A funnel formed, reaching down to hesitantly touch the bare face of the mountain below the ledge. The sorcerer swung the staff around above his head and the bottom of the funnel widened. As it got bigger, he pulled it up to where it was hovering above his head. Then pulled it down over him like dropping a curtain.

Inside the funnel the air was calm, the sorcerer levitated up inside. Using the sword he pulled the bottom up and directed the storm to the North. He told the winds to blow harder. He needed to get to the Wasteland and this was the fastest way. The tunnels that ran for miles underneath the mountain would take more than a week to travel. The heat spell was beginning to wear off, and the frigid air began biting through his robes. He could not take his focus from the storm funnel to recharge the spell. Soon he would be at the last mountain closest to the Wasteland and there he would set himself down and let the storm blow itself out.

The noise of the wind began to slow. The sorcerer guided the bottom of the funnel to another ledge on this other mountain. This ledge was wider than the other from which he had left. The funnel deposited him there and swept up back into the clouds. The sorcerer turned to face the mountain and put out his hand. Thin lines of light began to glow, outlining a door. He spoke a few words and the stone door swung inwards.

Torches on the walls lit the interior of the tunnel. It sloped steeply downwards, towards the volcanic vents that kept the lower levels warm enough for people to live. With his robe flapping, the sorcerer walked quickly down the tunnel. The slope turned into steps that led lower and lower to the very bottom of the mountain and even beyond that. He pushed the hood from his robe back as he reached the bottom level. The city here was alight with a phosphorescent glow that emanated from the walls and ceiling of the enormous cavern.

The city of Eryth Toras had been built four hundred years before, after the mage war ended and the sorcerers had been banished. With their more unscrupulous magical tactics, they had created a series of beautiful cities. A whole new environment was born under the bleak freezing peaks. Burrowing deep into the earth, they made their way close enough to the magma to warm themselves. There were many stone mages among the banished, and they had all the time and room to work. All stone mages worshipped grandeur and magnificence, unfortunately some of their darker spells required youth and beauty to create such feats.

The few earth mages that had been banished found ways to grow certain plants for food, and created new strains that would be able to thrive deep under the ground. Mushrooms and other fungi were a staple of their diets, infused with the necessary nutrients to keep them healthy.

The denizens of Eryth Toras were divided by social class. The sorcerers were at the top with their faithful followers and servants after them. Below that were the slaves. There were a few of the followers who had their own slaves, who worked in mines deep in the earth. Most of the slaves were used for mining, unless they had shown any sort of talent that was otherwise useful in the under ground. The slaves came from all over the North, when someone had committed a crime, if it was especially bad they were banished to the Wasteland. Gangs of evil men roamed there until they happened to get caught in a sorcerer’s trap, then they became slaves. With the many jewels and veins of precious metals running through the bowels of the mountains, there was always a need for strong slaves to dig and mine.

The sorcerers had many spells for keeping the slaves under their control. Most of them wore jeweled collars impregnated with binding spells. Others had weaker wills and minds and only needed physical force to be kept in line. The lower servants would be used as overseers to make sure those needed for physical laboring were sufficiently beaten into submission.

The difference between the people from the warm north and the frozen south was in their base character. The people of the North were generally kind, helpful and worked to do good. In the South, it was the negative sides that flourished. Lust, greed and power were the ambitions of the sorcerers. It was a society that ran on secrets and spies. After many years, none of the sorcerers truly trusted one another, but alliances were often made. Just as often they were broken as well.

The sorcerer who had just arrived was named Alaric. Usually as Alaric the Gray as his robes were nondescript and unworthy of notice. The other upper classed mages had brightly colored robes, as they were flamboyant and vain. Alaric wore the gray because he was his own spy, his desire to stay unnoticed worked well for him in that respect. The others had spies to work for them so they would not need to get their own hands dirty, but Alaric knew that the only one he could absolutely trust was himself. Spies were often killed for selling their secrets to the wrong person. Alaric uncovered his own mysteries, he was very good at learning things by his own sneaky ways.

He had arrived to meet with two other mages, a fire mage and an earth mage. With the three of them combining their efforts, there would be a greater chance of success for the mission they would be sending his apprentice Jeren on. Jeren had been a street rat that had been caught stealing one too many times, and had been deposited into the Wasteland. He had not been there for a whole day before he fell into a sorcerer’s trap. Luckily for him, Alaric was the master of that particular trap and quickly saw the potential for the youth. He was quick and learned the spell working thoroughly.

After several months of teaching the youth, including using certain control spells to bind him, Alaric was ready to approach the other mages with his plan. They would send the boy Jeren up into the North to take back the grimoire. He had learned and retained just enough knowledge to be successful. Since most of the mages had been brain washed into believing that the grimoire was really “stolen” from them, it should not be hard to convince these two mages that now was the time to take it back. The fire mage Dareus was especially fanatic when it came to the ancient book. His master had been one of the original banished mages that had not died in the war. As it was with the southern mages, many of them used magic to lengthen their lives, and the master of Dareus had been nearly two hundred and fifty years old before he finally died. Dareus himself was nearing two hundred, and was one of the most powerful mages in Eryth Toras.

