Feaurax was a mage. Well, Feaurax isn't his real name - his real name is much more boring. Renald Renaldsun, a standard, if a bit goofy, Aluvian name. Born to a farm family on Ispar consisting of his father, also named Renald Renaldsun (that seemed to be a recurring theme with this family, in fact our protagonist is the fourth in a line of Renalds), and his mother, Uleria Oepmad (female Aluvian naming conventions are weird) some twenty-three or four years before this story is to get really interesting, it was no secret that he was... different.

For one, he was frail and weak. To survive the farm life, one has to be hearty and reasonably strong. Not just strong physically, mind - back-breaking labor has a way of breaking a man, and you'd live longer and enjoy life far more with a strong will. It was of no matter, really - they simply thought that he was just a small baby and that he would grow up to be a sturdy young man.

Farm life itself stopped being a thing for him when he accidentally set the farmhouse on fire, at the age of ten. No one, not even he, knew what it was that he was doing that caused the house to go up - indeed, he likely wasn't doing anything at all, so unfortunate was he - but it changed his life forever, as you might be able to imagine. His family all perished. He was not so lucky.

He became convinced that what had happened was his fault. He convinced himself that he had done some kind of magic, and that he would have to learn to harness and control it lest he destroy everything he touched. Truly, there is no force stronger than a young boy's grief, for when he took for himself the name of Feaurax, meaning "one without name" (yes, I made that up), he did develop some magic ability. He became terribly powerful, though he didn't know it at the time and wouldn't for more than a decade. He would have power to rival the best Ispar and Dereth could throw at him, and then some.

He was always the outcast in his village after that - no one wanted to be near him, lest they be burned alive as well, but everyone pitied him too much to just kill the poor boy. They'd overlook his minor thefts, recognizing that he only took what he needed to live and not a crumb more. Though they'd gripe about him, calling him a menace, a thief, an insufferable know-it-all, they all knew he was completely scarred from what he had seen and apparently inadvertently done. They were decent enough folk not to rub salt in the wound.

He never bathed, though that was more due to a lack of resources to do so rather than any desire to live in filth. He was not especially tall, nor was he especially short. His hair, thick and dark, hung to his shoulders, the last time he was able to cut it being when he swiped the blacksmith's dagger some months ago, and nearly got a pair of bellows shoved up his rear for the effort. His face was mostly gender-independent. You could take his features and put them on either a woman or a man and find them looking presentable. He was thin and wiry from his days spent moping around the countryside, and while he was a decent runner his lungs tended to give up on him not far into a chase, whether he was the hunter or the hunted.

Mediocrity inspires complacency, and Feaurax was strangely... happy. He was happy with his life. He had no job, no family, nothing to look forward to, and indeed nothing to look back to, but he was okay with that. Seven years had passed since that fateful day, and he was glad to let seven more pass right out from under his nose.

Which is why it surprised him all the more when he stopped struggling against the portal that was trying to suck him in.

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Feaurax found himself transported directly to Asheron's island castle, Asheron having decided to demote himself to the welcoming committee. Luckily for Feaurax, he landed on his feet. He wouldn't be nearly so lucky next time.

"So you've finally decided to answer my call." A voice belonging to an old man greeted him. "I am Asheron Realaidain, and I am who called you."

Feaurax had regained his wits, "So you're the one who ripped me from my home? Should I thank you, or damn you?"

"Ah, but that remains to be seen. Lad, you are one of the most powerful young mages I have set my eyes upon for a long while."

"I'm sorry? All the magic I've ever done is burning down my house, and my family with it." Feaurax recalled bitterly.

"An unfortunate accident, to be sure. But that isn't what I was referring to - allow me to show you what I mean." Asheron took up a combat stance that, in retrospect, looked pretty silly, and fired an expertly aimed lightning arc at one of the wooden targets behind him. "Zojak Quasith!"

Feaurax watched in awe (with a fair helping of bowel-loosening terror) as the target was completely obliterated, sparks jumping from various points on the ruined slab of wood. "I can do that?" he said, his mind far off in fantasy-land. In this fantasy-land, he was not Renald the Perpetual Screwup, but rather Feaurax the Powerful. He was not malicious by any stretch of the imagination, using his power solely to defend and protect. What Asheron said next snapped him out of his delirium.

