The Exalted Ulzaz Zazz Saviux High Sage of the Arcane
The wizard who can't really control his magic
Once, a skilled and influential wizard, he lost his aptitude to cast magic and his towering intellect in a wizards duel.
The Exalted Ulzaz Zazz Saviux High Sage of the Arcane lifted his weary arms and stamped the 6th page of paper work, even after years of wearing them, the chains that were bound to his wrists still chaffed. His mind wandered, as it often did now days, “might this be a magical enchantment of the manacles, or some sort of psycho sematic reaction brought on by my humiliation.” Mozicc, the Great Red Master, had written a fascinating dissertation on both subjects, the latter as his graduation thesis, and the former after his death and undead rebirth of course. It was not diffi… The old wizard grunted with disgust as the glassy eyed and emaciated Drow slave excused himself from the conversation and hurriedly limped back to the lash master anxious for a new assignment now that this stage of the processing was complete.
The Exalted Ulzaz Zazz Saviux High Sage of the Arcane, was not accustom to being interrupted, “That’s the problem with youth today, not enough interest academic discussions.” Ulzaz had never been much of a fan of physical labor himself, nor did he have any real talent for it. Zazz felt most at home in a library. He would have certainly died in the quarry or perhaps been devoured in the tunnels of the Underdark by some nameless beast, had his talent for paper work not been noticed in the first few days of his enslavement. Years of arcane study, 15 dialects of at least 3 different unspoken languages, and it was his aptitude for bookkeeping that saved his life. If he was freed from these infernal chains for even a day, he could write a book on what he had seen since enslavement. In Guylad’s study of underground fona, the old sage had noted at least 4 significant corrections that should be made. And Gartot’s study of underground culture was just flat out wrong. It was if Garot had never even made a field study, he may have well made the whole thing up in a drunken stupor a some Waterdeep brothel, what fool would have verified his work? The master of whip, Drow overseer number 23 by his count, seemed uninterested in debating the subject.
With a quick crack of the Cat O Nine-tails a young dwarf stumbled forward. She had kind eyes, to kind to last in this hellish place. He had seen surprisingly few dwarf slaves pass through this dismal corner of the Underdark. Perhaps their race was more inclined to fight to the death, the Drow make no special effort to take prisoners and are willing to accommodate with violent and bloody pleasure those who do not wish to be slaves. He still remembered the look of surprise in his rival’s eyes, when he noticed Zazz still drew breath. It was look of pity, the chaotic magic of the High Sage’s final gambit still wracked his body, they both knew that his connection to his magic had been severed. It was cruelty, not mercy that had spared his life at that moment. His mind had been a chaotic mess since the dual, but even in those first few days, covered in burns, in constant pain from electric shocks that still discharge from his body, it was clear that he was being sold to slavers. The old man was no stranger to slavery, that was part of the irony of all of this, though a few years on this side of whip had changed his views on the practices somewhat. What he missed most from his days on the other side was his afternoon tea. Ulzaz couldn’t recall the face of the servant who made it for him, but he remembered his amusement at look of hate in those eyes each time he had his cup. What a disgusting wretch the old man had been. What pride he had in his position, for all the good it had done him, no one bothered come to bargain for his freedom. That had a way of changing one’s view of things. The sage was startled from his musings, “Aye, Meister tis to true.” said the young dwarf with something less then pity and more akin to empathy in her eyes. For a moment, the old man’s burdens seemed lighter. He would have to remember this name… Helgeth… Elda… Lydith? He wasn’t practiced with dwarven dialects and their names were a source of constant frustration, He would call her Dwarf #1.