little to drive away the shadows. My gaze fell on the intricate sign above the door, depicting a serpent coiled around an ancient tome, its scales shimmering iridescently in the scarce light.

"Another fine day at the market, brother?" Torian quipped as he joined me outside, his eyes scanning the bustling crowd for potential customers.

"Indeed," I muttered, forcing a smile onto my face. "Let us hope it brings more fortune than misfortune."

As we opened our doors for business, the first customers began to trickle in – a varied assortment of curious individuals who marveled at the enchanted items displayed on the shelves and whispered furtively about their mysterious origins. Among them were those who sought my expertise for more personal matters, individuals plagued by ailments or misfortunes that only my unique talents could remedy.

"Magon Vranek, huh?" The stout man's eyes narrowed, his mouth twisting into something that was more of a grimace than a smile. "Never thought I'd see a Varisian dabble in Korvosa's arcane circles."

I looked him dead in the eye. "Magic doesn't care where you're from. It cares what you can do."

The man's eyebrows pinched together. "How do I know you're not just another charlatan peddling Varisian myths?"

I gestured toward a silver pendant resting on the table. Its surface was etched with runes—glyphs that seemed dormant but were far from it. "Watch," I said, the word hanging heavy in the air as I pushed a thread of magic into the pendant.

The room lit up in an ethereal glow, each rune springing to life, almost dancing. A static charge filled the room, and I watched his sneer give way to an expression I couldn't quite place: respect or maybe awe.

"Seven hells," he breathed out, reaching to touch the pendant gingerly. "This is no joke."

"No," I said, "it's a marriage of different magics, each as valid as the next."

As he left, cradling his purchase, I thought about the struggle of being Varisian in Korvosa—always a second glance, a skeptic's eye. But there were those who got it; those who looked beyond lineage to what really mattered.

Torian broke the momentary silence. "You're something else, Magon."

"I appreciate that," I said, locking eyes with him. "And it's just the beginning. Together, we're more than capable of facing whatever darkness this city throws our way."

A chill wind whispered through the narrow streets of Korvosa, carrying with it the echoes of long-lost secrets and forgotten truths, as it wound its way through the twisting labyrinth of cobblestone and shadow. The city seemed to breathe around me, a living entity that pulsed with both darkness and light, concealing within its depths a myriad of hidden stories that were etched in the very stones themselves.

"Brother, do you ever wonder what secrets this city holds?" Torian asked, his voice barely audible above the susurration of the wind. He stood beside me at the counter, polishing an enchanted dagger with care, his brow furrowed in concentration. Despite his youth, he had already developed a reputation for his prowess in battle, honing his skills with a dedication that bordered on obsession. I knew he would stand by my side no matter the cost, our bond forged in the fires of adversity and tempered by unshakable loyalty.

"Indeed, I do," I replied, my gaze drifting towards the window where the shadows danced like flickering flames. "Every corner of this city whispers of a hidden truth, waiting to be discovered."

"Speaking of secrets," intoned a voice redolent with sensuous allure from the doorway, "I believe we have a few of our own to share." Selene Snowpetal glided in, every fluid motion echoing the celestial elegance of a 22-year-old siren with radiant blond tresses and a visage of ethereal Chellish beauty. Her aquatic-themed attire seemed to ripple in symphony with her graceful steps, as if the fabric itself was a liquid extension of her captivating essence. As inscrutably enchanting as she was breathtakingly gorgeous, Selene had been both confidant and ally ever since our fates entwined in the shadowy labyrinths of Korvosa's underworld.

"Ah, Selene," I greeted her warmly, my eyes lingering on the tantalizing curves of her form. "What brings you to our humble shop today?"

"Business, of course," she replied, a mischievous glint in their mesmerizing eyes. "But perhaps a little pleasure as well."

"Always a pleasure to see you, Selene," Torian chimed in with a grin, his eyes dancing at the prospect of their visit.

"Is it just you and me today, or are we expecting others?" I asked, my eyes locking onto Selene's as though trying to read an unspoken agenda. The tension in the room was palpable—every spellbook, potion, and artifact in the shop seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.

"Just wait," Selene gestured toward the dim corner of the room, her voice tinged with solemnity. With a subtle incantation resonating with the infernal powers bestowed upon her through her ancestral knowledge Netherveil emerged from an opaque mist, a figure marked by both the wisdom of her years and the dark knowledge she harbored at the age of 62. Her eyes met mine, and we exchanged a nod, acknowledging the unspoken but hard-earned respect between a mentor and a protégé. This wasn't a casual visit; Lysandra only appeared when matters of grave concern beckoned.

