Story of the Apprentice and his Tunic (book)

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The Story of the Apprentice and his Tunic

As told by Brukkel

It is said that once, a very long time ago, when Elanthia was
very young, before even the seven races knew much of one
another, there lived a young man. His name was Xoren Aarathel
and his story has been passed from father to son in my family
for so many generations that it seems older than the moons
themselves.  There can be no doubt the story has changed as it
has been recreated by each teller, the exploits exaggerated
and the details elaborated, but this is the story as it was
told to me by my father.

Xoren lived in a small village nestled below the hills, far
away from the nearest town.  He lived alone with his father,
the village's carpenter.  His mother had died when he was a
mere infant; the only image of her he had was in a small
portrait hanging over the mantle in his cabin.  His brother
too had left years ago, off to the nearest town like so many
of the young men of the village, seeking a life of adventure
as members of one guild or another.  Xoren, though, had
little interest in the stories his friends told around the
fire late at night: stories of brave warriors and powerful
wizards, of evil monsters and treasure troves spilling over
with gold.  He spent his spare time split between learning
the craft of his father and courting the love of a young
lady of his village, whose name has been lost in time.  He
desired nothing more than the friendship of his fellow
villagers, a cabin of his own, and the love of his lady to
share his days with.  One day, however, his dreams and
desires came to an abrupt halt.

That day, an old and mysterious Moon Mage came to the
village.  His hair had been bleached white by time, his frame
so bent that it hardly seemed possible he could stand,
even with the aid of the gnarled staff he leaned against.

Yet his eyes burned bright with a fierce power, and the few
who dared even meet his gaze soon dropped their heads in
humility and respect, and, yes, fear.  For though he spoke
with a quiet voice, his tone was that of a man accustomed to
leading others and having things done his way, without
hesitation or question.  Nor did it help that the villagers,
having no Wizards or Moon Mages amongst them, brooked within
their hearts a general fear of all magic, even if they
scoffed at "finger wagglers" in the safe light of day.  The
elder of the village hurriedly donned his good shirt and
rushed out to meet the old Moon Mage. But the old Mage hardly
said a word, and only arranged for a room in the elder's cabin,
no doubt greatly disappointing the audience of unseen eyes
behind the windows who had hoped the old Mage was quickly
passing through the village.

When news of the old Mage's arrival reached Xoren's cabin,
his father's face turned grim.  He put his tools aside and
turned to Xoren.  He spoke so softly he could hardly be
heard, and he said "Xoren my son, you must pack your
belongings, for tomorrow you shall leave with this Mage".
He picked up his tools and resumed his work, his eyes
blank and his ears deaf to Xoren's constant questions.
That night Xoren snuck out of his cabin and met with his
love.  He told her of his father's words, his heart heavy
with the prospect of leaving the village and the life he
had envisioned, and even heavier at leaving her.  Amongst
the many kisses they exchanged that night, they each swore
an undying love to one another, and he promised to return
as soon as he possibly could.

At first light the next morning, the old Mage appeared at
Xoren's cabin.  His father looked at him with a gentle
smile and placed a kiss upon his forehead.  "You have been
a good son, Xoren, all a father could ask for, and more.

Now you must be brave, and go where you are called. Look
for the good in others, and never doubt that I love you,
son."  They embraced one last time, and Xoren left with
the old Mage.

Little is known of this part of Xoren's life, and one
can only imagine the many questions running through
Xoren's mind.  "Who is this old Mage?  How did my
father know he was here for me?  What does he want with
me?", he must have asked himself.  What is known is that
Xoren and the old Mage eventually made it to a town, and
Xoren became the old Mage's apprentice.  The old Mage was
a guild leader in this town and had many pupils, though
of all his pupils, he worked Xoren the hardest.

And though at first Xoren was more miserable than he had ever
been before in his life, in time the bustling activity of
the town caught his interest, and the lessons of the old
Mage filled him with wonder, and there seemed more things
to do in a day than could be possibly done in a week, so
that his days passed quickly with barely a moment to 

dwell on the village and the love he had left behind.  In
the quiet of each night, though, he would find himself
thinking of his lady, picturing her in his arms, almost
feeling her touch, holding her close if only in his mind.

But during the days he worked hard.  The old Mage taught
him the secrets of Lunar Magic, how to harness the magic
power about him, how to perceive the magics of psychic
projection, transduction, moonlight manipulation, and
perception, how to focus his concentration on the magical
patterns in a runestone and wield the rune's magic.  As
time went on he learned how to manipulate the shadows
about him, how to focus the very beams from the moons
into pools at his feet, and much, much more.  Xoren soon
found that he had a new love, a love for magic.  And his
aptness for discovering its mysteries and harnessing its
powers was matched only by the old Mage's persistence in
relentlessly driving Xoren further and further and never
allowing him more than a moment's rest.  Every day it
seemed to Xoren that the old Mage was trying to instill
a lifetime of learning and wisdom into him all within
that same day.