"... Well, no. Not yet, at least. You require learning, and training. Honing, if you will."

"Good thing I'm still young. When do I start?"

It did the old wizard good to see a young man with such enthusiasm. He chuckled. "Soon, I promise you. Wouldn't you rather clean yourself up a bit, first? To be frank, you look like you've lived with the Ursuins all your life." And smells like it, too.

"Yeah, that'd probably be best," the young man said sheepishly. "My name's Feaurax, by the way."

"You can't be without a name."

"Alright, I can already tell you're not going to leave this alone. My real name's Renald Renaldsun. Just... don't call me by that name. I don't deserve it."

The old wizard suppressed a snort at the name, opting instead to show some concern for the lad over the last remark. This is going to be a tough one to build up, he thought to himself.

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Seven more years slipped out from under him like a rug. And like anyone in that situation, he fell face first onto the floor, though he didn't know it yet.

You wouldn't recognize the man. His grubby shoulder-length hair was replaced by a near baldness that betrayed his fondness for hooded traveling robes. His skin was a bit paler than when he had entered the Academy, simply by virtue of not being outside all the time. He carried a staff that, when walking, he preferred to brace himself on to make himself look older and wiser than he was. Still, he had learned much. He had learned all that he could from the Academy, and was about to take the final tests and go out into the world to make a name for himself.

Asheron had been getting darker in nature over the past few years. It was starting to unnerve Feaurax, who now preferred to go by his real name in the Academy (but was still known as Feaurax when traveling). Perhaps these hundreds of years or so at the proverbial top of the food chain had taken their toll on the old mage's sanity. Perhaps something else was at play here. But what it was, he had no idea.

It had started when a bunch of idiot adventurers had decided to shatter the Shard of the Herald, the only thing keeping Bael'Zharon, the Hopeslayer, at bay. Perhaps that had something to do with it, but he was left no time to think it over as he was told that he was needed in Asheron's official chambers.

"They've been getting more and more unstable of late, my boy," Asheron said to him when he entered. "Surely you realize what this means, don't you? They must be destroyed. And hopefully, replaced with something more... lasting." Or not...

"Erm, sir, I hate to sound ignorant, but what exactly are you referring to?"

"The portals, my boy! Haven't you been listening?"

"Yes, sir, but you haven't mentioned them by name until now."

"Hm. Yes. Well. Anyway, this is a bit of a delicate matter: I can't find my old notes on the theorems behind the portals and their properties, or they've turned to dust. Probably the latter." He paused as mentor and student shared a chuckle. "What I need you to do, and I need you to follow me very closely on this one, is to locate some old Empyrean texts. They were made to last longer, and are hopefully still in one piece." Hopefully the undead guards there won't leave you in one piece.

"I'm following you so far. Sir."

"Yes. I am saddling you with the task of not only locating these texts, but also to retrieve them. Bring them to one of my senior historians, shall we say... Mir-Al? Yes, he should be able to keep a secret..."

"Why would he need to? Shouldn't this be public knowledge?"

"Not until the project is underway, my boy." Good save... "At this point, we're still re-discovering all that information that was lost with my notes. Anyway, bring them to Mir-Al, who will translate them for me. From these translations I should be able to build new notes on the theoretical properties of the portals."

"Sir, why bring them to Mir-Al, rather than yourself? You're the Empyrean, after all. And if this project is to be as hushity-hush as you're implying, we shouldn't really trust anybody."

"My eyes are not what they used to be, and those old Empyreans write so damned small..." Heh. I couldn't translate Empyrean to save my life. "And, my boy, last I checked, you were a mage, not a historian specializing in linguistics." They shared another laugh. "Can you do this for me? Furthermore, can I trust you to keep this from the rest of the students?"Asheron looked him in the eye long and hard. There was more than a smidgeon of uncertainty and doubt betrayed by the young prodigy's eyes, that faded soon enough.

"I'll do it."

