The midday sun, a radiant disc in the cerulean expanse above, cast dappled shadows across the verdant Feywild clearing. Gale, ever the contemplative mage, found himself lost in a labyrinth of thought, his mind a whirlwind of recent revelations and burgeoning possibilities. He was reflecting on the extraordinary individual who had so unexpectedly entered his life.
Harald.
Gale had witnessed firsthand the breadth of magical talent the world had to offer. He had studied in the ancient libraries of Candlekeep, traded spells with archmages in Waterdeep, and, in his younger, more impetuous days, even dared delve into forgotten lore in a shadowed corner of the Underdark. He had encountered mages of prodigious skill, individuals capable of manipulating the Weave with breathtaking finesse, weaving spells of staggering complexity and power. Elminster Aumar, the Sage of Shadowdale, was a name that often came to mind – a mage of legendary status, whose power was spoken of in hushed whispers and awestruck tones.
Initially, Gale had placed Harald in a similar category – that of a highly-skilled eccentric. His magical feats, while undeniably impressive, had seemed, at first glance, to fall within the realm of possibility, albeit possibility present only at the very upper echelons of Wizard society. The conjuration of enchanted armors and sumptuous feasts, replete with exotic delicacies and vintage wines, was a spectacle to be sure, a testament to Harald’s mastery of evocation and conjuration – or, alternatively, of sufficiently deep pockets able to afford the required spatial storage artifacts… But such feats, while rare, were far from unheard of. Powerful mages, with access to the deeper currents of the Weave, could and did achieve similar results.
But then came the crafting.
The time-bending.
That was the moment when the scales fell from Gale’s eyes; when the comfortable assumptions he had held about the nature of magic, and about Harald himself, began to crumble. To manipulate the flow of , even on a localized scale, was an act that only a select few could manage. It was a feat that lay far beyond the reach of all but the most powerful of archmages, a power that whispered of divine intervention, of forces beyond the mortal ken. Gale had only ever heard of such levels of time manipulation being attributed to the strongest of Fey Lords, who were said to perform such feats within their own private demiplanes, outside the normal constraints of time and space. Even were thought to be able to affect time only in limited ways.
Yet, Harald had laughed in the face of common sense, compressing hours into mere moments with a flick of his wrist, without even a murmured incantation to go along with the impossibility.
And the results of that accelerated labor were, in themselves, breathtaking.
The armor and clothing that Harald produced were not merely functional; they were works of art, shimmering with an otherworldly beauty and imbued with enchantments of staggering complexity. The materials seemed to shift and change, adapting to the wearer’s form and movements, glowing with an inner light of hellishly complex enchantments that pulsed with latent power. Gale, despite his extensive knowledge of the Weave, could detect no seams, no flaws, no hint of the process by which those artifacts had been created. It was as if they had simply… come into being, whole and in ways no mortal craftsman could hope to manage. The very air around them hummed with barely contained power!
And then, after his crafting spree was complete, Harald had demonstrated his newly created musical instrument, and that music... It was indescribable, unlike anything Gale had ever heard before!
It was then that the first tendrils of a truly audacious theory began to snake their way into Gale’s consciousness.
Demigod.
Perhaps, the offspring of a god or goddess?
It was a notion that, in any other circumstance, he would have dismissed as fanciful, the product of an overactive imagination. But the undeniable evidence, circumstantial though it may have been, was mounting. The sheer scope of Harald’s power, the ease with which he manipulated unknown energies, the casual way he seemed to bend the rules of reality to his will – all of it pointed to a heritage beyond the mortal realm.
An even more daring, and more personally unsettling, thought flickered at the edge of Gale’s mind.
Mystra.
The Goddess of Magic.
His former lover.
Could Harald possibly be…
son?
The very idea sent a shiver down his spine, a complex cocktail of awe, trepidation, and a lingering, bittersweet nostalgia. He wondered, with a sudden, sharp pang of vulnerability, how Mystra’s offspring might perceive his past relationship, if indeed they were aware of it. Would Harald view Gale with resentment, as the mortal who had once been intimate with his divine mother? Would he know of Gale’s existence at all?
