Thaumaturge
From Winterkill
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*!* Introduction *!*
Mandahum's Story (Story about Mandahum the painter's sufferings and pain)
Worshippers of Balfe (Story about dark sorcerers and blood dragon Balfe)
Erratics (Story of secret basement meetings and the history of erratics)
The persecutions (Story of six innocent girls that were being killed in
persecutions)
Ghostsingers of Dawnlight (Story of Cult of Dawnlight and Noble Ghost Board)
Glory of Sorcerers (Story of Wizard Tof annihilating sorcerers and foundation
of guild)
The Last Erratic (Story telling about the foundation of guild)
*!* The History of Thaumaturges *!*
MANDAHUM'S STORY
The history of the Mandahum the painter is somewhat strange.
The people do not actually know how everything went, but
stories are told and probably there isn't a person would
know the truth. The people usually have heard a story that has
something to do with a powerful wizard, a runebinder, who
helped a painter, Mandahum, with cunning magic. But
let's hear the story from the beginning.
There once was a lonely painter Mandahum who lived in
his manor. His manor was known because it was one of
the biggest in the region. He had a garden that he
used not only to support himself, but he also painted
the appletrees and birds and such that were living in
the garden. This man had only one dream. He wanted to
join the guild of painters. The only requirement for
joining was to make a painting that pleases all the
members of the painter guild. Once again he had finished
one of his paintings.
He jumped on his horse, galloped to city, and banged the
sand off from his heels. He ascended to the tower of
the painters. The answer was the same, always the
same, 'Mandahum, your paintings are full of lively
creatures, but still they are all dead.'
He took his painting, descended from the tower, kicked
the ground filling his heels with sand, jumped on his
horse, galloped to the manor back to design for a new
painting. He threw his old painting away and took a new
canvas and started painting.
This time the painting would be perfect he thought. No
more dead creatures, the creatures would be more alive
than ever. Two long weeks and he was painting and
painting days and nights. Finally the painting was ready.
He jumped on his horse, galloped to city, and banged the
sand off from his heels. He ascended to the tower of
the painters. The answer was the same, always the
same, 'Mandahum, your paintings are full of lively
creatures, but still they are all dead.'
He took his painting, descended from the tower, kicked
the ground filling his heels with sand, jumped on his
horse, galloped to the manor back to design for a new
painting. He threw his old painting away and took a new
canvas and started painting.
This time it would require a fabulous idea to make a
painting, a lively painting that would please all the
members of the painter guild. No more dead creatures,
he would make them more detailed and more alive than ever.
This time the painting took four weeks to complete.
He jumped on his horse, galloped to city, and banged the
sand off from his heels. He ascended to the tower of
the painters. The answer was the same, always the
same, 'Mandahum, your paintings are full of lively
creatures, but still they are all dead.'
He took his painting, descended from the tower, kicked
the ground filling his heels with sand, jumped on his
horse, galloped to the manor back to design for a new
painting. He threw his old painting away and took a new
canvas and started painting.
Impossible he thought. The members couldn't be pleased
with normal ways. It would require more colour and better
skill and more details. This time he would give his heart
to the work and finally the painting was ready, and it took
three months.
Outside he heard a voice of a little girl that said:
'Hey Sir! Are you that man who jumps on his horse, gallopes
to city, and bangs the sand off from his heels. The man
who ascendes to the tower of the painters and paints dead
creatures?'
And Mandahum replied to the girl:
'Yes, and after that I take my painting, descend from the tower
kick the ground to fill my heels with sand, jump back on my horse
and gallop to the manor to design a new painting.'
After time of chatting, Mandahum almost forgot something.
He jumped on his horse, galloped to city, and banged the
sand off from his heels. He ascended to the tower of
the painters. The answer was the same, always the
same, 'Mandahum, your paintings are full of lively
creatures, but still they are all dead.'
He took his painting, descended from the tower, kicked
the ground filling his heels with sand, jumped on his
horse, galloped to the manor back to design for a new
painting. He threw his old painting away and took a new
canvas and started painting.
Those people are hard to be pleased. The whole sentence
was filling his head. 'Mandahum, your creatures are dead',
'Mandahum, your paintings are dead'. 'Impossible, why do
they not like my paintings', he cursed. This time the
painting was perfect, it was colorful and detailed and
it had taken two years of his life to finish.
When he came out of his manor, he saw a wizard in purple
cloak. The wizard was standing in Mandahum's garden.
The wizard asked Mandahum 'I'm a travelling vagabond,
and hungry. May I taste the delicious fruits of your
garden?' Mandahum replied 'The garden is my life, but
the paintings are my heart, you can eat the fruits of
my life, but do not break my heart.'