But Xoren's time was not all spent learning the
mysteries of magic.  He made many friends during this
time, young men such as himself, from many guilds and
many walks of life.  He learned how to maneuver in armor
and how to wield a sword.  And thanks to the many small
skirmishes he found himself in, defending the town
against the raiding parties that would sometimes assail
it, he learned how to dress a field wound and how to take
orders from others, and in time, even how to give orders.
It was truly an exciting time for Xoren, and he made the
most of every moment.  It did not seem like such a very
long time, though it was years rather than months, before
Xoren was playing the role of teacher to his fellow guild
members more often than that of pupil.

One day the old Mage called Xoren into his office.  He
gestured Xoren to a chair, though he would not sit himself.
A smile passed fleetingly on the old man's lips, and he
hesitated for a moment before speaking.  "You have learned
much in your time here, Xoren" he said, "and I have not
much more to teach you.  The time has come when your fate
is once again in your own hands, and you must choose your
own path."  The old Mage paused a moment, looking
thoughtfully at Xoren.  "I am old, and I tire of my duties.
This town could use one such as yourself to take over the
guild, and lead it's members to greater heights.  You are
not quite ready for this yet, but in time you could be,
with my help."  At that the old man stopped and looked
expectantly at Xoren.

Xoren trembled as he grasped the enormity of the old Mage's
words.  "I am deeply honored by your words, Sir, and shall
always be grateful for the many wonders that you have shown
to me, and the many memories I shall always carry dear to me
that I would not have known had it not been for your
kindness, but if my fate is truly my own, then I choose to
return to my village, and resume my life there."  The old
Mage's face swelled with rage and his words stung at Xoren
like a swarm of hornets.

"What? You would turn your back on your brethren? Turn your
back on me?"  But before Xoren could even speak, the rage
in the old man's face dissapated, and a calmness swept over
his features like a breeze.  "But of course, you never asked
to come here, did you?  You are not like me, Xoren, but you
are your own man, and that I respect.  You have conducted
yourself well, and done all I asked.  Your path is yours
to follow, now go."  With a wave of his hand, he dismissed
Xoren.  Xoren stood up, bowed, and headed for the door.  He
 hesitated at the door, and even before he could turn to ask
the burning question racing through his mind once again,
as it had done so many times earlier, he heard the old
Mage's voice at his back, "You wish to know why I traveled
to your village that day, and chose you to be my apprentice,
don't you?"

Xoren froze for a moment at these words, then turned slowly
around.  He nodded, and waited for the old Mage to speak
again.  "Your father came to this town once, though I doubt
very much he has ever told you of that part of his life",
said the old Mage.  "He brought his wife and small child
with him, to start a new life for his family, one that he
hoped would be far better than the life the village he came
from could offer.  But this town can be cruel to newcomers,
and he soon found himself deeply in debt to the wrong sort
of people.  His very life was in danger, as were the lives
of his wife and child."  The old Mage paused for a moment,
resting his weight on his staff, then continued.

"I met your father at this time, and soon learned of his
tale of woe.  I wish I could say his tale moved me, and I
offered to help him out of the kindness of my heart, but
that would be a lie."  The old Mage stood silent a moment,
and then said quietly, "I am a powerful man, Xoren, with many
strengths and even a few virtues, but compassion is not one
of them.  I offered to help your father, but only because
I, too, was in need of help.  My wife had died in labor,
leaving me a small infant to care for.  I had never been
much of a husband, too busy in my quest for power to care
much for anything, or anyone, else."  The old Mage stared
down at his staff, and continued.

"The prospect of raising a small child overwhelmed me, and
to make matters worse, in my quest for power I had made many
 enemies.  Enemies who dared not attack me directly, but who
would not think twice of harming my child at the first
 opportunity." The old Mage lifted his gaze and looked directly
at Xoren.  "And so I helped your father, paying off his debts
and making sure that he would no longer be harassed by the
scum that had taken advantage of him.  In return, your father
agreed to move back to his village, taking my son with him and
raising him as his own.  I told myself that this was best
for all, that my son would grow up safe and happy, with a
father who would care for him as I could not, and a mother
too.  I could not know, of course, that the woman you have
always thought of as your mother did not have long for this
world, either."

