The Elder's Curse Andrew Walbrown (red scrolls of magic .TXT) 📖

“As I have said, I can sense your presence. The staff you hold works as a conduit, for as long as you have it in your possession I will be able to hear your thoughts and speak directly to your mind.”

Telepathy exists? I always thought such a thing was the creation of idle minds.

“This is not exactly telepathy in the traditional sense, for if you did not hold the staff in your hands I would not be able to project my voice into your head, but I will admit this is very similar. Regardless, your soul called for assistance and I responded. I just ask one favor in return, one tiny, irrelevant favor. Will you accept?”

Ulam had suspected from the beginning this mysterious voice in his head had an ulterior motive, though he feared what he would have to do in exchange. He hated that he had no alternative option, aside from letting Amantius, Kona, and Mazargo fall to their deaths. What do you wish from me?

“I only wish to know where you are, that is all.” The voice replied, a slight giddiness in its tone. “Tell me where you are, and I will give you what you desire. This is a fair trade, is it not?”

Ulam grunted. Seems innocent enough. Why do you wish to know where I am?

“I am a collector of rare artifacts, and if you have found this staff, then you must surely be surrounded by equally interesting magical treasures. So please, let me know where you are, and I will help you.”

How do I know you can help me?

“How do I know you will give me your true whereabouts? That is the beauty of such negotiations, we must have a mutual trust in one another even though there is no reason to do so. Besides, you need my help more than I need yours.”

Ulam sighed, knowing the voice was correct. Very well, I agree. I am in the tower of a mage named Kuruk, though I cannot say exactly where the tower is located. It is in a mountain range south of a city known as Yawan in the Ashlands of the Alakuum. Sorry I cannot be more specific, though if you travel here be prepared for dragons and ash storms, and bring plenty of water.

“Interesting. Kuruk’s Tower, you say? However trivial this may seem, I assure you this information is invaluable to me. Now, as promised, how may I assist you?”

I need to utilize the power in this staff to lower three people from the ceiling so they do not become a tangled mess of body parts.

“A simple de-levitation spell, you say? That is easy enough; quite the bargain for myself if I do say so. Point the powerstone towards the targets of the spell, if you are not already doing so. I will then channel energy through you and into the staff and lower them to the floor safely. Do not be alarmed when you see energy flowing from your arms, you will not feel anything.”

Very well. Although, I feel obligated to let you know this is the staff of a powerful dark mage. I do not know if there is wicked or cruel power lurking within or not.

The voice laughed, like a parent amused by the naïve beliefs of a child. “While I am flattered by your concern, you do not have to worry about my well-being. I assure you I am a far more skilled wizard than this ‘Kuruk’ you have spoken of. After all, I am sitting comfortably in my own home and he is, I assume, dead or dying.”

Ulam quickly glanced at Kuruk, who had either bled to death or had passed out from the extreme blood loss. Either way, the mysterious voice in his head was correct: the dark mage was incapacitated and no longer a threat.

Very well. I am ready whenever you are.

“Excellent. Relax, this will be over in a few seconds.”

Whispers then filled Ulam’s head, hundreds of nimble words blowing around his mind like leaves in an autumn breeze. Slowly a sinister mist emerged from the amber powerstone and crawled upwards, breaking into three strands and melding with the black aura pinning Amantius, Kona, and Mazargo to the ceiling. Then the mist began gently lowering them, swiftly dodging the sharp crystals of the chandeliers. Though Ulam’s heart raced with excitement as he watched, something about this moment vexed him. The sensation of magical energy flowing from within him was exhilarating, giving Ulam a strength unlike any other, but in some way, the power felt polluted, tainted even. Perhaps it is the atmosphere or the lingering darkness in Kuruk’s powerstone that makes me feel this way.

Amantius was the last to touch the floor, kissing the white marble in gratitude. Kona laughed as she watched the display of affection shown for the floor, the kind of nervous laughter which naturally occurs after surviving a near-death experience. As soon as the whispers in Ulam’s mind ceased and the black mist evaporated, the emerald glow of the enchanted axe faded away as well. Ulam then dropped the staff, wanting no further interaction with the perceived dark forces at work. The rattling on the floor drew Mazargo’s attention; the Mwai mage placing a leather glove on one hand as he crossed the chamber, a grave expression on his usually cheerful face.

“Mazargo will keep this to safeguard,” he began, “one can never be too cautious.”

“How did you do that?” Kona asked as she approached Kuruk’s motionless body. “How were you able to lower us?”

“I cannot say,’ Ulam replied as his eyes were drawn to the bloodwood rod in Mazargo’s hands, the amber powerstone at the end sparkling in the otherwise dark room. “I was somehow able to bend the magic’s will.”

I cannot tell them what happened, Ulam thought as he searched each set of eyes for any indication that they did not believe his answer. Especially Amantius. He would worry about my soul if he knew a