The Wand-Maker's Debate: Osric's Wand: Book One

Osric's Wand

The Wand-Maker's Debate

Jack D. Albrecht Jr.

&

Ashley Delay

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Preface

There is a time when history begins; a time when those who live feel the need to write their story, for those who come after them to read. When recollection of events of importance cannot be left to one's offspring alone, but must be shared with all.

Then there is a time where history transcends into legend; when strongly held beliefs are tried by fire, and traditions are questioned. There are beginnings that truly are beginnings and those that were only thought to be.

This is that world; this is truly their beginning. What they thought was knowledge, was only a foundation. They will delve into a depth they have never known, discover things they never thought imaginable, and struggle to uphold the truth rather than be consumed by it. With magic in its infancy, and a world in turmoil, an endless chain of possibilities lie dormant. Rousing them has the potential for paragon or chaos, and only time will tell.

Just as Leonardo da Vinci has mapped out the human body, and the world has begun to discover the mysteries within, so it is on Archana. With the rudimentary structure in place, they now have what it takes to discover what magic can do; both the mundane and the divine. Lore begins in these days, and mythology will forever echo their names.

1 – At Round's End

A large explosion ignited the sky in a vibrant display of color. Osric looked up and smiled as he walked into the market district. A crowd of upturned faces surrounded him, all with expressions of awe and excitement at the sight. Three giants were hurling boulders a hundred strides into the air, while an enchantress waved her wand to trigger the eruption of the rock into light and ash. Osric took a few more steps toward the square and felt a tug from under his boot, accompanied by a loud squeal.

“Hey, watch where you are stepping! Damn humans!”

Osric looked down in embarrassment and lifted his foot off of the tail of an angry squirrel. It took a swig from a thimble of mead and staggered away, obviously intoxicated.

“My apologies, with all that is going on, I allowed myself to be distracted for a moment.” He would have to pay more attention to where he was walking through the remnants of the merriment.

The morning parade had left remains of jubilation on the ground. Food vendors wheeled their carts wherever a crowd could still be found. The entertainment and creativity displayed at such an unprecedented occasion were spectacular. The duels and displays of unique magical gifts were awe inspiring. The noise could be heard for miles, and crowds here and there were amused by the activities still taking place.

Wizards and witches were trying to make a name for themselves with their most impressive feats of magic, giants were arm wrestling, and kids were playing carnival games. A crowd of children surrounded the most popular game, which involved levitating a shaking bucket full of water and trying to fill up a moving bottle.

Near the end of the market district on the way to the palace, Osric slowed to watch as a lion demonstrated his ability of fire-telling. His deep voice rumbled as it captured the imagination of the children watching his story come alive in the flames of the nearby fire. He was walking around the fire pit near the middle of the square, placing his massive paws carefully to avoid the toes of the children that eagerly awaited his words. The inflections of his voice guided the figures and images created by the flames, and shadows played on the buildings and shops surrounding the show. The lion was telling a traditional story of how men and lions learned to respect each other from witnessing the hunt that each performed.

Osric had been captivated by fire-tellings since he was a child, and it was one of his favorite stories. He had loved watching it each year at the start of hunting season. As young boys, he and Kenneth had been taught by the traditional fire-tellings to always behave honorably in a hunt and to respect the last wishes of their prey. They had loved to sit for hours watching the figures of flame act out the narration in the fire. Then they would sneak away with their fathers' spare bows, and practice until their mothers called them in for bed. His childhood had been fun and carefree, although brief.

The scene brought back memories of his parents, who had both been killed when he was fifteen by a lion hunting to feed his family. They had been traveling to Lothaine, the small town just a day's walk from Stanton where Osric's parents were raised. Once a year they had traveled back to the Lothaine Temple to give thanks to Archana for their blessings, and confer an offering of gold to the Temple Attendants.

That year, they had left Osric behind in Stanton, and prey had been scarce on the grasslands. Osric had been in the training arena, sparring with Kenneth. They were practicing DuJok, a form of unarmed combat that all Vigiles had to be proficient in, when the lion had come to thank him for the sacrifice that fed his hungry family. He had brought Osric his father's short sword and returned the gold that they had planned to leave in tribute at the temple. It had been a considerate gesture, maybe, but a devastating moment for a young Vigile recruit. Osric acknowledged the lion's gratitude stoically, while inside he wailed with the agony of being left alone to face the world. His parents would never see him achieve his goal of becoming a Vigile, or be there to guide him when he had children of his own. Osric was glad he had been training in DuJok, for if he had been armed he may have given into the temptation to avenge his parents, rather than afford the lion the respect of a grateful hunter.