As Mandahum was about to leave, the people around the manor
had come to mock him. They were shouting 'Mandahum, your
paintings are dead, your creatures are dead.' and Mandahum
was about to cry, since he had done nothing wrong and he had not
deserved this kind of behaviour from the other people.
Suddenly the visiting wizard intoned 'Mandahum, the creatures
are dead only in the eyes of another one'. The
frames of the painting gave a ticking sound as small symbols
appeared to the frames one after another.
He jumped on his horse, galloped to city, and banged the
sand off from his heels. He ascended to the tower of
the painters. The answer was the same, always the
same, 'Mandahum, your paintings are full of lively
creatures, but still they are all dead.'
He took his painting, descended from the tower, kicked
the ground filling his heels with sand, jumped on his
horse, galloped to the manor. Never to return, since
the painter guild was no more. The echoing words had
triggered a spell on the painting. But he had learned
a valuable lesson
'The life becomes death only in the eyes of another one'
WORSHIPPERS OF BALFE
After several years, Mandahum's life was over. The
life really hasn't been smiling to him. He was never
able to complete another painting and it was obvious
that his motivation had been the challenge that he no
longer had after the destruction of the painter guild.
After his lonely death, his manor was empty for a
long time. There was an old law that allows the country
to repossess land if nobody no longer owns it. As
Mandahum had no will nor children, the manor was taken
over and it was given to viscount Jade. Thus all the
paintings Mandahum had ever painted now belonged to
him. Included in those paintings there was the old
picture still had the mysterious rune of death. During
the years, it had developed a mind of its own. A small
lizard in the painting had transformed into a dragon.
During the next days, everything looked very normal, but
a bit later viscount Jade started acting very strangely.
He cancelled meetings, and stopped travelling. It
sometimes took weeks and you couldn't see viscount at all.
During next months viscount Jade started getting visitors.
The visitors were not noble people, they were odd people,
people in cloaks and capes, dressing dark. They usually
appeared at night time when nobody was there to see.
Suspicious action had been noticed by the villagers, and
rumours spread quickly. The people were talking about
mystic society, some were speaking about witches. Whether
it was the curiousity or something else, they wanted to
know what viscount is hiding in his manor.
It was one night and everything had been planned. The
viscount had been getting visitors all evening. The
villagers had collected a wide group of members who
would make a raid to the manor.
The moment came. The villagers pounded down the door to
the manor and trampled in. The manor looked empty, but
after quick search they realized that everybody was in
the cellar of the manor. As they run to the cellar they
saw something horrifying and astonishingly scary.
There it was, the divine blood dragon Balfe. It was no
longer in the painting, it was living, flesh and bones.
It was being worshipped by viscount Jade and his odd
new friends. It was some kind of witchcraft they were
no longer able to control as the villagers interrupted
the ritual. Using the chaotic second, the divine blood
dragon Balfe crashed out through the wooden ceiling
to the sky heading to the village to destroy it.
The villagers had new problems, to stop the dragon from
ravaging the city. They had no time for the viscount,
as there was no time to lose. But it was too late,
the city was in flames, ignited by the powerful
dragon breath. As the fire finally ceased, there was
only ashes and old ruins of stone buildings.
As the city had been burned, the dark sorcerers had left
and there was no sign of viscount Jade. They had fled from
the anger of the villagers. But everything wasn't fine.
It was decided that the people who are believed to be
guilty to the annihilation ought to be killed. That
day was the beginning of persecutions.
ERRATICS
The persecutions made time harder for the people who used
magic. Sorcerers also had to invent ways to practice
their magic, but they discovered it to be very hard because
holy warriors and paladins of the church were all the time
watching after their every move. One day, someone of them
came up with an idea of a secret sign. At those times
sorcerers gathered once a week into a place to share their
secrets with each other. Safety is sure and that's why all
the meetings were held in a basement of a member. Sorcerers
agreed that erratics would be used as secret signs. By
putting a small erratic on the doorsteps, they were able to
know where the next meeting would be held. That is the story
of erratics, but times have changed. Nowadays there are
a few erratics that can be seen, but those are only to
make people remember the story. Erratics have more or
less symbolic meaning.
THE PERSECUTIONS
The persecutions took place and hundreds of people were
being killed. Some of them were actually witches, but
some were not. Some people used persecutions as false
reason to get rid of their annoying neighbours, and
some children of the richer families sometimes gave in
their father. Most of the horrible stories only go in
the family, and some stories are never told and are
remembered by nobody. However the history remembers
six stories of innocent girls who were being found
guilty of witchcraft, but later on their part in
witchcraft has been found small or even non-existant.
