The Wandering Magician
In a bustling town called Pestroia, nestled between two roaring rivers and encased by a thick bluebell forest, there lived a man revered by all. His name was Ephialtes, and he was the wandering magician. A peculiar title, for he never seemed to wander. He was always at hand in the town, helping whoever required his magical assistance.
Ephialtes was a tall man, with flowing silver locks and piercing cobalt blue eyes. A royal blue chapeau adorned his head, with a single golden feather sticking out. A sun-bleached robe graced his long figure, concealing the myriad magical implements he kept within its folds. His appearance was as mysterious as the distant stars but as warm as the summer sun.
One morning, a frantic knocking echoed through the courtyard of Ephialtes’ dwelling. It was the town blacksmith, Mardonius, his broad face reflecting trepidation. 'My son, Theron...he’s gone! The river, it swallowed him whole!' he stuttered, conjuring an image of the normally tranquil water source turned rogue, hungering for innocent souls.
Ephialtes didn't utter a word. He simply picked up his ancient wooden staff, its top housing a sapphire as blue as his eyes, and followed Mardonius. They arrived at the riverbank, the scene fraught with danger, the river naughty and swirling. Without any hesitation, Ephialtes stepped into the roaring river. The masses watched in anticipation as the waters wrapped around him, only to part in the next moment to create a clear pathway.
He walked deeper, his robe billowing against the mystical force encasing him. There, lodged between rocks, with the scarily swirling waters, was the blacksmith's son, Theron. He was terrified but alive. With commanding voice, Ephialtes murmured words in an ancient language, causing the stubborn rocks, trapping Theron, to crumble. He lifted the boy into his arms and trekked back to safety.
Relief washed over Mardonius’ face as Theron was returned, safe and sound. The townsfolk erupted into applause. But Ephialtes merely nodded. He melted back into the crowd, his duty fulfilled. The tale of his bravery spread throughout Pestroia like a wild fire, touching each inhabitant deeply, and elevating the magician's already profound esteem.
However, as the town was celebrating, a sinister presence loomed in the background. The king's adviser, Alcidamas, watched the events unfold with jealous eyes. He felt threatened by Ephialtes' power and growing popularity. In his malice, he hatched a plot that was as dark as his cold, seething heart. He would discredit Ephialtes and regain his status.
Alcidamas manipulated the king into believing that Ephialtes was planning to usurp the throne. The king, afraid of losing his kingdom, commanded Ephialtes’ arrest. Soldiers stormed his sanctuary, but Ephialtes seemed unperturbed.
He stood firm when he was brought before the king, accused of treachery. Ephialtes denied the accusations but the king, blinded by fear and Alcidamas’ lies, handed him a sentence of death. Ephialtes’ calm demeanour broke for a moment, replaced by silent resilience.
The day of execution arrived. As Ephialtes was led towards the gallows, a wind of unease blew over Pestroia. As the noose was positioned over his head, Ephialtes locked eyes with Alcidamas. In those blue orbs, Alcidamas saw his imminent defeat, making him break into a cold sweat.
As the floor dropped beneath Ephialtes, he vanished into thin air, leaving an echoing laughter behind him. The citizens gasped as Alcidamas was revealed to be the true conspirator. Alcidamas tried to escape, but Ephialtes reappeared before him, smirking. The adviser's treachery was exposed, leading to his expulsion from Pestroia.
Ephialtes was hailed as a savior. However, when the townsfolk went to thank him, they couldn't locate him. The wandering magician had vanished from Pestroia, for his stay there was complete. He continued his journey to wherever he was needed.
In the heart of each Pestroian, Ephialtes will forever reside - the wandering magician who took not a step outside town but voyaged countless miles within their hearts. They hoped that he will find his way back, not because they needed him anymore, but because Pestroia would always be his home.