In the Tower of Sorcery, at the very top, a man paced fitfully.
He wore robes of orange, blue, silver, and brown; the colors of the elements. He was an elementalist, a wizard that draws their power from the elements themselves. He also bore a necklace, and bracelet, and even anklet, all bearing certain symbols of his sect. He also bore a balding pate surrounded by a fringe of unruly copper hair- he tried to offset it by growing a curly, copper goatee- the effect was discomforting, in the most generous language possible.
The man gazed at his appearance in one of the Tower’s many magic mirrors. He just couldn’t shake it. He knew he was the most powerful wizard for miles around. Surely not the mightiest in the world, let alone the universe, but just as well surely without equal among any he could meet in a month’s journey. Daily his power increased; tome by tome, cantrip by cantrip, he learned and learned, and steadily the incredible power at his disposal grew.
But he just didn’t…look like it. He knew. He saw the glances on the street. Was it his eyes? His cheekbones? Try as he might, he just never looked…powerful. Wizards and mages were known for being scrawny, beady eyed, book-besotten icons of nerdery, but even against this low bar he fell far short. It didn’t matter that a twist of his wrist would send a fireball storming through acres of forest at a whim; he knew it shouldn’t bother him, but it was if- he never felt actually comfortable in his own form, as if he wasn’t himself somehow. Not his true self anyway.
With a heavy sigh of internal acceptance, he eased himself into his favorite reading chair, an ancient hardwood masterpiece carved by hands long gone from this world. It featured carved figures that were references to myths known only to sages such as this man, and would only yield comfortable seating to a scholar such as this. Where men and women shunned him, books and parchment loved him; where society had no place for him, the written word beckoned and set a throne of ink for their king of learning.
In this way did the sorceror spend many of his days. High in his tower, surrounded by his books, set above the Common Man by his enormous power, secluded more and more and amidst a cocoon of his own making.
Until one day she knocked on his door.
“Nequmus Iniqus? Hello? Are you there? I’ve come such a long way to see you. I have something. Please. I beg you. A moment of your time?”
The orange wizard leaped up at the sound, books tumbling aside. He had never heard such a beautiful, melodious, alluring sound in all his life. And certainly never at his own door.
His own door was several floors below. The woman was nearly tired of knocking and calling by the time he arrived to pull the portal open. He was disheveled and breathless, she was travel-worn and weary.
Their eyes locked.
For a moment. She recoiled, repulsed at his appearance. He glanced away, somehow intimidated by the large dark eyes in a way that the eyes of beholders and dragons had never fazed him.
She didn’t know what she expected, but this wasn’t it. She had been helping to deliver a letter addressed to the “Most Powerful Wizard in the World”. It was oddly peculiar writing, but she certainly expecting something impressive. She had followed rumors and informants to this tower to find the Wizard. Instead she found a little balding man in overflowing robes, a diminutive, weak little creature that looked like it could hardly hurt a rabbit. She started crying, involuntarily, as she handed him the parcel she had been tasked to deliver.
“Well that’s a bit dramatic. It’s hardly an occasion for all that now. Here, I’ll take that. Bugger off now.” He slammed the door and collapsed into a relaxed heap. Finally, after several seconds, he had ended an interaction with another person. It was simply exhausting. At least is was over now, and she was gone, and he was back to his books.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Excuse me.”
No dracolich rising again from its thousandth death ever struck as much fear into the heart of Nequmus Iniqus as did this girl knocking at his door. It wasn’t over at all. She was still there. She was still trying to…talk.
The most powerful wizard in the world opened the door meekly. “…Yes?”
“Excuse me. I don’t mean to be rude. We’ve traveled such a long way. I’ve even lost my dog-“
“-cat” said a voice off to the side, unknown till now-
“-hound, to the monsters, -“
“and you found it right away, curled up under a tree-“
“and I’ve delivered that letter, and I expect something in return. At least a night’s lodging and some food. You’ve no idea what we’ve been through. We’ve been through the old mine tunnel, and the Knights of Bylob, and the…”
She prattled on and on about all the great trials and tribulations of their journey from their meaningless hamlet through their anonymous forests and unimportant towns to come to the vastly more important Tower of Sorcery, and Nequmus quite lost track of the story several times before finally interrupting her. He’d now had a chance to take her in, and her companions as well. She was a farm girl, maybe a woman, with large dark eyes and gorgeous waterfalls of dark hair cascading around her angelic face. Of course her face was really quite normal, and actually fairly dirty and showing the wear of days on the trail and several combats with unruly monsters; but to Nequmus no woman ever looked more like the ideal conjuring of a divinity than this.
She quickly noticed his admiration. “You shouldn’t stare at a woman’s…well anything. What are you on about? Are you really a wizard at all? Well you’ve got the tower and its quite massive…but you…you’re quite small. Are you SURE you’re the one I’m looking for?”