Would he even care?
Gale quickly banished the thought from his mind, dismissing it as conjecture, a flight of fancy born of his own lingering feelings for the Goddess of Magic. It was too early to speculate, he told himself. Too early to draw any conclusions. He needed more information, more evidence, before he could even begin to entertain such a possibility.
His thoughts returned to the armor he was gifted with, to the intricate, otherworldly enchantments that adorned each piece. Gale, despite his extensive knowledge of the Weave, could make neither heads nor tails of the magic that permeated the armor. It was utterly foreign to him, operating on principles that defied everything he had ever learned about magical theory. The armor itself appeared to be crafted from some kind of volcanic glass, yet it was light as a feather and extraordinarily durable, shimmering with enchantments that Gale could , yet couldn’t begin to unravel or understand. Harald had called it his “standard tank set.”
What a jest!
The word grated on his very being. How could Harald use such a term? In all of his years studying the arcane, Gale had never encountered anything remotely comparable to what he now wore. “Standard” implied something mass-produced, easily replaceable, and possessing –perhaps-- of only rudimentary enchantments.
These armor pieces?
These were artifacts of unimaginable power and most intricate craftsmanship! To even dare suggest that the set was anything less than unique, a treasure beyond measure — was absurd! The sheer of the word grated on Gale’s sensibilities, highlighting the vast gulf between Harald’s perception of his own creations and the awe-struck wonder they inspired in him.
The armor set in question, with which Harald parted so casually, allegedly offered nothing less than to fire, ice, lightning, poison, and drowning, along with having a general magic resistance... And all of that was further paired with an equally “standard” ring, which, as Harald explained, would continuously restore both the wearer’s health stamina, making them virtually tireless and incredibly resilient.
was something Harald could create in moments and he considered it to be... Mundane? Commonplace? What utter madness!
Despite his incomprehension of the method of creation, Gale could still sense the sheer complexity of the work, the meticulous care and boundless power that had been poured into every single rune, every exposed surface, every shimmering thread of energy. If the group’s enchanted gifts did even of what Harald claimed they could do…
Priceless.
That was the only word that even came close to describing these items.
He didn’t mean that merely in terms of monetary worth, either, although they undoubtedly fetch sums beyond the wildest dreams of even the wealthiest of people. No, they were priceless in a more fundamental sense, as the kinds of objects that would never be sold, . As artifacts of immense strategic significance. Kingdoms would happily go to war over such artifacts. Entire armies would be sacrificed in a heartbeat for a mere of possessing them. These were the kind of treasures that legends were made of, the kind of relics that could shift the balance of power in the world.
And Harald had made them himself.
In mere moments.
As if crafting such wonders was a mere hobby for him.
That fact, more than any other, cemented Gale’s conviction: Harald was either a demigod, a particularly potent (and, likely, absolutely ancient) Fey Lord, or otherwise someone so far advanced beyond the mortal level of crafting ability that the distinction between mortality and divinity became meaningless.
Gale briefly considered the possibility of Harald being an actual god, walking the material realms in disguise for sheer amusement, but he reluctantly dismissed the idea. Ao, the Overgod, strongly discouraged direct divine intervention in mortal affairs… The possibility, at least for the moment, still seemed unlikely.
Gale’s musings were interrupted by a shift in the activity around him. He watched as Harald turned his attention to Karlach, the sweet tiefling woman whose Avernus-installed Infernal Engine in lieu of a heart had been a constant source of pain and suffering.
Harald was clad in his own set of the so-called “standard” Glass Armor… and, on his head, still sat a preposterously large straw fishing hat, adorned with an array of colorful lures and bobbers that jangled with every movement. It was, without a doubt, the most ridiculous headwear Gale had ever seen, and yet, on Harald, it somehow managed to look… almost regal. Slowly, almost gingerly, Harald removed the hat from his head and pointedly cracked his knuckles. Then, with a gentle touch, and a blur of impossibly fast movements that seemed to compress the very flow of time, he began to replace the unstable device in Karlach’s chest with a brand new, custom-made, intricately enchanted artificial heart.