Below are the longer stories that describe the sad fates
of the patrons.
Rusalka of Water
Rusalka is a water wraith of the lake. Her story is
very sad. Rusalka was taking a bath by the lake when
a young paladin arrived. Rusalka, shy of her nudity,
told the paladin to turn his look away from her.
Paladin reacted instantly, and turned over so that
Rusalka could come out of the lake and to wear her
clothes. Despite the fact that this paladin had
given his promise to this lovely girl, he glanced over
his shoulder wishing to have a peek. Unfortunately
Rusalka, who was still in the lake, didn't notice
a thing as paladin's eyes withered in fear as the
serene surface of the lake didn't cast a reflection
of her, as she was a witch. Paladin rushed over and
took a strong grip of her neck and started to pull
her under water. Rusalka, nonetheless she was a witch,
was weak and unable to resist, and therefore young and
powerful paladin drowned her easily. From this day on,
Rusalka lies in the water, seducing men, and drawing
them under surface as a revenge of the unjustified deeds
done to her.
Joann of Love
This is the story of Joann DeGran. She was a beautiful
girl, perhaps a little superficial and extravagant. She
had a way with words, but nevertheless she was never able
to find the right one. She was working hard in a bar, the
purposes of which were not actually that pure. She was
dancing cabaret, and making old men feel comfortable in
the bar. One evening, a middle-aged man, many years older
than Joann, asked Joann to join for a dinner. After a
minutes persuation and exchange of money, Joann agreed.
They left holding their hands when something happened,
something that Joann had never expected. Man's wife
showed up. Joann's eyes winced in terror as she innocently
kept on staring the man. Man's wife, a butcher's knife
wielded in her hand, overwhelmed by rage, rushed and
mercilessly struck the knife through Joann's heart. From
this day on, Joann's ghost still haunts men whose hearts
and purposes are not as pure as they might seem.
Kiranja of Compassion
Kiranja was a young girl who was studying to be a nun
when she grows up and her only mistake was the curiousity
towards black magic. She lived in a convent which had a
very lovely garden. Kiranja herself liked to play in the
garden and to take care of the bushes and trees that were
planted in the garden. Especially, above all else, Kiranja
liked a cherry tree that blossomed every year so beautifully.
She spent five years to take care of the tree and with all
her love and compassion, she was able to make the tree come
alive. Whether it was God's ways of forgiving her curiousity
towards black magic, or a wonder that had happened, but you
can't imagine the joy it brought to a young woman. Kiranja
slept a wonderful dream and the next thing in the morning
she travelled to the garden to see her cherry tree. She was
astounded as she saw the tree had been cut down. She was
crying, tears were falling along her cheeks. All her love and
compassion was slowly changing its form to hate and hatred.
She cursed herself and struck a dagger through her heart.
That day on she has been haunting innocent minds with
pestilence but yet she hasn't lost all her compassion or love.
Milana of Arts
Milana was extraordinary, but a little bit extravagant. She
had vision and her father was very willing to give anything
she ever wanted. She used to work in a hair salon to earn
some money for her studies. She studied arts and her teacher
said she was very gifted. After three years of working in
hair salon and studying arts, she had developed a skill to
see everything in very tantalizing way. Her father, who
was a great hero in the kingdom, talked to the king about
organizing an art contest. The king was thrilled and it also
encouraged young Milana to paint a picture. The day she had
waited all her life finally came. After hearing the results,
Milana rejoiced as she heard she had won the contest. That
was the happiest day of Milana's life. A year later Milana
met a handsome man, bard was his profession. Milana liked
his sense of humour and they first started seeing each other
secretly but then her father found out, so she introduced her
true love to him. Rober Dangar, Milana's father, was very eager
to know that her daughter had finally achieved that many things
during her short life. It was november, and the first snow
slowly piled up in the streets. It sure looked beautiful. The
trees were all covered in snow. She was happy. As her man came
to pick her up, she put her winter dress on, and they left
out to the streets. The snow was glittering and the sun that
was shining reflected from the snow to Milana's eyes. It was
very dazzling. Milana started piling up snow to make a snowman.
After a couple of hours the snowman was ready. It had a rake
in its left hand, a carrot as a nose, and an old hat taken
from the scarecrow. 'What next?', Milana asked her boyfriend.
Her boyfriend shrugged and turned around to admire snowman. It
was not an ordinary snowman, since Milana really brought some
artistic impression to it. While admiring the snowman, Milana
had picked up some snow and had created a snowball that he
threw at his boyfriend. It was a thunderous smack in the ear.
