A woman clad in fine, yet utilitarian clothes sits in an old study by candlelight, reading an ancient, frail journal. The study looks like it has been only recently inhabited, cobwebs swept in corners, dust gathering in some places. Her thoughts, following the lines on the book echo in the room.
Why do some people lead and others follow? Why do the tyrants inspire such fear, how do the veterans survive such fierce battles, why some sorcerers reach legendary powers while others can only cast the simplest cantrips? Some call it fate, others chance, yet others self-made superiority. I believe these are all correct interpretations of the same phenomenon.
Time passes. The study is more clean, the candles more numerous, the woman more engaged in the subject.
Based on my observations, and the descriptions offered by the Divine Canon, I have come to the conclusion that there exists a force in the world that allows us to bend our fate. This force works in ways that are difficult to directly observe: A chance meeting with someone who can help in one’s work, a correct thought, a tiny slip in your foe’s defenses that brings you victory. But when you know what to look out for, you can start determining patterns that do not exist with people who do not contain this force…
Again time passes. Now the study is filled with books pertaining to arcane matters, scrolls and parchments. The woman sits by a floating ball of light, reading the journal further.
I finally have chosen a name for this force: Divine Essence. It came to me when I was reading on the birth of this world, when Io created their children: Tiamat and Bahamut. In the text it was said that ”Io bled his life into his children”. This was the key that I had been missing, this was how the Essence seemed to collect into a few individuals, like dew that collects into the bottom of the windowsill. The Divine Essence cannot be taken, it can only be given. Respect, worship, love…
Time passes again. Now the study is dark, only illuminated by a single candle. Dressed in traveling clothes and a thick cloak, the woman writes a letter on the table, next to the journal and the candle.
It is with great sorrow that I about a terrible accident at the Ser estate. As you know, Lady Thera was reclusing herself into her books more and more. Well, the reason was that she was practicing wizardry. On the 23nd day of Ascension, her spell misfired and started a blaze most terrible. I attempted to help her, but to no avail; The manor burned down and I barely escaped alive. The Lady’s final words and screams will undoubtedly haunt me to my grave.
As you undoubtedly understand, I do not wish to testify about this matter further, as I know the fate of those who assist wizards in their matters. So for my sake, I hope you will not try to find me.
Butler of late Lady Thera Ser
The woman sprinkles a handful of sand over the letter, allowing the ink to dry. Then she folds the letter to her shoulder bag and with a sigh tips the candle over to the journal. As the paper catches fire, rapidly spreading throughout the study, she raises her hood and exits the study.