“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting
for our senses to grow sharper.”
―
Cinniúint Mc'ill'Oig |
Why do you listen to such foolishness, Gurrda Mc’ill'Oig argued?
They are nothing but lies, his father claimed. We Flan have always been as we are, he said. And: Be content with what bounty Beory hath bestowed on us.
But Cinniúint was
anything but content. He was destined for better than a life of tilling soil
and dirty fingernails, he believed. He had a quick and nimble mind. And he knew
that his father was wrong about their people’s lot. Isin and Riichi had said those tales of ancient Flan heroes
and villains were true, and Cinniúint believed them. He had seen Riichi’s parchments with his own eyes, even if he
could not read them. They were old, near crumbling. Ancient, Riichi said; and Riichi should know; hadn’t the hedge wizard
travelled to Marner and read the Aerdian histories that told those very same
tales of Vecna and the Ur-Flan, and of the hero, Gethrun Shoiraine, who had
delivered the Flan of fabled Tostencha from Keraptis’ tyranny?
He hounded the hedge wizard to teach him letters. But Riichi rebuffed
him, knowing Gurrda’s mind. Cinniúint
would not be dissuaded. The boy snuck into Riichi’s hut and found his
books of alchemy, and somehow taught himself to read. And then recited what he
had learned to the astonished Riichi. Riichi relented, reluctantly. He quickly
discovered the boy's abilities surpassed his own, and sent word to the only
true wizard he knew, who promptly arrived and took the boy away to Marner.
Young Cinniúint |
Cinniúint
travelled north, finding companions in need of a wizard once he arrived in the
small town of Riverport: an elven and human rogue, two fledgling fighters, and
an acolyte, each as bent on adventure as he. They set out into the Rakers, but
instead of daring-do and maidens fair, they
found danger and death in the ancient temple that had pressed a menagerie of evils to their design. Only three survived their
adventure into those caves of chaos. Three Fools, they named themselves for
their folly. And it was that name that they came to be known.
Never Again... |
Cinniúint vowed
he would never venture into the wilds so ill-prepared again. Who had built the
red temple in the depths of the caverns where his companions fell, he wondered? They had kept silent about their aims and beliefs, fanatical they surely were, as they neither asked for, not gave, quarter or mercy. He returned to Marner and studied those ancient texts available there. Half-remembered names from
his childhood flew off the pages: Tostencha, Skrellingshald. Vecna, Keraptis,
and Acererak. Slerotin. Zellifar. Roghan and Zelligar. Merely mentioned in those tomes, he discovered more perusing weighty, dusty, tomes in Red Mord and Rel Astra and Rauxes. Clues led he and the other Fools,
Jondhan Amar and Scáthú Urithi,
into the Timberway and Loftwood forests, the Rakers and Griffs, and up and down
the Grendep and Solnor coasts, raising ever more questions. He dove deeper, and
learned the names of supposedly long-lost gods, The Elder Eye, and the
Elemental God. They were far from dead, he discovered. And far from forgotten.
Cinniúint |
They asked if Cinniúint
might meet with him.
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