"Lysandra," my greeting was laced with a mix of reverence and expectation, "I presume you're not here solely to browse the latest arcane scrolls?"

"Far from it, Magon. We have matters to discuss," she intoned, her voice carrying the weight of centuries.

Selene shifted her attention—and ours—to the doorway. As if summoned by our collective scrutiny, Elirith slid in from the night outside. Her movements were a haunting blend of stealth and grace, and her eyes—astute, intense—bore into each of us, revealing nothing while seemingly uncovering everything.

Underneath the turbulent atmosphere of Korvosa, where fear and uncertainty marred the daily lives of its citizens, a hidden convergence was taking place. Familiar faces met under the shroud of secrecy — a gathering borne of necessity as the Hellknights heightened their intrusive patrols. Elirith, with her know-how on elven magical items, joined the assembly along with Magon, an enchanter with a knack for crafting magical apparatuses. There was also Selene, a water elementalist possessing a seductive allure, and the wise Lysandra, who bore the knowledge handed down from an ancestor, a wizard of repute who had forged a pact with the Archdevil Geryon.

“Elirith,” I greeted, a shadow of gravity crossing my face to highlight the urgency that had called us here. “Your presence tells me you’re here for the same reason that has urged Lysandra to leave her troves of wisdom.”

“You bet,” Elirith responded, a serious yet slightly amused glint in her eyes, hinting at her fascination with the alien and magical realms of the elves. “Ain’t everyday you get to dodge the big boots with folks you trust.”

Gathering my thoughts, I regarded each one in turn, a natural leader stepping forward in a time of chaos. “We come together not as acquaintances caught in a pleasant reunion, but as a group forged in the cauldron of adversity, brought together by a need to remain invisible, to survive the intense scrutiny and the draconian measures implemented by the Hellknights.”

Lysandra, her wisdom echoing in her reassuring yet firm tone, chimed in, “We are the keepers of secrets, the holders of ancient pacts and magical essences. Our existence, our knowledge, is now a threat to them. We need a strategy, a pact of our own to ensure our secrets remain safe, and our lives remain our own.”

Magon, an individual adept in the ways of enchantment, presented a pragmatism grounded in experience, “We’ve got to be smart, create diversions perhaps with the help of my crafted items, become masters in the art of disguise and evasion.”

Selene, with an almost hypnotic cadence to her voice, encouraged, “And let us not forget the power of allure, the strength that resides in manipulating elements, and creating illusions that distract and seduce.”

Magon swiftly marshalled his thoughts, voicing a plan punctuated with urgency, "We must scatter now, vanish within the nooks and crannies of this place. I have a few artifacts that can assist us, but we need to be as silent as shadows, disappearing before they see us." The team, each a master of arcane magic, nodded, understanding the gravity of his words as the distant yet rapidly approaching clatter of armored boots echoed ominously.

Almost immediately, the atmosphere turned electric, a tense dance of shadows and light unfolding hastily. Selene fluidly transformed, dissolving into a stream that blended seamlessly with water veins in the wooden structure. Her whispered encouragement drifted in the air, urging, “Dissolve, meld, be as elusive as the wind.” Lysandra, the seasoned conjurer, summoned a dense mist, a shield of swirling fog that obscured sight and enveloped her comrades, veiling them in protective obscurity as they sought refuge in hidden corners of the room.

Then, with a sudden, violent force, the door burst open, unleashing an onslaught of Hellknights, their heavy boots and intimidating presence filling the space as they embarked on a fierce search, smashing ancient artifacts and overturning shelves in their wake. In the chaos, Elirith, with her spy’s instinct and knowledge of elven magic, deftly activated a crystal, generating a reflective illusion around Magon, concealing him in a deceptive play of light and shadow as she murmured directives in an Elven-syntax enriched language, guiding him to stand firm, undetected amid the havoc.

As dusk settled, the room bore silent witness to the havoc unleashed earlier; shelves askew and remnants of valuable items lay strewn about, a vivid testament to the Hellknights’ ruthless search. Yet amid the quiet, there existed a new kind of resolution, a mute vow forged in the crucible of fear and resistance. Magon and his companions gathered silently, sharing subdued nods before dissipating into the shadowy folds of Korvosa, determined spirits cloaked in the comfort of the impending night, their secret sanctuary untouched, for now.

