Chapter 2: Chapter 2: The Wizard in Another World
In the lofty tower's highest reaches, Argus stood composed, nestled by a table teeming with arcane components. His gaze was fixed upon his spell tome, resting upon the same surface. His visage bore a curious blend of emotions - astonishment, bewilderment, trepidation, and exhilaration. The reason? He had persistently woven spells into the ground before him, well beyond the limit ordained by Myhtra's Ban.
From the table, he grasped a blend of guano and sulfur stored within a pouch, directing his other hand earthward. His hand traced a mystical sigil in the air, and he uttered an incantation.
"Kelenta!"
The concoction in his clasp vanished, birthing a fireball that streaked through the atmosphere, descending to the earth in a fiery explosion that charred the unyielding stone to an ebony hue.
"This is... incredible…" Argus mused, swallowing a nervous gulp as his hand quivered momentarily. "This will disrupt the equilibrium across the Sword Coast, nay, the entire continent."
He lowered his hand, surveying the scorched ground before him. "If this place even resides within Faerûn. Though the people speak the common tongue…"
Turning on his heel, he ambled toward the tower's edge, peering down upon the village below. It appeared that the villagers had been rattled by the clamor he had raised, for they had congregated at the village's entrance, their collective gaze riveted upon the tower. Argus sighed at the spectacle; he needed answers about his predicament, the identity of this place, and the enigma of his ability to cast spells despite being severed from the Weave's touch.
As he cast his eyes skyward, he gently touched his wrist. "O, Goddess... Do you even dwell here?" Argus shook his head, a rueful chuckle escaping his lips as he regarded his wrist. "I wonder how Master, her chosen, will respond to a world devoid of Mystra's pervasive influence…"
With a final sigh, he pivoted and descended the tower's winding stairwell, his spell book in hand but his arcane components left behind upon the table.
—
Argus emerges from his towering abode, descending onto the muddy terrain with staff in hand and spellbook clutched tight. His component pouch hangs securely at his waist, while a bag of holding rests across his torso. Gazing upon the village ahead, he observes as women shepherd their children indoors, their eyes catching Argus' figure departing from his dwelling. He releases a sigh, procuring makeup from his pouch once more, applying it to his visage before weaving the [Friends] spell upon himself.
With these preparations complete, he strides toward the weathered village, crossing its threshold. Every toiling man fixes their gaze upon him, the cause perhaps his attire, his staff, or his spellbook. Yet, Argus, blessed with insight, discerns a trace of trepidation lurking in their eyes – a rarity in these parts, perhaps, for seeing wielders of magic.
Individuals who had previously approached him earlier in the day now reassemble, their attempts at concealing their unease apparent to Argus' discerning senses. Among them stands a man he does not recognize, advanced in years and conceivably the village elder.
"Welcome to our humble village, Master Sorcerer. I am Yoran, the village elder in these parts." The elder proclaims to Argus. "Heard from my folks here that you're looking for someone that could answer your questions?"
"Indeed, that's the reason that I came here." Argus nodded. "Although, please, call me Argus, as I am no Master, and I am no Sorcerer."
The old man was confused for a second, looking at the younger men around him. "Er— Well then, maybe we can talk at my house?"
"Unnecessary," dismisses Argus with a wave of his hand. "But do pardon my request: might I cast a spell upon you?"
"What?" The elder reacts with surprise, retreating slightly from Argus, a tinge of fear coloring his features. Likewise, the young men appear cautious, on the brink of confrontation. "I—What do you intend with me?"
"I assure you, there would be no harm that would be done to you." Argus tried to calm him down. "I need to know about the situation around these parts, Yoran. And to do that without wasting any more of your time, I could read your thoughts."
"Read my thoughts?" The elder echoes, his uncertainty palpable.
"Indeed, and rest assured, your compensation shall be substantial," Argus reinforces, retrieving a pouch from his bag of holding, its weight laden with gold, which he bestows upon the elder.
The elder unseals the pouch, and Argus swore that he nearly perceived the old man's eyes bulging from their sockets. The younger men too acknowledge the gold's advent, cognizant of the inevitable.
"G-Gods…" the old man stuttered. "I— Very well, Master Argus, do what you want with me."
"Thank you, Yoran." Argus smiled at the old man. "Now, I want you to think about the things that you know about the place that you're living in. the landscape, the map, your ruler, the things that you have gone through, everything that is connected to this world as a whole."
"W-What? I don't understand."
Argus sighed. "Just… think about your life."
The old man nodded. "Alright."
"Then I'll start." hums Argus. Extracting a copper coin from his pouch, he flicks it skyward before executing a corresponding gesture, accompanied by an incantation.
"Virtus est scientia."
In an instant, the copper piece evaporates, replaced by a torrent of thoughts, memories, and understanding that cascade into Argus' consciousness. Though not overly abundant, Yoran's existence as a mere peasant yields a substantial span. Monsters unrecognized by Argus come to light, races beyond humans, a recent war in the south, murmurs of another war due to raised taxes, the reigning monarch, and the guiding sorcerers who lend counsel. A rough cartography of towns and cities within the realm also unfurls.
"Curious…" Argus murmured, sorting the knowledge that he had just gained. "Very curious…"
A world that is somewhat the same as his, but simpler yet more complicated. Filled with bloody wars, death, and monsters, and the cultures of these… 'Temerians'... now it makes sense why they were wary of him, in fact, he was lucky that they didn't try to burn his tower the second they saw it.
"This is… magnificent." Argus smiled towards himself. Although the knowledge that he gained was only general, those knowledge made branches of questions that he needed answered. How do these monsters compare to his own worlds', how do the sorcerers and sorceresses use the Art here, and how do the materials of this world compare to his own…
"Once again, thank you, Yoran." Argus sighed.
"Y-yes, Master Argus…" the old man held his head tightly, a bit confused and felt strange after the sensation had subsided.
"One more thing, for your whole village." Argus continued. "If you happen to come across any herbs, flowers, or any other uncommon material that might interest me, do come to my tower. I will make sure to reward you handsomely. While my gold pieces aren't exactly the currency that you can use around here, I'm sure it'll fetch a hefty price, as it is still pure gold."
"I-I can't thank you enough, Master Argus." one of the young men suddenly spoke. "Truthfully, our village is on the brink of—"
"Famine, I know. I saw it in the old man's thoughts." Argus nodded. "Not to worry, if you need any help from me, you can ask. Of course, the principle of trade must be held. You bring something to me that might be of interest, all things magical or otherwise, then I'll give you either some gold or food, depending on your request and value of the item."
"I-I'll make sure to tell everyone that, Master Argus!"
"Then, fare thee well, gentlemen. I shall take my leave."
Thus, Argus departs the village, homeward-bound toward his tower, poised to unearth the enigmas encircling his milieu. Foremost, the enigma of spellcasting devoid of the Weave's perceptible presence beckons investigation.
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