Glimpse Into the Feeble Magician

A small look into Feeble Magician's setting from my background notes on the Warlock King's wars.

This is the journal entries of me getting a feel for the main character not of the first book, Feeble Magician/Orb of Souls/Forgotten Throne (not sure which title going with for first book); but the character for the second book, The Warlock King's War.

First Journal Entry of Elphin:


Entry for Winter Solistice

The hour is late and the candlelight hurts and weakens my eyes as I transcribe these pages.  This is my first entry into a journal.  I have not kept a regular account of my life until this moment.  I have not seen a reason to; but others, my colleagues mostly have impressed upon me the importance of keeping track of life for as my friend Devon Ormond once told me, the mind begins to wonder with age and memories fade into the recesses of the mind until they can no longer be recalled.

I suppose I should start with my beginning.  Most stories start that way so why not my journal.  My memory is not clear where I was born, fore it was no different then any other fishing village on the coast of Bradain, which is now called Erioch.  My earliest memory is of being cradled in the warm arms of a fourteen year old woman with long black hair pulled back into a ponytail and the fond scent of sea spray abounded about her.  At the time I believe I thought she was my mother.  Most of those years are as foggy to me as the coast I grew up on.  I was four years old when I learned that this woman that had nurtured and showed me love was not my mother.  Her name was Gwendolyn daughter of Cormac.  But to me she would always be my beautiful Gwen.  How I made her fret once I had learned to walk.  You see I was a sickly child with a sense of curiosity about everything in the world around me.  I learned to walk late in life, I was only three years old before I had strength to go exploring around our little home.  At least I believe I was three.  Most of my time was spent in and around that large one room fishing house.  It had been made, no doubt, from driftwood by my father's father.  Or perhaps even before that. I do not know how long fishing has been in the line of my family.

If Gwen was my mother then Conen was like a father to me.  My real father was far to busy to be bothered with a sickly child.  In truth I believe my father stayed out so long fishing because I to closely resembled my departed mother.  I do not know much of her from personal experience; only the amusing stories that came to me from Gwen and Conen.  She was a woman with a keen sense of humor and keen eye for business.  She had been sickly herself but that did not prevent her from being a good fishmonger's wife.  I have been told that she was among the most beautiful woman in the village.  Other then that I know very little about her.

My childhood was frustrating and I had been given very little education.  My father and siblings feared that I would not live long enough to even bear warrant to teach me the family trade.  My oldest brother, that would be Conen, dearly loved me and saw me as the last gift that our mother would grant them.  He was headstrong and had at times an overbearing sense of pride; which was odd to me in a fisherman's son.  He felt that he deserved better in life.  I am fortunate and unfortunate for this.  It would be his death; but for me it would mean a new life.  He heard the tales from travelers about great wonders wielded by scholarly figures known as mages.  He thought that if I could go amongst them that I would learn of a cure to my weak constitution.  So it was late in the night that Conen came to me.  I was a half asleep as we walked with very little on our backs headed for the King's city, the capital of Bradain, Pelior.

I am certain my father was glad to be rid of me; but Conen I am sure he missed.  Conen would have inherited the family trade; where as I....   I have not seen my little home since that day nor would I know where to find my sister and other brother, Bres.  No doubt they are still on that same forgetable coast living a simple life.

My hand and eyes grow tired and I have not even began to discuss the quiet day I had today.  They have all been far to quiet lately.  The Warlock King's War is over but there is an edge, a tension on the air I dislike.  I shall try to write again tomorrow.

(I'll post up the second entry of his journal sometime next week perhaps.)