The old Mage's voice faltered, but he continued, shakily.
"I have never stopped thinking of you, Xoren, and I have
always loved you in my own way.  I do not know what I had
hoped would happen by bringing you back to this town, back
into my life.  I suppose I had hoped to regain the son I
gave up, to in some way make up for the mistakes I made
long ago.  But while your love for magic may come from me,
your compassion for others and your dreams for the future
come from the man who raised you, the man who is the
father I never was."

Xoren stood speechless, overwhelmed with what he had just
heard.  He felt his soul torn as a thousand emotions welled
up within him all at once.  The old Mage gazed at Xoren
fondly, and said "I cannot ask for your forgiveness yet, my
son, but I do hope that in time you may understand that I did
what I did not just for myself, but for you as well.  You
have chosen a path different than the one I had hoped for, but
a path that is no less noble.  Return now to your village and
the life I have taken you away from, but please, visit me when
you can, and continue your learning in Magic.  You have a
great gift, one that should not be thrown away.  And before
you leave, I have something for you.  I had hoped to give this
to you on the day you took over my position as guild leader in
this town, but now will have to do."  The old Mage walked
over to a closet and removed a flowing, knee-length tunic.
The tunic seemed to shimmer, even in the dim light that
filtered into the room from the setting sun.

"I may not have always been there for you, Xoren, but I have
always held you in my thoughts, and this tunic flows from those
same thoughts.  I have been fortunate to know many powerful
people, people who haved owed my a favor from time to time."
The old Mage smiled, obviously pleased with himself.  "This
tunic was woven by one of the most gifted elves, blessed by
one of the most powerful clerics, and is unlike any you shall
ever see.  I am told it will protect the wearer from any
physical harm, so long as it is worn.  I give it now to you."

It is said that at first Xoren refused the gift, wanting
nothing from the father who had abandoned him.  But Xoren did
not leave for his village that evening.  He stayed a few days
longer, learning more of his birth father and the history of
his family.  And when he did leave for his village, the tunic
went with him.

The years following this were filled with the ordinary events
that make life so extraordinary.  Xoren returned to his
village, married the same young lady who had filled his
thoughts during his years as an apprentice, and started a
family of his own.  He helped the man he had grown up
knowing as his father with his carpentry, and soon was doing
almost all of the work himself.  He continued to practice his
magic when he could, and visited the old Mage from time to
time, though the visits grew more infrequent as the years
passed as his responsibilities in the village grew.  And that
is how he would have lived his life, peacefully and happily
on into old age, had it not been for the great war that soon
ravaged the land.

While Xoren's village was too small and out of the way to be in
much danger, the town of his father was not.  And although he
hated to leave the happy life he now enjoyed, Xoren felt duty
bound, and with a promise to return, and a tear in his eye, he
 set out to war.  He joined his father on the battle fields, and
it is said that he fought valiantly. Many tales were told of
how he and his father turned the light of the moons into lethal
beams that incinerated the leaders of their foes, and as to how
they hurled, without ever touching them, the weapons from the
ground to slice their foes in two. Even more amazingly, it is
said that as Xoren stood upon the battle fields, no spear, no
arrow, no blade forged of mortals, could harm him, as he was
protected by a great magic.  Though none but he and his father
knew it was the magic of his tunic which saved him from all but
nicks and bruises.

The war lasted many months, with many brave men slaughtered on
both sides, before it was finally decided in one great battle
far from the town Xoren's father called home.  And though
Xoren's side won the battle and the war, it was a costly
victory.  Many of the friends Xoren had made long ago were
killed in the battle, and the band of men returning home to
the town was much smaller than the band of men that had set out.

Still, Xoren and his companions were glad the war was finally
over, and their thoughts began to return to the lives they had
left behind.  But, just over a day's journey from the town, on
a path now called the Path of Sorrow, they were ambushed.  At
first light, as the men were gathering their gear and preparing
to leave their encampment, the air was suddenly filled with
arrows.  Xoren stared in horror as he saw an arrow lodge itself
firmly into his father's chest.  Without regard for his own
safety, he removed his tunic and wrapped it around his father.
As he tended his father's wound, vulnerable at last without his
 tunic, an arrow lodged itself deeply into his neck, and he was
 mortally wounded.  The first sight that Xoren's father saw as he
regained conciousness was the sight of his son laying beside him,
lifeless. And though the ambushers were soon hunted down and
executed, this did not ease the old Mage's grief.

The old Mage brought Xoren's body back to the village.  He dressed
Xoren in his field armor and the tunic he had given Xoren so many
years ago, and, in a ceremony befitting an honored warrior,
released Xoren's soul to the gods in a great bonfire.