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Message: <blockquote data-quote="frog" data-source="post: 1608617" data-attributes="member: 714">The Journals of Sculler, former scullery boy of the University of the Arcane Eye in SThe Journals of Sculler, former scullery boy of the University of the Arcane Eye in Simmural. Preface  Master Marallan has told me that all Great Mages write a chronicle of their exploits. As my Master has undertaken to make of me a Great Mage, it therefore becomes part of my duties to write of my adventures, such as they are.A short history of my life.  I do not remember where I was born, or who my parents were. My earliest recollections are of the kitchens here in the University. The headmistress of the kitchens tells me that I was found outside the back doorway as a babe and none had the heart to leave me there to die. For this I owe them my life, such as it is.  I spent the next 14 years of my life learning the duties of a scullery boy. My name became Sculler, for that is what I did. In the beginning, my lot was not terrible, although I learned the value of caution. When dealing with those who can turn your bones to jelly with but a word, one must always play the humble servant.   My childhood slowly became one filled with fear. Terrors stalked the halls after dark, as the Great Lords practiced their summonings in the pitch black of the night. When I was summoned out of the closet I called home during these times to complete errands of one sort or another for the Great Lords, I learned terror of the unknown and fear of the dark. I still fear...but not the dark. I have learned of more horrible things than the dark.  My life changed one afternoon in the year 99 A.C. (After Crowning). I had been assigned to scrub the bloodstains off of the floors in the main hallway after a particularly bad night. As I worked, two Lords, Master Marallan and Master Kimber, came along discussing the properties of Magic. They were arguing about Magical Talent being something of inherent Nature or if it could be taught to anyone. Their debate became heated and, in a fit of what he would later call “temporary insanity”, Master Marallan wagered that he could teach ANYONE to become a Mage. Master Kimber took him up on that wager, and selected the most unlikely available candidate for training, me.  Master Marallan was not amused, but refused to back down and lose face before his rival. I became his apprentice. I spent time learning to read, write, and do arithmetic calculations. I learned the magical properties of herbs and gems, animals and beasts. I learned the differences between evocations and divinations, conjurations and abjurations. I learned fear of a new kind.  Master Marallan is a good Master. Without him I would be nothing. I know this for he tells me so every day. He believes that I don’t know what he is thinking. To him I am nothing more than a wager to be won and then tossed aside. Or perhaps used as a sacrifice to bind some Demon or Devil to his service for a time.       I have learned many things from Master Marallan, not all of them are things that he intended to teach me.  I will not be used. I will not be a pawn in the game of the Great Lords. I have seen what power is and how it can be obtained. I will play the part of the servant, the victim, the coward. I will let them believe that I am an ignorant, stupid scullery boy who does not understand what they strive to teach me.   I will be careful. I will marshal my will and strength. I will obtain the power to free myself from them. I will be afraid no more.A friend  I have a friend. Her name is Molly. She dances at one of the brothels down near the docks. Her dances are not ones of joy. They are dances of desperation.   She saves every penny she can beg, steal, or earn. She bought herself a sword. Molly spends her time practicing in the fields outside of town during the day, when she is not at work.   She tells me that someday she will escape the brothels. She run away and go out into the world and be a hero, like in the tales the skalds tell. She will make her fortune and be admired by all. Her eyes look far away into the distance when she talks of her dream.   I know her dream…for I share a similar dream. Although my dream has a different ending.      Molly looks after me. I am the little brother she wishes she had. She is my big sister. We are the only family that we have ever known. Someday, when my dream becomes reality, her employers will receive payment for each dance that they had from her. A thousand times over. A City  Simmural is my city, my home. Ruled with an iron fist by His Most Lordly Grace Duke Siefer, Duke of Simmural, Guardian of the Simmur Straight. The Dukes men patrol the streets regularly. They enforce law and order. The King’s Law. The Law that keeps Molly in the brothels and me fearing for my life each moment of each day.   The King’s Law is Just. The King’s Law is Good. I know this for the Duke’s men tell me so. The King’s Law is made for the privileged…not the poor.  If you ask anyone, they will tell you that Trope, across the straight, is the black mark on the Kingdom. Lawlessness rules there. If you ask me, Trope is the only honest place in the Kingdom. At least you know up front what to expect when you go there. At least there they recognize and acknowledge the darkness. Here it is carefully swept under the rug, away from prying eyes.A Story  I am Sculler. Former scullery boy of the University of the Arcane Eye in Simmural. This is my story.</blockquote>

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