Year : 117
It was late and Hareen was growing tired. He had been in the Alchemist’s lab experimenting with the properties of various metals and organic substances for hours now and his supply of candles was growing thinner. He had not eaten since before he arrived and now, as he thought about food, his stomach took to reminding him.
Before Hareen, splayed all over the workbench, were countless trinkets and collectables from all over Delagraad. People had claimed that they had possessed unusual, and uncontrollable, capabilities. Most were discarded when deemed ill-suited for everyday use – the spade of a shovel, a cooking roller, a wide array of colorful shirts – all property that was currently considered trash.
To everyone but Hareen.
Hareen had a gift, a talent that he had learned over the years that many had. Those that possessed this ability called it Magick, and they were convinced that there were thousands more like them all throughout Delagraad. However, at the moment, they felt like outcasts. Some traveled through the land, displaying their abilities, though most people chalked it up to parlor tricks and sleight-of-hand. These were the recruiters and they tried to convince others with the Gift to join them. And it was working.
Their numbers were impressive now, almost to the point where they could make a dominant push at regular establishment. They had plans in place for integration, though some would make a push for power. Hareen was one of the latter.
It had been established among the firsts that they would only train people with the Gift, provided them a safe-haven to learn, study, and grow away from the persecution and torment of regular lives. They surmised that if they separated themselves peacefully and worked toward establishing amicable relationships with everyone, they would be accepted, not feared.
As Hareen toiled in the Alchemist’s lab, he reached for an unusually shaped fishing rod. He checked some papers that were attached to the item, rolling his eyes. “Great,” he muttered aloud to himself and the empty room, “an old coot who thinks his meal catcher is ‘unusual’.” Hareen turned the rod over in his hands, examining the misshapen pole, spinner, hooks, and the large amount of line. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Sighing, thinking about the drudgery of it all, he cast one of the first spells he had learned – Identify.
Almost immediately, the misshapen wooden rod began to glow with a faint green. Briefly taken aback, Hareen reached for the papers and skimmed the description section again.
The rod’s been in my family for generations.
Used it both in the Elien and the Mirror.
Caught river fish, sea fish, squid, and the like.
Rumor was my father’s father’s father caught a shark, but I’ve never been so lucky.
Thing is, this thing here, well she’s never broke.
Had to replace the spinner four times myself, but the wood, she’s never splintered.
Line’s snapped on me so many times, I don’t bother counting no more, and the hooks rust quicker than my wife.
But the rod itself – never seems to age a day.
Love to say it’s how I take care of it, but it ain’t.
Something’s wondrous about it.
Hareen grabbed a nearby dagger and took it to the rod, intent on slicing a strip off. The dagger glided effortlessly over the wood, but the blade never took. He sharpened the angle and still the dagger moved without hesitation, but no mark was left. In a final attempt to test the rod, Hareen cut straight down with the blade, but nothing happened. Slowly, never taking his eyes of the misshapen wood, the young mage set the dagger on the table.
“The secrets…The knowledge…This is the beginning, the start of our understanding. Who knows what will come of this discovery. Magick…it exists in everything.”