Alaric took the cavern ledge path around to the far side of the city. Dareus has his castle there, heavily warded. Alaric held the key that would let him in. A crystal with the ward breaking spells for nearly all the known wards. It had been delivered to him inside his own temple which itself was warded strongly. That was how he knew it worked.

As he walked up to the gate, the wall of fire that protected it slid aside to make two pillars of flame on either side. The doors opened by themselves and Alaric walked through. An elderly servant met him of the path and led him up to the tower where Dareus spent most of his time watching over the city. He wondered if the earth mage had arrived yet. Lucaro was a dangerous wizard in his own right. He was also the closest thing Dareus had to a friend. Coming to them together was perilous, but Alaric was convinced his plan would work. His skills of persuasion were legendary but he knew that both of the others would be on their guard for and subtle tricks. His best chance lay in the fact that both of them were fanatical in their belief that if the grimoire were held by the South, then they would become the most powerful and feared sorcerers in the land. Alaric planned of playing up to that belief.

The tower door opened and he was ushered in, he began to climb the stairs leading upward. The steps were built into the walls and spiraled upwards at a steep angle. After going up several levels, he began to feel winded. He was no longer young, and had not performed any of the strength spells lately. It was his hope that when they finally had the grimoire, he would no longer need to. The power of the book itself would be enough to breathe new life into him. The strength spells disgusted him now, there was too much blood involved for him although the life force he absorbed fully energized him.

At the top of the steps, he stepped into the tower room. The floor shone like a black mirror and Alaric could see his reflection. He looked up and saw Dareus seated in a dark metallic throne. To the left, there was a dais where another man was seated, Lucaro was pouring out a cup of a strange dark liquid. Alaric walked up to the throne with his head held high. As he stood in front of the fire mage, he inclined his head in a subservient manner. He glanced at Lucaro as he handed the cup to Dareus. He could feel a tingle of magic coming from the cup, but could not tell what the specific spell was. Probably a truth detection or something like it. Lucaro filled another cup for himself and another for Alaric.

“A toast, to this meeting of the greatest mages of the underworld,” Dareus said, raising his cup. Lucaro lifted his as well and Alaric stepped forward and raised his up too. Dareus took a long swig and set the cup down. Lucaro drank his down quickly and Alaric took just a small sip. He held the cup high though, making it appear as if he had drained it dry. It was a nasty concoction of blood and what tasted like a badly brewed ale. Alaric held his breath to keep from choking on it.

Dareus stood and came down the steps from the throne. To the right of the dais there was a long table with papers and brightly flaming candles. Lucaro walked over and joined the other two men at the table.

“These are the maps to Oldport that you wanted. There are also maps for the citadel and the main temple.” Dareus crossed his arms and watched as Alaric looked over the maps. He had never seen the cities of the north, but he trusted that the maps were correct. As long as not much had changed in the last four hundred years, these would suffice. “Tell me the rest of your plans now.”

There was a bit of force in the statement, but Alaric dismissed it. He had planned to tell them the whole idea even without any manipulation spells. Lucaro had a strange gleam in his eyes as the plot was revealed.

The meeting ended abruptly, the decision made to meet again in seven days. Alaric believed that his apprentice Jeren would be able to memorize the maps in that amount of time, and would leave on his journey soon after that. By the grace of their powers and skill of the thief turned apprentice, they would be welcoming home the grimoire in less than two cycles of the moon.

Alaric gathered up the maps as he prepared to leave. Rolling them up, he slid them into a stiff leather cylinder and fitted the cap on the end. The case was water proof and would protect the ancient papers. It was only magic that held them together anymore anyway. Slinging the case over his shoulder, he began the descent to the bottom of the tower.

The same servant who had led him in was still waiting at the bottom of the steps. He was barely more than a skeleton draped in colorful fabric. Alaric wondered briefly if it had been this servant who’s blood was in the drink above. He certainly looked drained dry. That was why the sorcerers kept plenty of servants, for the blood they required for their wicked spells.

The servant was not leading him back to the front gates of fire, Alaric noticed. They were going toward another building. Alaric stopped, and quickly searched the servant’s mind. All he could tell was that the servant was supposed to make him comfortable. Suddenly he felt extremely tired. Suspicious of the drink at first, he realized that bringing up the storm and the funnel he conjured to bring him here had wiped him out. All he really needed was rest. It seemed as though Dareus could predict the future, and had arranged for him a place to sleep and regain his strength. He grasped his talisman hanging around his neck and inspected the space. Everything seemed to be in order. He set his own private wards and laid on the bed, dropping quickly into sleep.