Gale’s breath hitched in his throat. He had witnessed incredible feats of magical skill in his life, including seeing a True Resurrection spell completely restore an Adventurer’s disintegrated body… but this… this was something arguably even impressive. The sheer precision of Harald’s movements, the way he manipulated the energies of life and fire in front of their eyes, was breathtaking.
The infernal device in Karlach’s chest radiated a great deal of heat, a palpable wave of energy that scorched the air around it. Gale, even from a distance, could feel its oppressive presence — it was like standing next to a blast furnace, the burning intensity of it spoke of the Hells themselves. Yet, Harald handled it with his bare hands, his expression serene, his touch as gentle as if he were cradling a newborn babe. He didn’t even flinch as he casually disconnected it, showing no sign of discomfort, no reaction to the infernal heat that would have undoubtedly sent any mortal mage scrambling for protection. At this point, Gale was past surprise. He simply accepted that Harald operated on a different level of existence.
The switch was swift, almost impossibly so. One moment, Karlach was wracked with extreme discomfort, her Infernal Engine pulsing precariously with an unstable, malevolent energy. The next, Harald had seamlessly integrated her new heart, and a wave of palpable and absolute relief washed over the tiefling’s face.
Karlach, freed from her torment, immediately erupted in a joyous display of affection. She launched herself at the nearest members of the group, her powerful arms wrapping around Astarion and Shadowheart in a crushing embrace. Astarion, to his credit, seemed only mildly put out by the sudden onslaught of tiefling enthusiasm, offering a wry smirk and a half-hearted grumble about personal space. Shadowheart, on the other hand, seemed genuinely touched by the favorable resolution of Karlach’s situation, a small smile gracing her lips as she returned the hug, albeit with slightly less fervor.
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As the commotion subsided, Harald turned to Gale, a wide, inviting smile on his face.
“Well, now that’s done,” Harald said with a shrug, his voice casual and warm. “Let’s take a short break – after lunch, everyone, please meet me back here for an important discussion.”
***
And, by Mystra’s perky bosom, was Harald’s discussion important!
“Does anyone want to learn about how to do magic without accessing the Weave? I’d be happy to teach anyone who wants to know more!”
Gale’s heart leapt at the prospect. An entirely new system of magic? A path to power beyond the confines of the Weave? It was an offer of knowledge beyond his wildest dreams, a chance to expand his understanding of the arcane in ways he had never believed possible – even (or, perhaps, especially) when he was still a Chosen of the Goddess of Magic.
Gale eagerly stepped forward, his eyes shining with anticipation.
Alfira, having joined the group with some nervous hesitation, also took a tentative step forward, gently voicing her own interest. Gale was quite fond of the gentle bard, and was pleased by her apparent academic curiosity.
His new friend from the Nautiloid, Astarion, who had been observing the exchange with a characteristically enigmatic expression, appeared both surprised and… subdued. The usual glint of mischievous amusement in his eyes was muted, replaced by a flicker of something that Gale couldn’t quite place. Apprehension? Curiosity? Fear? Astarion was clearly intrigued, but there was an underlying tension in his posture, a wariness that suggested he was not entirely convinced of Harald’s motives. Yet, despite his reservations, Astarion inclined his head, a silent acknowledgment of his willingness to listen. (And in truth, Gale understood Astarion’s concerns – but, how could he turn back now? This was, after all, his chance to learn about ! Harald’s motives be damned, Gale wouldn’t think twice about giving up his left arm, eye, AND leg for such an opportunity!)
Karlach, her face still radiant with the joy of her newfound freedom, shook her head with a good-natured chuckle. “Magic was never really my thing, Soldier” she admitted, her voice rough but warm. “I prefer a good axe and a roaring battle. But I don’t mind listening in. You never know, I might just learn something useful.”
