Name: Ixidor.

Nickname: Mad Mage, Reality Sculptor
Age: 1036.
Race: Human
Nation of Origin: Xharlion Empire.

Appearance

    Ixidor wears a blue outfit with numerous arcane symbols adorning it. The most notable feature Ixidor possesses is how his hood always seem to fall in exactly the correct way to keep his face shadowed so that all can be seen is two glowing blue eyes. If you were to see beneath his tricks he is a handsome man in his early 30’s with short brown hair and blue eyes. Ixidor’s entire body is inscribed with ice blue slightly luminesce arcane symbols of power in the form of tattoos. 

Role

    After years of imprisonment his role tends toward the more esoteric. Ixidor with his vast array of magical knowledge and only “minor” derangement sees himself as the guardian of this world. However, he refuses to act directly. He is convinced that a new generation of heroes must be raised and therefor he acts almost entirely through intermediaries. His favorite way of doing this is by cropping up at inopportune times to deliver cryptic messages and seemingly inane ramblings and then vanish into ephemera.


    To put it simply Ixidor is a mage without peer, he comes from an ancient age when magic pervaded the very fabric of the world, an age of wonder. He possesses arcane knowledge taken from the ancient high elven empire of Xharlion and refined over a millennia trapped in a void with only magic as company. His control over space and time magic is second to none. In his millennia attempting to escape his prison he has refined these abilities to level even the elves did not consider possible.


    With his mastery over space he is able to teleport others and himself at will over great distances, become fully or partially incorporeal at will by shifting portions of his body into his pocket plane while in the mortal realm or back into the mortal realm while in his pocket plane, open portals to other areas anywhere he can imagine including, disgustingly enough, inside of peoples bodies, fly. He also has the ability to easily open portals to other dimensions; a feat considered impossible which he seemingly accomplishes with a flick of his wrist. However, since Aspuzoch’s decree that no one may breach planar boundaries Ixidor has had to be sly about using it. He has figured out that if he only uses it every few days Aspuzoch either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care; either way Ixidor is happy to get away with it. The pinnacle of his craft was also his greatest undoing Ixidor was able to sculpt reality itself and create another plane of existence, unfortunately he was not able to control this new plane and it ended up engulfing Ixidor and his surroundings; trapping him there for a millennia.


    He is equally skilled in Time magic able to perceive the flow of time both forward and backwards including any changes or abnormalities; this does allow him limited pre –cognition however as any good time mage knows the future is anything but set. He may also manipulate time’s flow on himself, others and his surroundings allowing him to slow down or speed up time even going so far as to stop time completely if the situation calls for it; this is however, not without issues as with time stopped so to is causality making it impossible to affect change on anything frozen in time. While Ixidor is more than a millennia old he doesn’t look it this is because his grasp of time magic has rendered him outside of bounds of time because of this he is both immune from the ravages of time and the temporal manipulation of others. Time Travel while possible for Ixidor is bound by the laws of paradox, one may travel backwards or forwards in time but it is impossible to affect anything while there and as always the future is not set in stone.

While Ixidor’s mastery over mind magic does not rival his truly prodigious skill with Time or Space magic it is still of a masters level. Allowing Ixidor to read minds (this is typically limited to surface thoughts and emotions unless used on a willing or mentally incapacitated target), speak telepathically, modify memories, attack peoples mind directly (though linking your mind in such a way does leave you open to backlash from sufficiently willful people), project his conscious mind as an astral form though this form cannot cross extraplanar boundaries and leaves Ixidor’s unconscious body behind, protect minds from others invasion or control, reading peoples auras. He even possesses the ability control people’s minds though this control is not absolute and it comes in one of two forms. The sly way which is the ability to influence someone’s mind such that they carry out an order but the way in which they carry them out is left up to the victim and the forceful way where in you take direct control of someone’s body while their mind struggles desperately in a contest of wills to take back control and use them like a puppet the more willful the person the more likely to break and mentally exhausting this form of control is.


    Ixidor’s entire body is inscribed with ice blue slightly luminesce arcane symbols of power in the form of tattoos. These tattoos function as arcane focuses for this power allowing him to cast spells without the use of complex hand gestures.

Personality

    Before his disappearance he was a convicted, driven, genius of a man who cared deeply for the Arts and his friends.


    Since releasing himself from captivity Ixidor shows a detached, laid back view of everything. He is playful and cryptic to a fault and seems to take any comment or setback in stride. This is due to his imprisonment; while locked away Ixidor learned why the elves had been so patient, he came to understand the patience and sense of time that only someone who had seen the rise and fall of empires could know. He also lost a bit of himself in the process; his extended lifespan has left him a bit unhinged. He typically encounters others as only a disembodied head or smile while speaking in a mixture of rhymes, nonsense and cryptic phrases. He has a knack for giving people too little information or missing a key item to force them to find it themselves.


    Above all else Ixidor wants to cultivate a group of mortal heroes to solve the problems of their world. Not allow or rely on the machinations of demons or angels to safeguard their world.