Osric had mourned his parents in private, then poured his grief and frustration into his training. He had quickly become the best swordsman in his class of recruits; and with his best friend Kenneth training with him, he soon had his sense of humor back, along with a sense of purpose. Kenneth's skills with a bow and arrow always surpassed Osric's, and they made a formidable pair. Later that year, they both joined the force of Stanton's Vigiles.

Osric had matured under the guidance of his Vigile superiors in the absence of his parents. Mid-way through his twenties and half a head taller than most people in his town, Osric was the Contege; the leader of the Vigiles. He swept his sandy hair back from his jade green eyes and paused to watch his favorite part of the tale dance through the flames. Resuming his patrol through the square, he stretched his arms behind his back. His lean muscular build from years of DuJok and swordsmanship, paired with a personable smile, made him stand out in the crowd. The eyes of every available young woman followed him as he crossed the square to the outpost, and he nodded his head to the lion as he walked by.

His promotion to Contege had come abruptly. Contege Thamas went missing just after Stanton's Ryhain, Domnall, announced the Ratification Ceremony would be held in their palace. Osric was contacted by the Hain of Domnall's staff, and informed that he was being promoted to Contege for his outstanding performance and loyalty to the Vigiles. As Ryhain, Domnall was the highest authority; it was an honor to be called into his company and accept the position directly from him.

Osric did, at times, feel as though the position was a bit much for a young man to handle, but his concern was quickly dismissed by his superiors. They assured him that he would grow into the job. Still, he sometimes wondered why they had chosen him to lead an elite team of security officers.

Osric had been serving with the Vigiles, in one form or another, for ten years. Although he felt confident in the performance of his job, the leadership was not something he was accustomed to. The Vigiles were professionals, and they carried out their duties relentlessly. Commanding men more than ten years his senior was not an agreeable feeling, and Osric would rather be taking the orders than giving them. His skill in sword play and hunting had contributed, yet if promotions depended on skill alone, they would have chosen his friend Kenneth. There was, of course, his innate magical ability to consider. It had certainly served him well as a Vigile.

His magical gift was of great use as a security officer, and he was superb in its execution. Osric was a Portentist. He had the ability to know when something was about to happen, something momentous or dangerous. He could even feel the threatening intentions of others. A Portentist was a rarity and most often found in security of some sort.

Several murderers had been caught due to his diligence. In fact, an attempted assassination of the Chancellor of the Wizardly Union had been foiled by him, just months before. That, more than anything else, had led to his new position. He was proud of his advancement, even if he couldn't quite shake the suspicion that his superiors weren't telling him everything.

The night was cold, but that was to be expected in early fall. He wondered if he would wake up to snow the next morning. Osric was looking forward to warming up after his rounds with a hot mug of rulha. His broad shoulders fit well in his new, dark brown tunic. The ornate letter V stitched on the upper right breast indicated his rank, and paired with his standard issue tan breeches, he cut an impressive figure. His heavy, leather boots crunched on gravel as he skirted the crowd, preferring to scan the shadows with both his gift and his highly trained eyes. Most criminals could easily blend into a crowd, but they tended to slink along the perimeter where there were multiple escape routes and less people to bring attention to them. That kept them isolated and made it easier to pin-point them as the source of a potential threat.

Passing by the cart of a young Wand-Maker, he ran his finger along the hilt of his short sword. He had gotten into the habit of making sure his stick wand was still securely bound to the hilt. It was an Eni wand; a gift from the Chancellor for saving his life. He had been meaning to buy a leather pouch to carry it in, but since the promotion, he had been tied up with all of the preparations and had neglected to buy one. So, he bound it to the hilt of his short sword by winding a leather cord around them both. Unfortunately, it had a habit of coming unbound. He made a mental note to seek out a leather vendor after the signing; the new wand was too expensive to risk losing. His wand securely in place, Osric felt the pride of the day coursing through him. He walked into the last security outpost on his way to the palace and warmed his hands at the fire by the door.

“Report!” He demanded with a stern look. Osric watched as the two Vigiles, dressed in light tan tunics with a small brown V on the breast, jerked around with wide eyes. They had been watching the lion's fire-telling out a back window, across the small room from the door.