Shadowheart, apparently a devout cleric, hesitated. Her faith in Shar (and wasn’t THAT particular revelation a fun surprise!) was a cornerstone of her being, and the idea of delving into a system of magic that was wholly separate from the divine was… probably unsettling for her. Gale saw her brow furrow in conflict, her gaze shifting not too subtly between Harald and the divine symbol of Shar that adorned her chest.
It was Lae’zel who broke the silence. Gale hasn’t spent too much time around the enigmatic githyanki warrior, but it was still quite a surprise when she stepped forward without hesitation. Her expression was composed, her posture rigid and alert, but there was a spark of fierce determination in her bearing. “If there is a path to power,” she stated, her voice sharp and unwavering, “I would learn it from you, .”
Lae’zel’s… unexpectedly open mind seemed to sway Shadowheart. The cleric glanced at the githyanki, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. She straightened her own shoulders, her internal conflict still evident, but her decision was made. “Very well,” she said, her voice cool but firm. “I am willing to learn more.”
Harald smiled, his expression one of genuine pleasure. “Excellent,” he said. “Then let us begin.” He gestured for the group to gather around him upon the soft moss, his eyes sparkling with an almost childlike enthusiasm.
“The system of magic I am about to introduce to you,” he began, his voice deep and resonant, “is unlike anything you’ve ever heard of or seen before. It is fundamentally different from the Weave, and draws upon a source of energy that is not native to any plane we’ve visited thus far, an enigmatic force I call… Magicka.”
He paused, letting the word hang in the air, allowing its unfamiliar cadence to settle in their minds. “Now, unlike the Weave,” he continued, “Magicka is not something granted to you by the grace of a deity like the Goddess of Magic, nor is it mediated by the existing threads of magic that permeate the world around you. No. Ideally, Magicka is freely absorbed from the environment and made your own, or else, even within your own body. It is a reliable source of power that belongs exclusively to you – and you alone -- beholden to nothing and no one else. In my experience, any person – regardless of their race, background, or station in life – has the ability to metabolize and use this power at least to some degree.”
Gale frowned, his mind already racing with questions. “But… how is that possible?” he asked, his voice filled with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. “Forgive me for my skepticism, Harald, but I’ve never heard of this… Magicka before. If Magicka is not native to the world and isn’t present in the environment, how, then, can we possibly absorb it? How do we learn to manipulate a force that we aren’t aware of, and cannot even perceive?”
Harald nodded, anticipating the question. “Ah. That is a valid point, Gale,” he said. “And it brings us to the first, and, perhaps, most challenging, aspect of this initial lesson. You are, of course correct, Gale: in the current realm, in this particular… juncture of reality, Magicka doesn’t appear to be readily available in the environment. It is, in fact… wholly absent. Therefore, absorption from the outside is out of the question. Instead, the only way for you to reliably access this power… is learning to convert your own life force into Magicka.”
“Of there was a catch,” Astarion loudly muttered, while a collective series of gasps rippled through the group.
The idea of converting life force, the very essence of one’s health and being, into magical energy, was a dark and daunting one. In Gale’s experience, only the Infernal, the Demonic, the Undead, as well as the most insane and power-hungry of wizards, have ever attempted spells and rituals that did such things.
“Do not be alarmed,” Harald reassured them, his voice gentle but firm. “The process, as I will teach it to you, is quite safe. You will not be draining your life force to the point of exhaustion. In fact, the very first spell I will teach you, a mere novice-level spell called Equilibrium, is designed to help you maintain a balance between your life force and your Magicka, helping ensure survival in dangerous situations.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the group, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “And, of course, your enchanted rings should also help restore your life force quite rapidly, further reducing any danger. I
understand that this is a new and unfamiliar concept for many of you. You are being asked to manipulate energies that you have never even perceived before. You have no frame of reference, no understanding of what Magicka even
like, how it behaves, nor how it can be controlled.”
