Night fell upon the countryside along the Sword Coast, only the moon and the dim fires of a caravan camp breaking the darkness. Varatas ran his hands through his silver blonde hair, trying to wipe away the sweat and the frustration showing on his face. It was nothing more than a simple fireball spell. Yet for the last hour he failed repeatedly to control the seemingly simple spell, small patches of scorched ground littering the grassy plains, each a daunting reminder of failure, while the dead husk of tree 40 feet in front of him lay untouched, mocking the young elf.

He dropped his hands to his side, closing his eyes to control his breathing, slowing it back to a normal pace. Opening his eyes Varatas extended his right hand in front of him, halfway clenching his fist as he took aim at the husk. He filled his mind with images from years past, half-rate wizards at the Silverymoon Sanctum casting the spell with an incantation. Small sparks of red light began to coalesce around his arm, forming into a small sphere inside the clenched fist as Varatas chanted, “By fire be purged!”

A bright streak flashed from his grasping hand towards the tree. But only a few feet from Varatas the streak exploded in a flash of red and gold fire, throwing the young elf onto his back. He could feel the burns on his right hand. While painful, it was unlikely it was life threatening or disfiguring. Varatas slowly rolled onto his knees, his head hung as he slammed both fists against the ground. He closed his eyes, trying to hold back the tears streaming from his cheeks as his latest failure overtook him. “Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!”

Suddenly, a swirling black mist around began to surround the young elvish sorcerer. As he stood, he realized everything around him was black as the pitch dark night, a voice taunting him from the darkness, “How pathetic…This is what my legacy has been left to.”

Varatas focused his eyes into the abyss around him, straining to make out figures or where the voice was coming from. He could feel the cold gaze upon him, but make out nothing more than whimsical figures in the shadows. Breathing was harder as well, as if the mist was choking his lungs.

The voice beckoned again, “Some Master of Magicians you are, unable to even sense my presence.” Before Varatas appeared a man clad in armor darker than the night, made not of metal, but scale like plates one atop another with protrusions of bones, the most notable were two massive horns coming from the helmet. Varatas could only make out the apparition’s eyes, crimson as flowing blood, the rest of him covered by his plate. The armored man walked slowly towards Varatas, “You are not worthy of the gift in your veins.”

His own eyes flashing a redish gold, Varatas pointing his index and middle fingers at the apparition, screamed, “ENOUGH!” A streak of fire shot from his fingers toward the man, exploding a foot from him. Varatas immediately recognized the Shield spell, guarding this thing from his spell.

The apparition let out a laugh, echoing through the mist, “Pathetic, do you thing palor tricks will faze me? I am he who is darker than the night, he who destroys the suns themselves. Show me you are worthy of my blood boy!”

Varatas stepped back, paralyzed by his own fear. There was no way this could be… he clearly was hallucinating. He struggled to shout, his fear and the choking mist weakening his voice, “You died a long time ago!”

“I have long surpassed such trivial matters as life and death. I am Sunflayer, I am Kamui, he who hunts the authority of Gods themselves.” That name sent a burning chill down Varatas’ body. Though he wasn’t sure if his ancestor who called himself Sunflayer forged a covenant with dragons for his family, what little Varatas knew is that he was the one who was purged from history. As the man continued to slowly advance Varatas readied himself, reaching back for the blue rose he crafted in Phlan. Throwing the rose towards the “Sunflayer” he began to trill, “Let this blue rose that blooms at the end of world herald your doom!”

As the rose reached the man, blue streaks of lightning leapt forth from Varatas’ hand towards the man. For his part, the apparition caught the rose, seemingly unconcerned at the incoming lightning. The streaks connected with the apparition, who stood there as his armor was engulfed in blue streaks of lightning. Seeing his spell was having little to no effect, Varatas poured more power into it for once final strike. His fear turned to horror as the man simply crushed the rose in his hand, ending the spell.

The black clad apparition finally assumed a combat stance, his voice showing no emotion or interest, “Enough.” The man phased out of sight appearing in front of Varatas. Before Varatas could process the action, the apparition delivered a crushing punch to Varatas’ abdomen, lifting the smaller elf a few inches off the ground. A moment later an orange flash launched Varatas back. Varatas hit the ground hard, rolling onto his stomach after impact.

The young elf tried to process the last few seconds, his eyes unable to keep up. As he tried to pick himself up he screamed in agony. His body was burning, as if his abdomen was lit on fire. Looking down, the sorcerer saw his shirt was burned through where he was struck, his skin burned black. He didn’t know it, but he had similar burns to the back of his shirt and overcoat. He fell to his knees from the shock. He struggled to look up at the apparition. The black gauntlet that struck Varatas was glowing orange, streams of steam rising from the clenched fist.

The apparition looked down towards the wayward elf, “You are worthless. To see my blood so weak sickens me. Let me show you the birthright you squander.” At that instant flames erupted from the space between each plate of his armor, the bright light illuminating the unnatural darkness. Even standing nearly 10 feet away Varatas felt the heat of the flames radiating from his opponent.

The apparition began to walk forward, as Varatas pulled himself to his feet the apparition spoke, “You are no use to me and shame the Elthrai name. To have the blood of a dragon and not even be able to conjure a simple fireball is humiliation I will not tolerate. You will die a thousand deaths for your failure. The same fate awaits your pathetic father and aunt. Perhaps your uncle or your sisters will prove worthy of our birthright.”

The mention of his family triggered something in the young elf sorcerer. He felt his body boil, images of his sisters filling his mind as his fear released from his body. He shouted at the apparition as he stood up straight, “Enough! Don’t you dare threaten them!”

Instinctively, Varatas drew his hands to his right side, cupping them together as red gold flames began to coalesce into a small orb. At the center of the orb were flickers of a black flame. “Just get the hell out of my mind you bastard!” His cupped hands moved together forward aiming towards the apparition Varatas angrily shouted, “Let this flame burn away your foul scent! Kokuendan!” The fireball flew towards the apparition. As the fireball connected with him, the black armor moved its hands to cover its body.

Varatas was shocked at the spell he was trying to cast for hours, suddenly perfecting the move by instinct. His arms stayed extended as he heavily breathed, barely able to move. His eyes widened as he saw the still erupting flames of his opponent, barely phased, if at all, by the attack. Unlike before, Varatas pulled his arms back to prepare another attack, resolved to destroy this monstrosity that dared to threaten his family. Varatas began to charge another attack, his muscles contracting from the strain. He panted, struggling to connect his words while focusing on his spell, “You…won’t…harm my family.”

Opening his eyes Varatas saw the grassy plain he was in before the mist took him. He was covered in sweat with his hands extended as they were when he launched the fireball. His gaze was drawn the tree husk target he was aiming at for hours, now ablaze in a golden red flame. I must have hallucinated the whole experience …but it felt so real. Falling to the ground Varatas buried his head in his hands, again wiping the sweat from his brow. He felt the same buring chill as the same dread voice filled his head, “I spare your insignificant life as a reward for this amusing development. There may yet be a shred of potential in you…” Varatas looked up, looking around to see where the voice was coming from. His head throbbed as the voice filled his head once more, “Be warned… When next we meet I shall require much more to justify your life.”

Falling onto his back Varatas could only stare at the stars above, trying to determine if he was merely going mad, haunted, or being driven on a path that was not his choosing. A few minutes later a few of the caravan handlers ran up the hill, confused as to the explosion they heard. Coming to feet Varatas smiled at the two, his eyes faintly shining golden red, “Nothing at all gentlemen, just working on a little target practice.