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The tasks were surprisingly easy, and with each success Asheron's frustrations grew. Dammit! If this next one doesn't do him in, I may well have to do it myself! he thought to himself, tossing the translation wherever. Not important. It was time for phase two of his master plan: to destroy the portal travel system that these pathetic people relied on so much. He walked over to his bureau, within which a purple portal sat spinning absently. He opened the door and stepped through it.

Portal travel is not the most pleasant way to get around, but it is the most efficient. Asheron shuddered to himself when he appeared in the subterranean level to his laboratory. He had it built shortly after the Hopeslayer was released, though he would've never guessed that he'd never get the chance to pull off his grand offensive against the demon among men. Neither would he have guessed that his body, unable to die but with soul severed, would become the puppet of the Hopeslayer. And those students that he prizes so much are none the wiser! Still, Bael'Zharon had to be cautious about executing his plans. Yes, there were still those who would openly support him, but they were merely a vocal minority. No, he had to be strategic: failure in this would see him trapped for another several thousand years. Not pleasant. Bael'Zharon was himself immortal, or anyway nearly so, so he would outlast the imprisonment, but what else would? What would there be left to rule? Uncertainty was not an option for the Hopeslayer. No, he had to wait until the pathetic citizens and their prized adventurers had the choice to either submit or perish. He knew the most cowardly among them would choose to submit, giving him some measure of a kingdom for all his efforts. But that one child... Feaurax, to whom he had been referring, was getting more and more suspicious of something with each passing day. It was only a matter of time before he was found out, at this boy's rate. Which was why he wanted him out of the picture. The cleaner, the better.

He stepped into a gigantic stone room where literally thousands of golems lay in wait. You thought you'd be using these against me, Asheron. You thought wrong. They won't know who or what hit them, until it's too late for them to ask why. Then again, why would they care? They never cared about my son. They'll learn to fear the name Bael'Zharon once again!

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Feaurax ran breathlessly into the library where Mir-Al had agreed to meet him. There he was, sitting not far from the archives, just as he said.

"I've got another book." he said, pressing said book into the historian's hands.

"Ah, yes, The Planes of Auberean. Should be an interesting read."

"You know as well as I do that this is not intended for bedtime reading."

"Yes, yes, I know. Translate it. Deliver it to Asheron. We've been through this already." the historian said in a more hushed tone. He left, grumbling something about "kids these days don't appreciate good humor."

Feaurax took this opportunity to sit down and catch his breath. He had been abroad all of the past week, leaving him understandably tired. And yet he was restless. Something about Asheron's actions seemed a bit... off... as of late. Oh, shut up, he told his sense of reason. If it was anything to be concerned about, I would have found out by now. He got up. He needed to take his mind off this. Pacing around the library, he eventually came upon the display case. The glint of a mysterious metal cube caught his eye. If he didn't know better, Feaurax would have said that it was part of a portal pedestal. In fact, that's exactly what it looked like. He picked it up to get a closer look.

In his rush to see exactly what it was, he forgot rule number one of using magical artifacts. Don't touch something unless you are absolutely sure of what it does.

The aide could no sooner call out, "Put that down!" than Feaurax's form flickered, gave a defiant flare, and then finally faded away.

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The landing was rough, to say the least. Feaurax's body slammed into the ground with the force of a two-ton train car, his body actually bouncing all of three times before skidding to a halt in front of an utterly bewildered Twilight Sparkle.

"Is this what I get for trying to get some fresh air? Pony's sake..." she grumbled under her breath. "Hey. You. Get up." she said, punctuating each word with a gentle tap to the head, courtesy of her hoof.

In response, Feaurax lifted his head and expelled all of the dirt and grass that had accumulated in his mouth, along with several teeth, before his head hit the ground again.

"Well, whatever it is, it's alive." she mused to herself, "And it probably needs help. Great. I had things I wanted to get done today. Like rearranging that bookshelf that Spike keeps messing up for some reason, and staring dreamily into that poster of Starswirl the Bearded before obsessively making sure it's level for the third time today. He is so high maintenance." She flared her horn, and her aura enveloped the man's arms before magically sticking them to her flanks like they were in some kind of Conga line gone wrong. She sighed and began her long walk to Fluttershy's house. Perhaps the pegasus could help this poor soul. Next Chapter: Day One Estimated time remaining: 2 Hours, 8 Minutes