Milana's boyfriend turned over, just to find out that Milana
was quick enough to throw another ball at him. Milana giggled
and started creating a new snowball. His boyfriend joined the
game and created a snowball too. When Milana was ready with
her snowball, she turned over, and found out his boyfriend
had thrown a ball at her. Whether it was meant to be a fate or
sarcastic joke of the Devil, the truth is that the picture
was getting a serious turn. The ball hit Milana's eyes and it
turned out the small rocks in the snowball had damaged Milana's
eyes making her unable to see. The colour of her life was forever
lost. She was like a rose that couldn't bloom ever again. Rudely
she was forced to give up her profession and hobby. Week later,
they got married. Milana lived old with her husband, until she
died. She wasn't mad at her husband but her spirit is still
living and troubling with the past, and protecting new painters
from the trial and error.
Alina of Fertility
Alina was a small girl when both her parents died. She
didn't want to go to orphanage but it seemed like she
had no other choice. According to law, that young girl
has to live in an orphanage until she reaches the mature
age of fifteen. After six years in orphanage she was
finally able to travel back home where she had been living
with her parents. During the six years, the farm was no
longer in that good shape it had been before. Alina was
hard-working and optimistic. She thought she could turn
farm back into what it was six years ago. She worked
12 hours in a row having no holidays and after 6 years
of work, the farm was finally providing good livestock
and victuals. Then it was time for the harvest. It was
very hot in the end of summer season. It was the hot
summer season of Drogenhem, the warmer sun. (At those
times it was believed that there was two summer and
winter seasons. That's because there was two suns, Birboa
and Drogenhem. Drogenhem was nearer, that explains hot
seasons.) When Alina came back from the harvest party in
the evening she saw a strange shimmering light phenomenon
in the horizon. As she approached her home, she saw the
shimmering light being caused by a sea of fire that was
burning her farm. She cried 'No! Six years work and now
I'm losing it all in minutes!' She freaked out. She started
running towards the field of flames and forgot she was
still wearing the same dress she used in party she was
coming from. Her hem of the skirt soon catched fire and
Alina was too slow to escape from the field of flames.
Her ashes (was they hers?) were later sprinkled to the river.
Sonia of Stars
Sonia was a girl who had all the necessary skills and
abilities to become a real sorcerer. Sonia studied stars
and their movements in the sky. She knew about planar
travels and conjunctions between the star patterns.
Sonia was a strange girl. She didn't sleep a lot. It was
very usual for her to leave during the night and to walk the
streets of town just gazing stars and learning about their
positions. When the day was dawning she returned home
and slept but a few hours. Despite the fact she was
manic-depressive and feeling lonely at times, it wasn't
such a big deal to her. She enjoyed herself and the small
things she knew about astrology turned her on, yet she wasn't
aware of the dangers that lurk in the shadows at night. It's
unsafe for a young woman to walk out at night, since it's
time of the burglars and muggers and generally time to leave
inns without paying the rent in the morning. The more she
studied the circulation of stars, the more she became
aware of the concepts of astrology. She soon learned to
understand the language of the stars.
She made a few predictions and found out she was correct. She became
excited, and one night she was out long, she saw a
shooting star. As the legend tells 'if you wish from the
shooting star, it might as well come true'. For ordinary
girl, it would be normal to wish for a 'charming prince'
but Sonia was willing to know her destiny. The star flew
away and Sonia started walking back home, by the time she
found out that her wish had come true. She finally found
out what kind of destiny might be for a girl who was late
at night walking the narrow streets in the alleys. Day
was not yet dawning when she was stopped by a man behind
a corner. 'What do you want from me?', Sonia asked and you
could feel the sensation in the air that she was afraid.
The man, who was obviously drunk, didn't answer but the
expression on his face probably told Sonia pretty much,
what he was wanting. 'Please, Mister, don't hurt me, I'm
begging you!', she stuttered. Man didn't listen, he pushed
Sonia to ground, clumsily starting to undress her. Sonia cried
for help but there was nobody listening and man just laughed
as she weakly struggled against him. Ironically, the day she
lost her virginity, was the most painful day of her life, and
unfortunately, the last.
GHOSTSINGERS OF DAWNLIGHT
By some strange curse, the young girls' spirits were doomed
to wander in the shadows and they were not able to rest and
they began to wander in their ghost forms. It by some accident
was a new interest for many dark sorcerers. They called
themselves as 'Ghostsingers of Dawnlight'. The ghostsingers
were normal people, sorcerers, who tried to expand their
spells and magic to the spiritual plane. They tried to summon
spirits and ghosts from the other dimension, from the limbo.
