NAME: Sagan Sunderin RACE: Half-Elf PROFESSION: Generalist Wizard ALIGNMENT: Lawful Neutral
Sagan was the son of a human father and elven mother. His father had been a small-time adventurer in his own right once upon a time but retired early to farm a plot of land he'd purchased near the small coastal village where his adventures had all started, and to marry the winsome barmaid of the local tavern that had long ago caught his youthful eye.
The two had made a good life for their little family and further established themselves within the small community. It was clear that Sagan was the product of their shared blood when he was born, though he grew up favoring his father in appearance. His father maintained and expanded the family farm while his mother ended up purchasing and running the local tavern she had grown up working in (and later renovating it to re-open as a full-fledged inn).
All in all, Sagan's was a free-spirited childhood of few wants or desires that were not met. He was well provided for and always safe and looked after where his parents had been the abandoned and wandering products of the longtime warring between M'Chek and T'Nanshi.
It wasn't until Sagan was already nearly a young man himself that the harsh reality of the tumultuos world around him finally found its way to his quiet little village.
A stranger had arrived (very nearly appeared, for none could say they saw him approach) upon the doorstep of the family inn on the outskirts of town. A storm of terrible proportions had apparently been his travel companion, rolling in along the coast with a feriocity rarely seen recent times.
Arriving late in the fading hours of the evening, the cloaked traveler had found the inn nearly empty save for young Sagan who had been cleaning up after closing the tavern. Sagan, a friendly and carefree young man at that time, had welcomed him in and offered what service he could. The road-weary traveler had seemed to appreciate this and accepted his hospitality. The two men, the still very young and the now rather old, then sat together by the warm hearth and wiled away the evening with long rambling discussion. Sagan was eager for information of the unknown world he'd never experienced outside of his village, and the old one seemed amicable enough as he shared tidbits of his travels.
The subject eventually had turned to magic, as the old man professed to be something of a magic user himself, and the witching hour gave way to the long early hours of darkened morning as the clearly fascinated Sagan devoured what the stranger had had to share.
As dawn drew near and Sagan knew that exhaustion must soon overwhelm his excited youth, he begged the old wizard to share with him an example of his magic. The elder man had simply smiled, in the oddest fashion, and assured Sagan that he would do so. Indeed, he noted, he'd come to this village to work a number of his miracles anyway and was tickled with the idea of having an audience that would appreciate him for once.
Sagan was thrilled beyond his wildest dreams, and promised not to breath a word of the coming day's marvels to his parents and friends about town. The old man nodded sagely and took him for his word. His instructions to the boy were for him to go to his rooms on the third and top story of the inn at noon tomorrow and there he would be witness to the traveler's magic. As they parted at sunrise to each withdraw for a bit of rest, the old man patted Sagan on the back and assured him that he would not soon forget the coming day. He assured him that he would surely never forget the marvelous enchantments of Metaboculous the Magnificent!
The younger man did as he was told and retreated quickly to his home to get a few hours rest before what he was sure would be one of the most thrilling days of his life. As excited as he was he was only able to manage a few hours sleep even after lingering with the old man all night. He was up and running back into town toward the family inn just as soon as the appointed hour could reach him. He darted past his family and friends with a wry secret grin and barely restrained winks, for they had no idea of what awaited them, and scrambled up the flights of stairs to the third floor.
Sagan entered the old enchanter's rooms and found them empty and untouched, as if he'd never entered them at all. Only a note left on the windowsill betrayed that anyone had indeed visited:
Young Master Sagan,
Welcome to the fanciful world of enchantment and wizardry. I am excited for the opportunity to work my marvels before an audience that will truly appreciate them for their artful spectrum. Enjoy the show.
Metaboculous the Magnificent
Sagan beamed from one slightly pointed ear to the other, and flushed at the suggestion that this great magic user appreciated HIM! He hurried to the window, pressing up against it for a good view of the village below when it refused to be flung open to allow him to lean out.
It wasn't long before the screaming started.
Sagan Sunderin was indeed introduced to wizardry and the power of enchantment that day. The hold portal spell that had locked the windows and doorways of the room had eventually worn off just as he was near starvation. It had mattered little, for he had lay there by the window where he'd fallen stricken with the horrors he'd witnessed. A living nightmare fully arrested his every waking moment and only tortured him further during his few unconscious moments.
The show had first begun with several local farmers, dear friends of he and his parents, first chasing and then butchering their children in the old dirt road outside. At one moment, these loving families had been walking together on holy day (the village was bustling on this day as folk come in to worship) and in the next horrible chaos had ensued. The men had become as maniac beasts, monsters run wild. After the macrabe destruction of their children, the farmers had turned on their howling wives. Sagan's father had bolted from the tavern room of the inn to attempt some heroics amid the terrible insanity when fell beasts from the wilderness began to charge into the area as well. They attacked indiscriminately, eating and eating, engourging themselves on the stricken town.
Sagan watched the destruction of his village from the third story window of his parent's inn. He witnessed the savage deaths of almost every member of his community. He heard his father's death moan downstairs after the terrified screaming of his mother had suddenly ended in mid-howl. He had pounded on the magically held door and windows as he listened to the last cries of his dying sweetheart in the hallway outside.
When all that was left alive were the bloodstained wolves roaming the village streets, all grew quiet. The wolves had suddenly seemed lost and disorganized, strangers again to each other. As if spooked by this horrible scene before them that they didn't they'd been a part of, they'd darted off into the coastal wilderness again with their tails between their legs.
And then there was the old man, standing all alone in the unending silence of the blood splotched and corpse-littered street outside, waving up at him. The enchanter Metaboculous the Magnificent smiled amicably up at his horrified audience and slowly took an entertainer's bow.
The boy eventually escaped that third story room, and buried every last one of the butchered villagers on his father's nearby farm in umarked graves. He then burned their home and the farm and the entire cursed village to the ground and left it in his wake.
Sagan Sunderin has spent all the years since searching for Metaboculous the Magnificent, scouring for any scrap of evidence of his passing that might bring him one step closer to locating him. His constant wanderings have fashioned him a magic user in his own right over time, as he devours every piece of information on wizardry he comes upon. He is a secretive man torn between two fathers, he who raised him to be a generous and kind and good to his fellow man, and he who beguiled him with the awesome power of wizardry and then destroyed his entire world with it.
Of Sagan's past that has been revealed here, he has little to share and then only vaguely of general locations and such when questioned. Of the inadvertant mentor in wizardry he has long sought, even less. Of him, who he may not even name except with those he suspects might have been aware of his passing, he will say only that their relationship of mentor to student requires completion.