Isse-Istar's Birth

Atan Ingole-Tur heard the creaking in the corridor as if someone was walking. He turned around towards the dark doorway. He saw a dark silhouette. The silhouette steeped forward only to be identified as his wife, Altariel Laurien. He said: “shh, careful, the child is sleeping.” And he turned away to again face the cradle with a baby in it. Altariel came up to him and put her hand on his shoulder. The times were rough and she knew her husband won’t be around for long. Neither would she. The child would again have to stay with the Masters of the Spire and their alchemical constructs. They did teach the child well, but Altariel shuddered to think of how early the children are taught the matters most adults cannot even remotely comprehend. But then she calmed herself by thinking of how well the child has been doing.

Still the jet-black cloud of guilt hung over her. She couldn’t help thinking that the time was very bad and they were letting a child into a world of death and despair. War was raging across Mirendil and the whole Agon. To the north the Mahirim tribes long had their eyes set on rich lands of Mirendil, to the south there were Alfar who were created for the sole purpose of murder, especially that of Mirdain. But still Altariel saw these threats unchanged for four consecutive centuries and it would be same as before and not so problematic if not for the new threat. That threat arose to the east and its name was Pall, Pall of Synochus. He was a shadow mage, who hated Mirdain and The Serene Spire specifically. Not only was he a problem, but other Mirdain stopped trusting any mages, especially the Spire, because of this bastard offspring Pall. Pall was to blame for the deaths of brightest minds of the generation as well as loss of countless other lives.

But her mind soon turned back to reality. The child woke up. While she and Atan were playing with the child, a venerable elven wizard entered the room, followed by a huge stone golem. “Hail, friend Atan! Good evening, dear Altariel!” – He said. Both parents bowed and greeted the wizard. “I am sorry to interrupt family time, and I realize how hard it is to carve some out these terrible days, but urgent information came to me from Colindo-Certa, he says there is a lot of undead insurgency in the area west of Beladin’s Rest. Now we know where Pall has retreated. We are all going. I am very sorry.” And off the wizard went.

Three hundred fifty years later, Isse-Istar, son of two of the most promising mages, finished his studies at the Serene Spire. He was a powerful mage, as good as any in the Spire, if not better. He knew of the story of his parents, Atan and Altariel. They both perished at Beladin’s Rest, fighting Pall trying to prevent him from taking over Mirendil. And they succeeded, but partially. Pall, seeing his armies defeated, retreated to his secret lair. He was not heard much of since then. Isse-Istar was busy with his clan. He saw mercenaries as the path to power and to, eventually revenge. He didn’t remember those days, but neither did he forgive.