Julius

Dragon Wardens are not what they sound like - they carry a dark secret and immense magic at a high price.

The Orphan from Partuck
Taken from "The Travels of Sanjar Kan - A Guide to Partuck":

"An Orc boy, abandoned by his parents on the streets of Truddihuck. His hair is long and dark, not like most Orcs. His eyes burn with a fierce fire - the will to live. As I walk by, he does not beg. He merely stares. Is it my coin purse he's after? Or my rations? Or maybe even my life? I keep walking and look no further on him, but the image of the boy remains in my mind. His body was fit for his situation, probably from the harsh life he's been living. Running from the authority, scaling the walls and climbing the buildings. This boy probably knew nothing of the world outside the city, only the never ending hunger. Only the will to live. I glance over my shoulder to give him a last look, but he's gone, and so was my coin purse."

Sanjar Kan knew not that day that he had described the young boy who only knew one thing beside the harsh life of a street-rat. His name. He had described Julius.

Julius didn't know who his parents were, or where he had been born, or anything else. He was 7 years old, and couldn't remember past half a year ago. His birthday. That was the day it all disappeared. He can't remember anything, not even his parents. Not even how he got to Truddihuck. He also didn't know that he had just taken the coinpurse of a somewhat influential man in the world. On the neat leather pouch was embroided his initials even: S.K. Ofcourse Julius didn't know this. He was 7, and couldn't even read or write. He barely talked as it was. This was the life he had, the only life he knew.

One day, it changed. Mages sometimes visited Partuck, but probably not as much as other cities, even though the Orcs were getting the spotlight nowadays, some 500 after the Great War, and over 100 years after Xelorian unleashed his wrath upon the world. From Sourontolan, the isles and great tower of sorcery, had come an Archmage. His hair was gray and long, and his beard even longer. He walked slowly, stumbled with his walking stick through the rough streets of Truddihuck. Julius didn't know what an old man was doing in these parts, and he didn't care. The man was brittle and he could see, if not hear, a fat purse dangling from his belt. Nobody ever noticed Julius, so when he reached out to take the purse he was throughly shocked to feel the old man's brittle skeletal fingers snatch hold of his wrist. He hadn't even seen the old man move. At first, the Archmage stared at the young orc boy, who looked utterly confused, his eyebrows so bushy in a frown that Julius almost couldn't see the old man's eyes. But it revealed something at least - the old man was an elf.

"You are trying to steal from the great Haníve Sulós, young man." the mage said with a stern, hoarse voice. Despite his skeletal figure, his grip was so strong Julius had to hold back tears from the pain. He tried to pull himself loose, but the old mage held him fast. "Where I come from, they chop your hand straight off for doing that. If you're lucky. Sometimes they take both your hands." the old elf spoke again. Julius looked up at him, terrified, but too proud to let it show on his face. The archmage could see it quite clearly though. "If you would just ask me, I would lend you a coin or two. Now that you've been rude I'm not so sure.". The grip loosened slightly, enough for Julius to breath a sigh of relief. He looked at the old man defiantly, obviously not believing him. Nobody gave anyone anything around here. Nobody barely shot him a second glance around here. Why should you be so different, the young Orcling though. The mage simply sighed, as if he knew exactly what Julius had been thinking. He let go of his wrist, and moved his hand to his pouch. Opening it, he held out a silver coin for Julius. "There there, take it." he said. "Don't be so stubborn, I might change my mind!". But Julius didn't budge. He looked at the old elf defiantly, who sighed again. "Proud and adamant, are we? They might be good qualities, but not always. You must balance them right." the mage spoke again. Julius shifted uncomfortably. Something in his mind, perhaps curiosity, kept him from running away immediately. "It might be usefull tools around here, but they fall short in the outside world if not balanced right. Emotions that is." He looked at Julius, a half smile momentarily adorning his face. Julius heard himself speak. "Yeah? What do you know?" he said defiantly, but he was actually terrified of the old elf. His grip had left sore marks on Julius wrist, which he was subconciously rubbing in ache. The archmage grinned.

"I will show you."

The Trip to Levíle
"You don't talk much." the bearded old elf said as he sat on the carriage, jiggling back and forth, up and down because of the bumpy road. "We've been on the road for four days now and you've barely said a word.". The boy merely shuffled in his seat beside the old elf. "I've told you my name." he remarked in a grumble, almost as if talking to himself. "Yes. Yes you have." the archmage responded, looking ahead. Julius looked up at him. "You haven't told me yours." he says in the same tone, only louder, actually speaking to the elf this time. Getting no answer other than a smile from the old elf, Julius gives up, looks forward again. "Besides, this isn't a road. It's the desert.".

