Private Tales The First Step

[Maddix Vadangraff]

Ever since the death of his father, Maddix's life was in complete disarray and the most unorganized it had ever been. After burying his father next to his mother, Maddix moved from his home of Alliria to Elbion. He did not exactly pursue any sort of training in magical arts, but he would go to any distance to reveal the past of his mother. Working odd jobs and collecting materials to assist in rebuilding the recently destroyed college led Maddix to knowing a strange variety of people around the town.

Knowing one person led to another.

And another.

And another.

Eventually, series of questions led to other conversations about wicked arts, necromancy, blood magic and the sort. Not many, but a few people led their trails to one person that went by the name of Movrin. None of them knew much about him, but they all knew he was an Undead that specialized in the arts not many dared to fool around with. Maddix most likely wouldn't have wanted to associate himself with him, but desperate times called for desperate measures. His mind and body would never be at rest until he knew the history of his mother or at least how she had died. Resurrecting her wasn't something he was interested in though. Perhaps just a conversation every now and then.

Days of asking around and raised brows from multiple people finally took his toll on Maddix, so he went to the nearest bar to sit down and have a drink by himself. Bars were always melting pot of people, so there was a slim possibility he might find another clue on the trail of finding the man.

After he walked into the bar and ordered himself a glass of some random kind of beer, he found himself sitting in the corner with his legs propped up on the table, arms crossed and observing the area.

 

[Movrin]

He visited Elbion ever so often. During the years his love for the place had slowly faded, leaving only faint traces of the feeling he had once felt in its busy streets and under the magnificent roofs of its buildings. It was quite mutual, to be honest, as the city had expressed its disgust of his new skills and profession quite clearly. Not that it hurt Movrin that much, it was something to be expected after he returned here all those years ago, a different man that that who had left the college once. A college that now was left in ruins, not for long, judging by the work being done, but the blow it had taken was hard enough to make Movrin's own heart ache just the smallest bit.
He might be merely a part of Elbion's vast underground now, but he still had fond memories of it. And the college was a citadel of knowledge, as twisted and dirty some of its corners might be, it was still a place for studies and piece, not fire and violent death.

Yes, death had brought him here. There were many deceased after the recent violent events, and many of them had little to no one who knew them, could care for them here. The scent of the future events had led him to Elbion, and once he had gotten here, he found plenty of work.
On some other occasion Movrin might have faced harsher welcome. But this time everybody were just too tired, too hurt and too scared to stand in the way of a humble undertaker, even if some of them might recognize him.

Oh, because he did get recognized here. Sometimes. Rarely in a good way. He had had to avoid guard his own fair share of times, and the rumors that traveled in the streets were as amusing as they were sad. Some of them were true, like the whispers of the magical disciplines he had studied, although Movrin had never actually shown his knowledge of necromancy openly here. That was why he could still get in in the first place. Other rumors were simply absurd, like the fact that he was an undead, even though his appearance bore little resemblance to one.
Although, were the people to blame? They had probably never seen a real undead before.

There were a few kinds of hushed conversations, however, that Movrin followed more closely. Like those that were aimed at actually finding him, not simply spreading the word of a big, old, scary mage who ate small children and fair maidens.
People wanting to find him usually meant two things: they either wanted him gone, or they required his help. Of the first sort he had to be wary, the later he listened to.
He didn't do charity. But he did what was just and proper.

It was when the aftermath of the fire had started to calm down when one of his rare acquaintances here told him of a young man who had been asking around for him for some days. This made Movrin listen closer.
So he observed for a bit. Made assessments.

And finally stepped out of the shadows.

He was cautious, but he was also curious. The people who wished to seek him out were usually different than this man, and Movrin could feel something around him, something that drew him in.
Something that made him slip through the crowd in one of many bars found in Elbion, and slide behind an already occupied table without invitation. His hood was drawn low, revealing only pale lips, chin and ginger beard, as well as few wayward strands of hair falling on his shoulders. The rest of his clothing was dark and quite plain.

"You have been looking for me, or so I hear."