With the break of a new day, Korvosa's market came alive once more, a beating heart undeterred by the shadows that lurked in the periphery. The air buzzed with the familiar sounds of haggling and the enticing aroma of spices from distant lands, a living testament to the resilient spirit of the city and its denizens.

“Ah, Magon, Wielder of Arcane Mysteries,” a frantic customer greeted, weaving through the preserved alchemy jars and salvaged grimoires. His demeanor bore the signature of a city under constant threat, eyes flitting nervously as he voiced his desperate need, “A charm, I need—a guardian against malign curses.”

Magon guided him towards an array of amulets, a calming force in the chaotic backdrop. With a practiced eye, he selected a piece pulsating with a gentle, protective glow. As the man clutched the offered safeguard, the trembling ceased, replaced by a dawning reassurance. Here, amidst the vibrant rhythm of the market, Magon stood as a pillar of hope, offering crafted shields against the encroaching darkness, a subtle beacon of resistance in a city oppressed but unbeaten.

"Intriguing, is it not, how talismans become our last refuge?" I mused, leading him toward an array of amulets pulsating with hidden power. With a deft gesture, I wove incantations around one, each glowing rune an elegy to my years apprenticed to forgotten arts. He beheld the spectacle, a tapestry of awe unfurling across his features.

"Magon, you are my sanctuary," he whispered, cradling the now-thrumming amulet close. "For this, you have my undying gratitude."

"A mere whisper of your gratitude resounds like an anthem in these halls," I said, watching the man stride out, unburdened, transformed.

"Who seeks the Seer's counsel next?" I beckoned. A timeworn crone inched forth, her hand shivering around a splintered wand. Her plea was simple: rejuvenation for her once-vigorous artifact. I hummed incantations that bound the splinters, coaxed dormant energies back into pulsating life, and glimpsed once more the transformative power of my gift.

"Oh, young Oracle, you've rekindled my dwindling faith," she stammered, moisture clouding her eyes like morning dew.

"Your joy is the nectar of my craft," I returned, struck by her raw vulnerability.

Yet not all souls wandered into my dominion with innocent intent. A man arrived, contempt barely veiled beneath his opulent Chelish finery.

"How can I trust these 'Varisian spells' of yours?" His words oozed disdain, like venom from a fang.

"Rest assured, my craft transcends the limitations of heritage and hearsay," I maintained, locking eyes with him as if challenging his prejudice with the full weight of my lineage. I took his chosen object and breathed life into it, his scrutinizing gaze turned hesitant, then appreciative.

"Indeed, Magon, even the cauldrons of Varisia can brew a potent potion," he conceded, depositing coins into my palm with a curt nod.

"Acknowledgment is the first step on the path to wisdom," I parried, unscathed by his bigotry. For each scornful skeptic, a throng of grateful souls bore testament to the redemptive force of my craft—a cycle of faith and renewal that fortified the very walls of this arcane refuge.

As the door of my shop closed behind the last customer, a heavy silence settled within its confines. Exhaustion weighed upon me like a shroud, my muscles tensed and my mind plagued by doubts. I retreated to the solitude of my study, the flickering candlelight casting shadows that danced across the walls, mirroring the turmoil within me.

"Is my heritage truly so abhorrent that it overshadows all else?" I mused aloud, my voice barely more than a whisper. The darkness seemed to answer with a wordless, mocking laugh, chipping away at the fragile self-assurance I had managed to muster.

I clenched my fists, determination surging through me like a tidal wave. "No," I declared defiantly, my voice steady and resolute. "I refuse to allow their ignorance to define me. My worth is not determined by my blood, but by the good I bring into this world."

"Spoken like a true enchanter," came a familiar voice from the doorway. Netherveil leaned against the frame, her greying hair framing her face in an almost ethereal halo. Our eyes met, and the depth of understanding I found in hers was like a balm to my wounded spirit.

"Miss Netherveil," I greeted her, a weak smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Your timing, as always, is impeccable."

"Ah, Magon," she said softly, crossing the room to stand before me. Her presence was a comforting constant in my life – a beacon of strength amidst the darkest of storms. "Their words may sting, but they do not change who you are or the power you possess. You are far greater than their petty prejudices."

"Thank you," I murmured, my chest tightening with gratitude for her unwavering support. "Your faith in me means more than I can express."