Several hours pass and the duo doesn't speak. Sometimes, the orcling glances at the old elf to see anything, see what he's thinking. But the old one always has the same half smile on his face, as if contempt with his life at this very moment. As if he has no troubles. Suddenly Julius lights up, and realizes. "Haníve Sulós" he says. "Your name is Haníve Sulós! It was almost the first thing you said!" Julius exclaims with a hint of a smile, as if proud to having remembered. The old mage lights up in a bright smile as well. "Yes, young lad! I am 'Haníve Sulós! I was waiting for you to remember! It took you quite some time, you know." he says, looking at the Orc boy. Julius looks down in sudden embarassment. He had tormented the old elf the entire trip, the few times they had talked, about having been rude because he hadn't introduced himself when Julius had. Guilt came to him, for the first time. As if able to read minds, Haníve speaks. "It is alright to feel guilt. It's the mind's way of telling you you've done something wrong that you regret." Julius looks up, startled, opening his mouth to speak but is interrupted by the archmage. "No, I can't read minds. But your face is as clear as a white page with giant letters. I can read your expressions so well I barely even have to look at you.". Once again Julius sits facing forward again, face down on his lap in embarassment. "Sorry." he says with such a low tone the dune winds barely heard him. Haníve simply smiles.

Finally the cart takes to a stop. The two have travelled all the way from Truddihuck to the borders of Pylonthia, then west, finally reaching the elven forests of Levíle. The route had been taken around the desert and not through it, to dodge desert raiders and sand storms, and other vile things one might find in the sands of Partuck. It was here, in Levile, that Julius' and Haníve's journey would begin.

The Grooming
In the fort known as Linnéa began Julius' training. Haníve had recognized the Orcling's strength and realized simple magic alone will not do. Here, with the Linnéans, Julius would learn how to fight with sword and shield, and Haníve would teach him how to control magic. Although it was risky, and to the protest of his kin, Haníve decided for a reason he wouldn't tell anyone that Julius was to learn only Fire magic. To breathe, hurl and control flames. Orcs being masters of the sword soon showed well on the Orcling, because immediately he caught the attention of novice elves, much older than him. He swung the sword with such skill and talent he rivaled even them. He was nowhere near an expert, and nowhere near good yet, but for his inexperience and age, he was a wonderchild. Jealousy and praise were talked of Julius, but only behind his back. Nobody dared incur the wrath of Haníve.

When it came to training in magic, Haníve had created a special area for Julius outside the fort. A pit of sand and dirt, bordered by magically protected barricades that would not catch fire. This way, Julius could freely explore his magic and cast fire without endangering the forests. Sure, once or twice it happened a bush or a twig caught fire, but Haníve was always present, always there to put it out with a swift wave of his hand. His expertise were the winds, the waters and the flames.

Years passed, and soon Julius became a young man. At 20 years of age, his skill with the sword were on par with the Linnéans themselves and his control over fire average, as any mage's. He had earned the respect or jealous hate from the Linnéans. But he knew the only thing that kept him there during these years were his mentor, Haníve. The only one he trusted, the only one who spoke to him. Eventually however, Haníve fell ill. His life was coming to an end. Suddenly, he made great haste with everything he did, even sleeping. He never slept long, but rather a few hours at a time, when he needed to. He made preparations, sent letters to many places, places he wouldn't reveal to Julius. Finally, when his preparations were done, he told Julius it was time to leave. They must reach new lands soon before his time runs out.

The Goodbye
Far to the east, on the continent of Eastabien, Haníve took him. This time however, they didn't travel by cart or boat or anything, but Haníve's friends teleported them there. Obviously, time was of the essence. Julius didn't even know where the hell they had landed, he didn't recognize it. He didn't know much of the world back then, but this land was unlike anything he had ever seen. His mentor no longer spoke to him. Whenever he spoke, he coughed, and it was always about finding someone. Meeting someone. Getting to a place to see someone. Eventually, a few days of travelling, Haníve became so ill he couldn't rise to his feet. His breathing was hoarse, a hiss. His grip was a pinch of what it once was, like Julius still remembered it from back then when he was seven years old, trying to steal his purse. "Julius, you must find the baker.", Haníve hissed out on his deathbed. "These last few weeks we've been searching for someone, mentor. You should rest now, there's nothing more you can do." Julius said, one of the longest sentences he has spoken all these years. "Curses if I can't, Julius!" Haníve hissed once more, but is interrupted by a cough fit. "You must read the letter on my desk. I left it for you, in case time was up." the old archmage coughs once again, but then falls silent in contemplation. "I saw an orcling once. His eyes burned red with the fire of will. The will to live." his coughing stopped. He looked up at Julius. "I see them still, Julius. In you. Know that I have cared for you like a son since that day. You were difficult, but we managed. That burning will of yours will do you good in what is about to come. Read the letter, Julius. Do what needs to be done before time is up. I ... Believe in you."

Havíne Súlos fell into his final sleep that night. No more coughs, no spasms of ache. No sickness. Just final rest. Julius burried his mentor and father-figure alone that day, on top of a hill on an unknown continent. The letter told him of a group of mages awaiting him in a circle of stones to the north. It was a day's travel through harsh terrain, dry terrain. But by the memory of his mentor, he carried on.