The Mage of Lost Land
Once upon a time in the heart of an ancient world, hidden beneath the folds of forgotten maps, there was a land known as Mormore. Mage Vilrooth, a magus in his early fifties adorned in iridescent robes, lived in a majestic tower that touched the clouds. Vilrooth was the last of his kind – a master of landscapes, a Mage of the Ancient Guild who could understand the language of trees, mould the weather, and converse with the stars.
But Mourmore was a lost land. An unseen cloud of gloominess hung over its inhabitants. The nearby mountains had dried rivers, lands were barren due to perennial dearth of rainfall. The cause was a mystery to all, even with Vilrooth's profound wisdom.
News of this woeful situation percolated to the other lands, stirring troubled whispers among their inhabitants. Fiadone the Enchantress, from the land of Triara, decided to visit Mourmore. Fiadone was a graceful presence in shimmering silver robes, her blue eyes reflecting wisdom. She was the last of her kind, Mages who mastered elemental water magic.
The day she set foot on Mourmore, a ripple of hope ran through the inhabitants. Fiadone met Vilrooth at his tower, their ancient connection immediately bridging their years of separation. After hours of murmuring stars and whispering winds, they learned about an ancient curse. It was cast by Jarma, the rival Mage from Krux, who had been enraged at his banishment for his evil practices.
They forged a plan to lift the curse and rejuvenate the grieving lands. Vilrooth would provide guidance to track down Jarma's invisible fortress in Krux, while Fiadone would pool her strength to break Jarma's curse. The task was formidable, laced with risks, but their hope shone bright.
Embarking on their journey, they left the tower, twirling charms and enchantments to evade any eyes and ears that might lead to Jarma. They crossed the sleepless deserts and whispering forests, following Vilrooth's celestial compass, reaching the invisible fortress after days of travel.
Outside the fortress, they began their joined incantation. The air crackled with magic, silver strands dancing around Fiadone while Vilrooth hummed an ancient melody. After an hour-long incantation, a colossal bolt of energy burst from their hands and hit the fortress, causing an explosion that echoed across the lands. The invisible fortress collapsed in front of them, revealing a tired, beaten Jarma.
The curse was broken, and their victory met with a downpour, a sight unseen in Mourmore for decades. The rain kissed the parched land, and the rivers gushed with water, the vegetation turned lush and green, and the people of Mourmore finally smiled.
Vilrooth and Fiadone returned to the tower with Jarma, who was handed over to the Ancient Guild for his transgressions. As the lands flourished, Fiadone stayed back in Mourmore, both she and Vilrooth promising to rebuild the remnants of their once-glorious guild.
The Mage of Lost Land is a tale remembered even today as a beacon of hope. Amidst trials and tribulation, unity and unwavering faith emerged victorious.