Miragul’s Sphere

My name is Erlynar and I have lived alone in this log-walled cabin in Toxxulia Forrest for over one hundred years. In all that time I have not seen another of my kind, nor they me for I have concealed myself and this hidden glade with powerful spells of warding. As I near the end of my too long life I have decided to do what I swore I would not and that is to lay down in this book the tragic story of my doomed existence. I do this as a warning to all those who fancy themselves scholars of the arcane and whose goals include the mastering of deep magics and forbidden knowledge; a warning for all those like my younger self who think they are the masters of the planes of power.

In order to understand how I came to this ruinous end, you must first learn how I began. I was born to loving parents in a small house on an unremarkable street in the city of Erudin. I was a healthy boy and with my brothers and sister grew up happily in that beautiful capital of Odus. In school I was solidly average in both scholastics and physical training. In short, I was a perfect candidate to fill my father’s shoes as Assistant Secretary to the Vice Under-Chancellor or some similar bureaucratic function. I should have been content with this but like many headstrong youth felt I was pre-ordained for greater things and so I set my goals much higher than ever a reasonable Man should. I would apply myself in the study of spells and enchantments and make of myself a mighty mage, known throughout all of Odus and even the lands beyond.

To this end I started my studies in earnest, forsaking any diversion that might distract from this goal. I grew pale, studying late into the evenings, summer or winter. What my professors made of the lackluster student who now was passing his more talented contemporaries I never knew but as I devoured text after text, mastering complicated spells dating back in antiquity, they took interest in me and I received special tutoring until even graduate students could not match my skill and knowledge. Because I had been sneaking forbidden scrolls from the library, secretly returning them before they would be missed, by my final semester I actually had superior abilities (which I carefully concealed) than even many teachers. I graduated early and with many honors, as might be imagined and I was offered a position at the University as an Assistant Professor. How I wish I had accepted.

Instead, I embarked on a journey, purportedly as a sabbatical to broaden my experience and better prepare me for the life of an academic. My own secret purpose was to search out any information I could of a mysterious necromancer I had read of in several of the forbidden texts. He was called Mirjul, or Miragul, depending on the author writing of him and according to these legends of which I read, he was the greatest magician who ever lived. In my hubris I imagined myself his equal and so I went in search of his hidden manuscripts in order to learn his great magics.

For many months I traveled south, supporting myself along the way by performing healings and simple tricks to entertain the ignorant farm villagers until I came to a tiny, out of the way settlement where the name of Miragul -as he was called there- was not unknown. These people had a legend that many, many years before, Miragul had stayed at an inn that had stood near the crossing of two beaten earth paths just outside the little town. A patch of scorched earth marked the spot, they said, and indeed at that place was a square of black dust where nothing grew. At least the tradition may have a factual basis, I thought, so I rented a room and spent the long spring searching about the woods for any sign that Miragul may have secreted away any of his writings as he was purported to have done in many places during his travels. I found nothing, of course. When summer came to warm the ground, I departed and continued my searching southward.

I had not been but several nights out when I came across a plot of blasted ground forming a neat rectangle perfectly placed in the middle of a green glade. The ruined remains of a major crossroads marked the spot and like the burned patch in the village, nothing grew here. I set down my backpack and walked slowly around the blackened earth, curious as to how it had come to be there and suspicious that this place so closely matched the old wives’ tales. I scuffed my hiking boots at the dark dust and almost stumbled as one swinging boot tripped over a rusting and blackened ring attached firmly in the soil. Reaching down I pulled with all my young strength at it and was rewarded with a creaking as of unused hinges and the ring came up in my hands, revealing a set of stairs leading down into the pitch black interior of a cellar or basement. A gust of stale air brushed my sweat dampened hair past my ears as I threw the trapdoor fully back to slam with a dull thud on the ground. Taking from out my pack and lighting a torch, I descended.

The flickering weak flame at the end of my torch revealed a small room at the bottom of the rock carved stairs. At first it seemed empty and long abandoned but as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I perceived through the gloom a medium sized pouch lying on the floor in a corner. Other than this, the room was bereft of anything but the smell of the dusty air. I retrieved the leather bag and returned to the surface to examine my prize, heart pounding and hands trembling with anticipation.

Sitting on the crumbling remains of a storm fallen tree, I carefully untied the package and gently pulled the sides back. In my lap sat a bright crystal sphere about the size of a clenched fist and also a small yellowed manuscript attached to it with a ribbon that crumbled with age in the open air and sunlight. The ancient parchment seemed to unroll of it’s own in my hand and I saw it was covered in an extinct writing I recognized from my studies. I could read this! Eagerly I read the old runes, deciphering unknown phrases as best I could. I may have gotten some words wrong, and indeed I hope to this day that was the case as otherwise the great evil that I unknowingly unleashed had been designed, and not caused by some error I made in the translation. On that scroll were the instructions for a great casting that promised the enchanter bold enough to pursue this magic power beyond his imagining. Wrapping the sphere and the manuscript together in their leather pouch, I placed them inside my pack and started on the way back to Erudin.

Arriving back at the little village I found it all a-buzz with some country festival or Faire and the town was full of people from the outlying communities. Minstrels played, maidens danced, old wives cooked their prized recipes, men engaged in contests of strength, a typical country affair. I took up residence in the little rented room where I had spent the spring and sitting on the small bed, began studying my treasure with great concentration. Soon I had sitting next to the old parchment a complete translation. I sat back and considered. What if I took this to the University and the magic had died? What if it was only a simple spell to make crops grow? Any number of humiliations came to me and I thought to myself that I had best try the incantation before showing it to the learned scholars of Erudin. It would show what a great magician I was, to have deciphered and cast a spell of the great Miragul himself. I began the meditations.

Calming myself, I was ready. Holding my translation in one hand and the crystal ball in the other, I started to chant the words from the scroll. In the sphere colors formed, swirling in a cloudy mist. They took on a piercing brightness as I continued the incantation and I felt power building around me, filling the room. As I spoke the final word, a flash of brilliance poured from the sphere and sound as of thunder deafened me. The wooden walls of my room splintered in all directions and I was thrown unconscious, hearing before the darkness took me the screams of thousands of people.

When I woke, I found myself buried beneath the timbers of the now ruined inn. I crawled through the smoking rubble and stood in the center of an indescribable destruction. In the distance I could see the still burning tops of tall trees and a greasy black smoke hung high in the sky. All around me the smoldering remains of men, women and children lay strewn about, dismembered torsos and charred limbs still smoking. Not a single structure in that tiny village remained standing. Not a soul stirred. In the breeze, a colorful banner snapped it’s torn flag in a festive mockery. Only I, the direct cause of all this death, still lived. I fell to my knees in shame and remorse.

I believe I was half-mad then. Or all mad. I tore into the burned lumber in which I stood, searching for the evil globe. As if it sought me also, I came upon it quickly.

I stumbled like a man dreaming through the ashes of the streets until I came to the smoking remains of a smithy’s forge. There I took up a hammer and casting upon it a spell of power, I struck the crystal sphere with all my strength and with one blow, shattered it into three pieces. I put all three in my pack and walked away from my deed, intent upon hiding from the world this evil gift of Miragul’s.

Over the next year or so, I traveled to distant lands in Norrath, secreting in three places the shattered shards of crystal, confident they would not be found and if discovered, would not be brought together. Then I came here, cast my warding and remained hidden.

If you read this, beware the magics of Miragul. They posses power not meant for man or elf. Learn from me and avoid a wasted life.

I am tired now and must rest. My heart beats fitfully and breath is hard. I will lie down for a while and nap.

– Fan Fiction written by the EQ Beta Test Manager