They attempted to turn themselves into ghosts as well. They
thought the eternal form would make them more powerful. Some
of them succeeded very well, some of them were just wannabes
who were playing with the tools of destruction. But the cult
wasn't so organized. There were different visions on how
the spirits should be summoned. Some of the sorcerers were
satisfied with necromancy, but some people wanted to join
the forces of eternity. Thus was the group divided. Some
people returned to the ranks of Sodogar. Then there was
ghostsingers, some of them who succeeded. They joined the
forces of eternity, entering limbo. They return only when the
miraculous music of Taloca is played. The other people call
themselves, the necromancers of Dawnlight. Their kettledrum
can be heard wherever they go. They are singing in the name
Dawnlight. The legend tells it requires three single words
to say goodnight.
GLORY OF SORCERERS
The Guild of Sorcerers has a long and vivacious history. There are
still many sorcerers who live to tell about the old days to those
who dare to ask. They are the former students of Sodogar, the mad
archwizard, who attempted call to power against his brothers. These
old sorcerers still remember archwizard Sodogar, and his power
very well. After Sodogar died when casting his most destructive
spell, the disruption, the sorcerer guild was mainly based on
primitive magic and was not harnessing all the power that universe
had to offer. It was quickly noticed that sorcerer guild didn't
develop any new spells after Sodogar's death, and his brothers
managed the guild badly. Everything was going down, and the power
of magic users were being questionized by the many other guilds
in the realm of Winterkill. Yet they believed that other guilds
are still inferior in front of their supreme magical arts and
they claimed that no other guild could defeat them without
the assistance of many other guilds. For adept sorcerers, it
was unbearable to see how wrong they had been. The Sorcerer
guild was under attack. It was not attack by a guild, nor
attack by two guilds, nor several. It was attack by a single
person, by powerful Archwizard Tof. Survivors say that
everything was so quick. The magic was flowing through Tof's
hands as sulfurous smoke ignited the furniture in the hall of
guild. That was his sign that he had given a challenge. The
novices were most eager to protect the guild with the magic
they had learned. The magical missiles were being launched
back and forth, but with no help. The sorcerers started to
panic and their missiles became more inaccurate and they were
hitting walls, and finally the walls collapsed and seconds
later the ceiling came down as well. They were all dead,
except for few people. The powerful adept sorcerers of Sodogar
were still alive, and so was Archwizard Tof, and the
battle had only started. As the sorcerers were furiously
concentrating on casting their disruption at Tof, it was already
too late. 'Is this your supreme might?', Tof asked and
continued 'For this we have been afraid of for days and
nights, for weeks and months, for years, even decades and centuries,
is this the supreme might of sorcerers?'. They replied
shortly 'Yes, this is the might of sorcerers, the power and
magic invested in us will detonate a lone attacker painfully and
corruptively. Sodogar's hammer, the disruption'. Tof was
clapping his hands and said 'If that single spell, the
protection of yours, the hammer you say, is the one that
will end my day, I am convinced. The disruption, the
Sodogar's hammer. You can pound me but I'm the nail, on
which your hammer is planned to fail. Your only weapon is
your weakness, the inability to concentrate on many tools.
You use hammer, when you need a saw'. They were speechless,
they were stunned, and they had been defeated by wit, not
by might. Tilting their heads down the sorcerers were left
in the ruins to wonder as Archwizard Tof's hazy form slowly
disappeared to the black veil of shadows.
THE LAST ERRATIC
As Archwizard Tof had disappeared, it was more than obvious
that he wouldn't satisfy to the complete annihilation of
the sorcerer guild. They had been defeated, but it was not
enough. As the sorcerers were so badly defeated, it awoke
many kind of ideas and feelings. The adept sorcerers were
speaking of constructing a new guild for sorcerers as few
people were ready to follow Archwizard Tof's teachings.
A few people left the sorcerers behind, they were the ones
who already belonged to the 'Ghostsingers of Dawnlight'.
They wandered in town as they noticed a black erratic,
in front of a small cottage. It was a sign from Archwizard
Tof, it would be the meeting place for the new members.
As they entered the cottage, they saw a familiar person,
a powerful wizard, in a purple cloak with an emblem of
the viscount, welcoming them inside playing tunes with
a kettledrum of Dawnlight. They opened their mouth to speak:
'Can we join you, master? The sorcerers are dead, all dead.'
Archwizard Tof nodded, but didn't show underestimation as he said,
'My thaumaturges, they are dead only in the eyes of another one'
Guild tree:
--Mizzt 12:43, 4 September 2012 (CEST)