Harald’s gaze settled on Gale. “Gale, I can see you have more questions. What are they?”
Gale, after a moment of silence, finally found his voice.
“Yes…life force? I understand the concept of it, in a general sense. But, Harald, I don’t know how to directly manipulate my either! How will we know if we’re doing it right? And what would happen if we made a mistake while attempting it?”
“All excellent questions.” Harald said. “This brings us to an… interesting aspect of our current situation.” He gestured to his eye, to the place where the illithid tadpole lay embedded within the brain.
“Other than Alfira here, we all carry… passengers,” Harald said delicately, “which, while potentially dangerous, also grant us certain… unique abilities – at least, for the moment. We have already experienced one of those abilities in a limited form of telepathy, a connection between our minds when we met.”
He smiled. “This is a connection we can turn to our advantage. I can use it to connect directly to your minds. I can try to show you what Magicka feels like based on my memories. My experience. I can guide you through the process of converting life force in real time, giving you direct experience with this new form of magic. You could master this power in record time… provided, of course, that you trust me enough to be willing to open your minds to me.”
Astarion’s eyes widened, his hand instinctively moving to his temple. He looked decidedly uneasy at the prospect of opening his mind to , especially Harald.
Gale, on the other hand, felt a surge of excitement. The idea of experiencing magic in such a direct, visceral way was exhilarating. He had spent his entire life studying the arcane from the outside, poring over ancient texts and deciphering complex formulae. Now, he had the opportunity of a ! A chance to experience a new magic from within, to be taught by a master of the craft in ways most academy instructors couldn’t even dream of!
“I am willing,” Gale said without hesitation, his voice filled with eager anticipation.
Karlach, despite her earlier reservations about magic, nodded in agreement. “I trust you, Soldier. If it’ll help me understand what you’re all going on about,” she said with a grin, “I’m in!”
Lae’zel, as always, was quite pragmatic. “My people have inherent telepathic abilities, and you have seen into my mind once already. If it grants me strength,” she stated simply, “then proceed.”
Shadowheart, after a moment of contemplation, shook her head slowly. Her expression was still conflicted, but her curiosity seemed outweighed by caution. “I am sorry,” she said. “But I find such a teaching method… too invasive for my liking.”
“Of course,” Harald said, his smile reassuring. “This method is entirely voluntary. Though, you should know that the offer will remain on the table. There also more traditional and ways to teach this… but such methods are considerably inferior to a direct mental link.”
Harald then looked pointedly at Alfira -- dear, sweet Alfira, who had joined group with a tentative smile and a lute clutched tightly in her hands. She had no tadpole, of course, and therefore couldn’t participate in Harald’s proposed telepathic lesson. This, Gale knew, would present a unique challenge for Harald, a challenge that the enigmatic mage seemed to be taking in stride.
“Alright,” Harald began, his voice clear and resonant, “since our teaching method need to be… adjusted for you, Alfira, why don’t we begin with you? Humor me for a moment, and put your lute down please.”
Alfira, looking slightly bewildered at being singled out, carefully placed her lute on the soft moss.
“Now, don’t be alarmed. I will send a very small, controlled trickle of my own Magicka into your body and will try to guide the conversion process directly. You will be perfectly safe at all times. All you have to do is pay attention, and try to memorize and copy what I am doing. Now, are you ready?” She nodded, hesitantly.
“Very well, please close your eyes,” Harald instructed, placing a gentle hand on her back. A soft, golden light emanated from his touch, spreading across her shoulders and down her spine.
“Try to relax. Take a deep breath,” Harald continued, his voice a soothing whisper, "and the energy within you. Follow the flow of my magic. Let it reveal the life force that sustains you.”
Alfira closed her eyes, her brow furrowed in concentration. Gale watched her intently, wondering what she could possibly be experiencing.
