"Watch me and pay attention," the instructor commanded on the first day of class. The old, stoopshouldered wizard had skin that was nearly nearly white from spending so many years within walls. His long robe dragged across the floor as he paced in front of a dozen men and women who paid well to attend the Montaguese Royal Colledge of Sorcery.
"If you don't heed my words, your spells will lack intensity-will miss their mark. Concentration is imparative when you are calling forth an enchantment."
He muttered somethimg and waggled the fingers of his right hand and a bolt of flame shot out, practically singeing the hair of the students in the front row.
"See? Concentrate and you can control exactly where your spell is released. Had I not paid attention to what I was doing, poor Magellan and Turarim here would be spending a few days in the infirmary." The old man chuckled, then winked.
"If the wizards and students who lived here centuries ago had practiced control-in their spellcasting and in their dealings with the politics of empire-you would be studying in a tall tower made by the best Dwarf stone masons, not in an old military barracks. See the ruins out the window? That is what remains of the fine tower. It is nothing but a dangerous, smoking deathtrap-riddled with hidden glyphs and traps and waiting to catch those who would dare explore it.
"Stay away. You will live longer if you control your curiosity. Besides, I suspect few valuables remain for the would-be adventurers to find.
"Now where was I? Yes--I know. The first step to casting a spell is...."
The World of the Spellcaster
Tyra is a land touched by magic-- from the air breathed by peasants and nobles to
each grain of sand jostled by crashing waves. The land possesses great expanses of
territory where enchantment lies soft as a child’s whisper; deep canyons where arcane
energy thunders strong and vibrant though the earth; the spiritbeings overhead called stars.
Most of Tyra’s people look upon these energies with awe and respect-- mixed with
fear, superstition, and confusion. A few individuals, however, understand the mystical
forces, their intricacies and nuances, their place in nature. And some can command these
forces-- channel them into crackling bolts of lightning that fell monsters, fashion them into
invisible barriers that keep foes at bay.
These wielders of magic are Tyra’s spellcasters
Enter the Tower