[Feacus Fidelle]

Hey angel, are you still there? I hope so, because right now I'm in the process of revising what we have of "The Tales of Baldaar." Once I've revised it, I'm going to repost it and I hope that some people will take up the story from there :).

I know that posting this story right as another one is underway isn't the best of timing, but I'm still going through with it. Even so, I'll be realistic about it and will not be offended if this story experiences little or no growth.

pheacus

[Feacus Fidelle]

My apologies. "Baldarr" has one A and two R's. :)

[Feacus Fidelle]

This is some of what I've redone...

The Tales of Baldarr

Dizziness. Slight pain. Maybe some nausea. That’s what the others had assured Baldarr it would be like. Flogged by burning whips of pain, the sorcerer collapsed onto the ground. Flecks of blood and saliva spattered the marble floor as he was seized in a violent coughing spasm. He gasped for breath, his mind reeling in shock. Tears welled at his eyes, and he began weeping piteously. It wasn’t supposed to be like this at all.

Baldarr had dreamed of the haige all his life. The haige was the weeklong rite that wizards at the Academy Magiius had to undergo in order to advance to the rank of Sorcerer—it was deeply rooted in tradition and was considered a life-changing event by those who had experienced it. The haige consisted of the incantation of hundreds of spells by Wise Ones, the top wizards in the Academy’s hierarchy. But more specifically, “haige” referred to the climax of this process, when the Greatest One would incant the final spell and the fledgling sorcerer’s powers would come to life.

Why is there so much pain! wondered Baldarr, his right hand over his sore abdominals. Did they all lie to me? How could they put me through this! He thought back to the moment the haige climaxed, and his lips cringed.

*

Baldarr fidgeted with his hands as he looked around the small room. He had undergone six days of this haige nonsense, and he just wanted to get it over with. He had spent hours standing in this room the last few days, listening to the monotonous voices of mages ramble on and on. Then again, today was the most important day of the ritual, and Baldarr couldn’t help but feel a bit anxious. His eyes shifted to the tapestries adorning the walls. They were covered with depictions of the Miracles of Magiius: blind men being healed with a touch of the mage’s hand, flowers sprouting up in the mage’s wake, and dozens more legends Baldarr remembered, with a smile, his father telling him when he was a little boy.

He started as a strong fist pounded on the door. “Ent…enter please,” he said. The door flung open, and his instructor and a mage—the latter’s face hidden by a dark brown hood—entered the room. There was a brief ceremonial introduction, and then the mage dismissed the instructor.

When the door had closed, the mage turned to Baldarr and removed his cowl. Baldarr gasped in shock—the mage’s face was covered with boils and deep slashes, none of which seemed to have ever healed. The old man’s forehead was marked with innumerable tiny stitches, the purpose of which Baldarr hadn’t the faintest idea. And the man’s eyes, Baldarr trembled involuntarily as he looked into them. Large pupils of deep gray hinted at a profound wisdom, the kind that would Baldarr was sure he’d rather not know.

With the sound of a thunderclap the mage slammed his hands together, roaring in laughter as Baldarr snapped out of his daze.
“No time for daydreaming,” said the man, once again enshrouding his face in the cowl.

“I was…I was just…” Baldarr was speechless, his heart racing.
“You were daydreaming. Now, let’s get this thing over with. Let me see, where is that dratted book?” The mage plunged his hands into his cloak, feeling around for the object. “Aha!” He pulled the tome out from the depths of his cloak and held it in his hands. It was massive, leather-bound, and covered with strange inscriptions.

Baldarr waited anxiously for the mage to start the ritual, the mage himself having seemly forgotten him as he flipped through page after page of illuminations and fancy writing. Under his breath, the mage was muttering something like, “…dratted spell…physicians and their haige…” He said the last word with especial contempt, and violently flipped the page. Coincidentally, he seemed to have found the spell. “Let us begin,” he said. The mage cleared his throat, but said nothing. After a minute or so of this, Baldarr couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Will you start!” he exclaimed, at once regretting it as he was ensnared in the gaze of those deep gray eyes.

“Very well, young man!” The mage slammed his book shut and immediately began a series of chants, his hands moving so quickly that they became a blur. Baldarr’s heart boomed, the incomprehensible words whispering past his ears so fast and silently that he felt, for the first time in his life, terrified.

And now the mage had silenced, but Baldarr had barely noticed this when an onslaught of pain rippled through his muscles and he fell to the floor.

[Feacus Fidelle]

Look, 34 "views" is great and all, but I'd really like a reply of some sort. As it is, I'm totally in the dark as to whether you all dig this idea or think it has no potential.

feacus

[Erebus]

It seems our collective efforts to revive this and other unfinished group stories has not been met with resounding support as yet, and at the moment, some of the newer members are working on a new tale. However, this and the other tales can still be added to if anyone cares to to try their hand.:)

Feacus, your work is always worthwhile, including this - we may just need to give our members a little more time to get round to it is all.