“Imagine,” Harald continued, his voice soft and guiding, “that you are a tree. A strong, ancient tree, with roots that reach deep into the earth. Feel the sap rising within you, the vital energy flowing from the roots to the branches, nourishing every leaf, every flower…. Feel your lifeblood travel all throughout your body. Yes… yes, that’s it! Now… focus on that feeling. Follow my lead as we direct it. We are going to shape your life force like a sculptor shapes clay. Concentrate! the energy inside you. Now… try to copy me as we change it together.”
Alfira’s breathing deepened, her chest rising and falling with deliberate rhythm. Her tail twitched faintly, curling around her legs as she sank deeper into concentration. A soft hum vibrated in the air, the first sign of the energy she was tapping into. The golden light from Harald’s hand spread, threading down her torso and pooling at her stomach. Her lips parted, a quiet gasp slipping out as her body tensed.
Then, suddenly, the energy . Alfira’s head tipped back, a sharp, shuddering cry escaping her throat as her entire frame convulsed with an overwhelming release—an unmistakable, orgasmic reaction that rippled through her like a shockwave. Her eyes flew open, glowing with a brilliant, unearthly light, and her body arched, trembling as a blue and gold aura erupted around her.
The camp went still and dead silent, the only sound Alfira’s ragged breathing as she slumped forward, catching herself on her hands. Her whole body glowed softly now, the wild energy settling into a steady shimmer—a sign she’d succeeded in converting some of her life force into raw Magicka.
Karlach’s booming laugh shattered the silence, her own tail whipping with delight as she clapped a hand on her thigh. “Bloody hells, Alfira! You really did something there!” Her grin flashed wide, teeth glinting, though her voice softened as she stepped closer. “You good, though? That looked… intense.”
Shadowheart crossed her arms, eyebrow arched, her lips curling into a deeply unamused grimace – clearly, she wasn’t a fan of the implications of Harald’s earlier offer to teach her.
Astarion leaned back with a theatrical flourish, his sly grin twitching for a moment before sharpening. “Oh, my,” he purred, his tone dripping with mischief. “Harald, you didn’t mention there were
to your lessons.” His eyes flickered from Alfira to Harald, a hint of unease beneath the tease.
Gale’s own mouth hung wide open, his face flushing a brilliant crimson. “I—well—that’s certainly one way to channel energy,” he stammered, tugging at his collar, his eyes darting anywhere but Alfira. “Harald, is this… typical of the process?”
Harald remained unshaken, his hand steady on Alfira’s shoulder as his own golden light faded. “It’s… uncommon, but not unheard of,” he said, his tone as calm as if he were discussing the weather. “The act of manipulating one’s own life force is a… and process. That first conversion can overwhelm the senses, especially for the untrained. I’m sure it will pass with practice.” His eyes deliberately met ours, portraying the image of an unflappable and professional instructor.
Alfira lifted her head, her cheeks flushed with a mix of triumph and embarrassment. “I—I didn’t expect… ,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she hugged her arms to her chest, avoiding our stares. “Did it work, at least?”
Harald’s smile was warm, steadying. “Look down at yourself, Alfira. You’re .”
And, by the Gods, she .
Alfira’s lithe form was awash in a soft, golden radiance that seemed to bloom from deep within her soul. Her Azure skin shimmered with an internal light that seemed to trace her every curve like a lover’s tender touch. Glowing sweat glistened on her brow, tiny droplets catching the internal light of her body like scattered diamonds.
Her eyes blazed with flecks of golden fire. The glow enveloping her pulsed faintly, seemingly in sync with her racing heartbeat, a living rhythm that bound the newly created magic to her very essence—intimate, raw, and breathtakingly . The very air around Alfira thrummed with energy, the radiance making her resemble a newly-born celestial forged in the crucible of her own power.
“Incredible,” Gale murmured, unable to contain his awe.
Alfira, with no prior knowledge of magic, with no apparent special connection to the Weave, was manipulating raw magical energy as if she was born to do it. It was a testament to Harald’s skill as a teacher – or, perhaps, to the supposed universally accessible nature of the so-called “Magicka.”
And Gale couldn’t wait to take that new power for himself.
