Background - Taran Ullivarn

Disciple and Discipline

It wasn't until my fourth year at The Dragon's Tooth Warmagus Academy that I truly understood the power of the rigourous training that I was forced to endure day after day. That was the first time I felt that stomach-churning thrill of an arcane spell reverberating through one's body and armor before releasing into a small ball of magical force. It was a rudimentary spell for the Warmagus. Indeed, I had learned the proper movements, speech and sublties of that spell in my first month at the Tooth, but this was the first time it had worked properly.

Now if you fall for that stereotype of the Mage as the miserly old fuddy-duddy with nothing but a stick and a coloring book to protect him once his spellpool runs dry, you would probably leave the Tooth feeling like the digestive track of a Lysisian noble after eating the latest delicacy the Fein had to offer - simply speaking, you'd likely need to change your armor.

The Tooth creates warmages - soldiers bred in the heat of Boccob's flames. The Warmagus are feared dragonslayers, every bit as potent as their sword and shield counterparts. They endure great hardships to be the best parts of a mage and a soldier: An Arcane Champion strapped into gleaming armor, his sword and shield only a tiny portion of his impressive arsenal.

At least, that's how it's supposed to go. For me, it was a slightly different story. My official title is Officer Warmagus-Vicar Taran Ullivarn, Third Rank, but calling me Taran is fine...and preferred. All the rest of that is just too much of a mouthful for my liking. It's a glorified title for a BattleMage-Medic on the front lines if you ask me.

Yes, I can throw spells with the best of them, and I do, but all the Royal Archmagus seems to be interested in is my other talent. A Blessed One of Boccob they call me, a Favored Soul. I call it a headache that keeps me from my real calling as a Warmagus Slayer, Boccob-Be-Damned.

He has me stationed at the Tooth's singular temple to Boccob when I'm not on rounds, I guess hoping that the Deacon there will rub off on me. It's probably for the best, really, since I did receive more than my fair share of ribbing from the other initiates for my first two years in the bunks. Apparently, being different makes you a target. Go figure.

Really, I don't have all that much against Boccob, Himself, but this "bigger plans" mumbo-jumbo is just a bit too much to stomach. Every time I scrape a knee, it's "The Will of Boccob" or some-such. I'm just a guy in iron and steel who likes to fling fireballs. When did that get complicated?

But my luck is sure to change soon. I am supposed to receive my orders any day now to head up to WarCamp Gallant; Second in command of an eight soldier detachment of Dragon Slayers to go hunt a troublesome Red sighted Northwest for the last few weeks.

Soon this will be but a distant memory.