So rather than just ogling model wizards on ebay I figured I should kick off the project by putting pen to paper (virtually speaking anyway):
The Great Hall of the Colleges of Magic echoed with the clamour of voices and the shuffling of robes. Mages crowded into the vaulted octagonal space, each trying to get as near to the podium as possible while simultaneously staying as far from their rivals as they could. It was an uphill battle, but the gathered wizards were trained to manipulate impossible geometries, so they were giving it their best shot. The air hummed with magical potential, sparks crackled around gnarled staffs, occasionally grounding themselves in small flashes of greenish-purple light. The bitter tang of sorcery could be tasted in the air. Wizards who would normally be decked in shimmering robes of illusory fire on such an occasion hurriedly dispelled some of their flashier charms when they saw just how twisted the winds of magic were becoming in the room.
Such a gathering of wizards wasn’t unprecedented per se, but it was still far from usual. The energies they had inadvertently brought with them, while mostly harmless in and of themselves, were known to combine in interesting ways. Just beyond the fabric of reality, squamous things writhed and chittered, gazing longingly across the imperceptibly thin barrier that separated their reality from that of the gathered wizards. Deep within the Realm of Chaos a twisted, alien mind looked up from thrashing itself at poker, and wondered whether it was invited.
The cacophony showed no sign of abating, as the shouted greetings and sarcastic taunts of the assembled mages echoed from the marble walls.
“Order! Order!” Balthasar Gelt shouted from the podium, banging the iron shod tip of his staff against the floor. Its erupted with a shower of gold sparks, which made a few of the closer wizards back hurriedly away.
“ORDER!” the Supreme Patriarch yelled.
“Chaos” Someone muttered in the crowd, precipitating a wave of stifled chuckles and accusatory glares.
“Who said that?” the patriarch snarled. It was technically impossible to glare from behind an inanimate golden mask, but years of wrangling wizards had taught the master of the arcane colleges to do many impossible things. His eyes flicked from one side of the room to another, as everyone there present tried to make it abundantly clear that they weren’t the offending heckler.
“Can we get on with this?” Thryus Gormann barked from the slightly singed corner where the wizards of the Bright Order had clustered. “Chaos is what we’re here to discuss after all?”
“Indeed it is” the patriarch snapped. The room gradually fell silent as the import of his words percolated through the crowd. As the last exclamations of surprise faded away he continued.
“The reason I have summoned you all here to today is to discuss a matter of substantial importance to our orders.” He cleared his throat, glancing around the room to make sure that he finally had everyone’s attention.
“Thaddeus Malik, magister of the amethyst order, and our erstwhile colleague, stands accused of falling to Chaos, and consorting with dark powers for fell purposes.”
The room erupted with cries of disbelief and consternation. Suddenly everyone was talking at once.
“That’s a pretty serious accusation!” Heinrich Richter of the Grey Order yelled, stating the bleeding obvious as was his want.
His cry was echoed around the room, as other mages expressed their opinions for or against the accused. Soon everyone was struggling to shout over the echoes of their own voices. Galt Raised his staff again, preparing another firework to draw attention back to the podium, but before he could cast the spell a sudden, unexpected hush settled over the room.
“Well I never liked him!” an amethyst acolyte accidentally shouted into the silence. He looked around sheepishly as Gerhard Geist, the master of his order stepped onto the podium instantly commanding the attention of all in the room.
“That, Master Hornwood, is because he once gave you a D- in thaumaturgy” the master of the college of death rasped as he stepped up to confront the Supreme Patriarch. “However those of us without petty grievances to air might be inclined to ask for slightly more proof?”
He scanned the room theatrically, his black and purple robes billowing in a nonexistent wind. The scythe blade on the end of his staff suddenly looked very sharp.
“Is the accused going to have an opportunity to defend himself?” he asked.
Gelt somehow managed to frown through his mask. Fixing Geist with a glare which actually made the amethyst wizard flinch.
“Since he murdered an entire village and left the corpses strewn in the symbol of the Great Sorcerer,” the Supreme Patriarch explained “we surprisingly chose not to invite him back here to speak on his own behalf.”
“Several eye witnesses confirm he did it” Gormann added. “He’s guilty, and the inquisition wants his head, or what’s left of it after they skewer him.”
“If he murdered everyone, how are there eye witnesses?” someone muttered, but they were quickly drowned out in the susurrus of agreement that ran through the room.
“Send the witch hunters after him!” someone yelled.
“Quite right too!” another barked
“Yes, can’t go around murdering people, something must be done” echoed through the din.
“Quite” Galt said, “Something must, indeed, be done, which is why I am sending as many of you as can be spared to track down the rogue mage and kill him.”
“I said something must be done!” a rather portly gold wizard replied, “not that we should do it!”
“Hmm, yes” an astromancer chipped in. “I hardly think, archchancellor that we should interrupt our studies to go roaming around the countryside looking for a murderer! This sort of thing is what witch hunters are for after all.”
“Tell them about the scrolls Galt!” Gormann shouted, the tips of his moustache smoking slightly.
“Yes, I’m getting to that.” Galt said. “It seems master Malik purloined a number of arcane treatises from our vaults before his, err, indiscretions began.”
He fixed the dissenters with a golden glare. “We could leave Malik’s capture to the witch hunters certainly, but they are not known for their discretion. Anything they discover on his person when they catch him will be consigned to the flames including our irreplaceable scrolls. It is therefore vital that we find him first.”
There was a grudging murmur of assent from the assembled wizards.
“I am thus offering a reward of twenty pounds of wyrdstone to any wizard who can bring back Malik’s possessions, and optionally his head.” Galt declared.
There were a few grunts of interest from different corners of the room. But most of the mages were still looking askance at their illustrious leader.
“That’s all very well” Richter said. “But the reward must be commensurate to the task.” He looked around the room, where a few of his cronies were nodding their agreement. “What I mean to say is… well… necromancers are f-ing terrifying, even before they turn to Chaos!” He glanced up at the cadaverous face of magister Giest. “No offense…”
“None taken” the necromancer hissed, “It is a deliberate affectation.”
“A better reward!” one of the younger acolytes shouted.
“Yes, pray sweeten the deal” the astromancer chipped in.
“Fine!” Galt shouted. “Thirty pounds of wyrdstone, and the college that succeeds in killing the renegade will have…” he paused racking his brains for something that would persuade the old dolts to actually leave the building.
“Free banquets for a month!” the portly gold wizard declared.
There were cheers of assent from many of the assembled mages.
“Agreed!” Galt declared. “Free banquets for a month! Now pray split into teams and scour the countryside. In the time we’ve spent arguing about this the witch hunters might already have picked up his trail.”
“Ha!” an elderly wizard laughed as everyone around him tried to exit the room at once. “You whippersnappers don’t know you’re born. In my day meetings like this could take months and months! We’d never have done any of this newfangled agreeing…”