"Remember, Magon," she continued, her voice firm yet gentle. "You are not alone in this fight. Together, we will rise above the darkness that threatens to consume us and bring truth to the shadows that hide it."

"Indeed," I agreed, my resolve strengthened by her conviction. The shadows seemed to retreat ever so slightly, ceding ground to the light of our shared determination. "Together, we shall illuminate the hidden corners of this city and expose the lies that fester within."

Arm in arm, we stepped forth from my study, our spirits united in purpose and our hearts filled with the promise of a brighter future. For every whisper of doubt, there was a resounding chorus of courage and hope – and it was in these harmonies that we discovered our true power.

The door of my shop creaked open, and a gust of wind swept in, carrying with it the scent of rain-soaked cobblestones. I looked up from my work to see Elirith enter the dimly lit space, her eyes gleaming like emeralds in the shadows.

"Ah, Magon, just the man I was hoping to see," she said, her voice lilting with mischief. "I've brought you a puzzle to solve."

"Elirith, my dear friend," I replied with a grin, setting aside the intricate silver amulet I had been working on. "You always seem to find your way here when I'm knee-deep in enchantments. What have you got for me this time?"

Elirith approached the counter, her hands artfully concealed behind her back. With an elegant flourish befitting her elven grace,

Her brown hair shone like molten copper in the sunlight, it tumbles over her shoulders and down her back like a waterfall, her red sapphire eyes glisten in the candlelight of my workroom, where I had left the candle burning.

Her hands trembled in the shadows behind the artifact, hesitant to reveal it. The light of the setting sun moves across the inscribed surface, illuminating the scars in greens and blues.

The black was blacker than black, the metals were tarnished with a wear that denies the passage of time and the air around it shimmered with the singular focus of magic.

The artifact's surface is rough and irregular, covered in cramped characters that spell out secrets long hidden. The lines of its design are like an old and much-worn piece of parchment, its etchings carved in the shapes of symbols that have long lost meaning.

the relic gleams and glows in the dim light of my workroom, its surface pocked with scars from a thousand cauterized wounds.

It was forged in an age far beyond any historic record, the craftsmanship as alien to us as the stars in the sky. It was a smooth, black, mirror-like finish, but there were peculiar discolorations and blemishes that hinted of its age, like the wrinkles in the face of a venerable wizard.

"A challenge worthy of your expertise," Elirith archly replied, leaning in on the counter, her eyes gleaming with sly assurance. "It was an easy bet, knowing your proclivity for arcane riddles."

"Your faith elevates and humbles me in equal measure," I conceded, turning the artifact with reverence. "But it is time to awaken this relic's dormant voice."

As we jointly ventured into deciphering the intricacies of the elven artifact, a symbiotic resonance enveloped us. Our spoken thoughts wove a tapestry of mutual understanding, animating the dormant enchantment until it resonated with pulsating life.

"Exemplary craftsmanship, Magon," Elirith commended, her gaze aglow with profound respect. "Your mastery in enchantment is a continuous revelation."

"A sentiment that proves mutually beneficial," I riposted, buoyed by her accolade. "Let us now unlock the full spectrum of this artifact's potential."

As the waning light further seeped from the shop, the darkening air seemed to tighten around us, a palpable testament to the exigency of our shared quest. Yet in that very constriction, a knowing assurance: neither of us ventured alone into the encroaching shadows.

"Time for closing, is it?" Torian Vranek’s voice sliced through the gathering quiet, his imposing form a living affirmation of our fraternal pact. "It feels like mere moments since we first unfurled this tableau of sorcery and intrigue."

"True," I nodded, my eyes transfixed by the artifact, now luminous with awakened magic. "But as night's shroud descends upon Korvosa, our search for verity must only deepen. Forthcoming trials will test our resolve to the core. My quest for justice shall remain unshaken."

"And my allegiance to you, unbreakable," Torian intoned, his eyes a mirror to my unyielding spirit. "United, we shall traverse the impending abyss and ascend, triumphant."

As we sealed the magic shop against the engulfing darkness, our parting words hovered in the space, melding with the aroma of timeworn tomes and mystic incense. In the coming nocturnal hours, we would distill our strength, our valor, and our raison d'être, fortified to confront the awaiting tribulations—shoulder to shoulder.


Counsellor of the Narcy Pirates 🏴‍☠️ 🏴‍☠️
Apr 11, 2024
Just contacted OP’s sister and she sent a pic of them together

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So far there's no one here

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