History

    Ixidor was born into slavery 1036 years ago in the twilight years of the Xharlion Empire. As soon as he was old enough to work (about 5) he was given as a gift to Grand Magister Aolis Teledeth the head of the Sylvarian Academy of Arcane Sciences. Aolis did not care for slaves but Ixidor was a gift from a very powerful noble family as such he could not refuse. He gave the child light work to do such as ordering scrolls and tidying up around his laboratory. As the first years of his slavery passed and Ixidor grew so too did his fascination with the work of his master. He began, in secret, to read the vast libraries Aolis possessed first teaching himself to read and then working on the basics of magic. Aolis immediately noticed the young human’s attempts but simply assumed, as most elves did, that Ixidor, like all humans, was of such inferior an intellect that he would never be able to learn from a teacher little own teach himself. By the time he was ten Ixidor began to cast his first spells, they were small things of his own design that only seemed to help him finish his chores. However, to Aolis this was nothing short of miraculous. Elves, with their unnaturally long life spans, spent decades teaching magical theory, proper weaving of hand symbols and other basics of magic to their students. For a student to teach themselves to read and then cast spells in only 2 years was nothing short of astonishing. This gave Aolis, ever the man to push boundaries, an idea; he would give the child a task, a test as it were. Aolis took Ixidor and lead him to a room that seemed to be completely made out of mithril with no windows and only a single door. He handed Ixidor a book and turned to leave. At the door he stopped and looked back “Ixidor” he said with a sly grin, “on the other side of this door sitting on a table is the secret to your freedom. You have one week, get the password and you shall be my apprentice, don’t and you die,” then the door shut with a click. Ixidor looked down at the book and read the cover “The Grimoire of Farsight.”


    The book was much more advanced than anything Ixidor had read before, it referenced arcane rules and theorems that Ixidor didn't even know existed. He struggled to so much as understand the basic theory behind it little own grasp the specifics of what it wanted him to do. As the week moved on Ixidor stopped sleeping altogether, reading and practicing what he could make out in the book, stopping only for water and what food he could get down. On the third day he nicked his own finger on the door and began to write annotations in blood in the margins of the tome to keep his thoughts ordered and notate the magical laws as he rationalized them. By the fifth day he had begun to grasp what the book was telling him, space was all subjective, if one could simply get their mind to realize that they could in effect “be” anywhere. Maybe not affect the world from elsewhere that still seemed crazy but maybe, just maybe you could simply view it. He practiced and practiced, made more notes as he went down paths that took him nowhere and others that seemed to lead on toward greater understanding. On the seventh day it happened: as Ixidor mediated his mind wandered, not slipping into the fanciful hallucinations that his lack of sleep made so easy but wandered outside of his body. He urged it further and further, into the door then out the other side and finally to the table. On the table he saw a slip of paper on it was written in Aolis’s beautiful elven script a single word “Knock.”


    Twenty-five years later; Ixidor strode across his office to one of the ornate bookcases that housed his budding library. He reached down for the book on portals he had been looking for but his eyes caught sight of a purple runed binding that he hadn't seen in years. Nostalgia getting the best of him: he drew out the tattered book and looked at the cover. Its once beautiful title a mess of tiny coppery fingerprints with only one word decipherable “Farsight.” He flicked the book open and read through the notes he had frantically made all those years ago, he, now a master, had to admit Aolis hadn’t been exaggerating all of those years ago: a ten year old boy reverse engineering the second sphere of correspondence from this book in a week was an impressive feat. He looked to the side at the shelf containing the treatises and tomes on magic he had penned in the last twenty-five years with a sigh, each one signed by a different elven name and published by Aolis as the work of another of his students. Several had become required reading at the Academy and been responsible for promoting their so called author to positions of power in elven society but Ixidor knew that a human could never receive the credit he so deeply desired. It was that moment that heard a thunderous crash and was taken off his feet. He opened his eyes to see the blurry smoldering remains of his office. He slowly stood up his body aching all over; he noticed he still clutched the purple book and, his ears ringing furiously, moved toward the door. “I have to find Aolis and find out what is going on” he thought. As he entered the hallway he realized he had been unconscious much longer than he had originally assumed. There were signs of fresh battle in the very halls of the Academy. Humans moved down the hallway carrying swords and bows, several of them were looting the dead students whom now littered the floors of the hallway. A pair of armed men stopped him and looked him over “Wow chum! You look like you got torn up, get those robes from the knife ear who did tha’ to ya, did ya? Good on ya!” he said and gave Ixidor a firm slap on the arm. “If ye be need’n any help with yer wounds they have a field hospital setup outside for our kind. You should get down there.” With that the two men moved past Ixidor and on to the next corpse that they began to loot. Ixidor ran past the men heading toward his masters study and quarters at the top of this wing of the central spire.

    Ixidor arrived in Aolis's huge library but it was too late. The once beautiful engraved marble floors of Aolis's library were covered in the bodies and blood of what must have been hundreds of men. Obviously Aolis had put up quite a fight but in the end the tide of men had won out; Aolis was slumped against the front of his desk at the far wall of the library his body was so ruined it looked more like a target dummy than an elf. Ixidor slumped to the ground and began to weep. Tears streaming down his face he held the mangled body of his once master close just as he saw the black plumes out the window. He rose and moved toward the window, it was then he realized the full extent of what had happened. He saw rows of humans marching in the streets pulling chained elves behind them and he looked upon hell itself as he watched as hundreds of elves were forced to dig a massive pit that the chained elves were marched inside of and executed. The worst of it though was the piles and piles of art, books, tapestries, every shred of elven culture was being brought out to the square below the Academy and tossed into a massive inferno that consumed it all. At that second Ixidor knew what he must do, he had to create a safe place to store his masters legacy, this was the single greatest collection of knowledge in the known world and he would be damned if they were going to burn it. He ran to the door and locked it and opened Aolis's magical safe taking out one of the forbidden books. The book had no title and its cover was a plain brown inside it was penned almost entirely in mad scribbles. He had read parts of this book over the years but Aolis had always forbade it, he said the magic contained inside of it was too dangerous for anyone to attempt. Ixidor knew that he was out of options, it was only a matter of time before they came for the library and with it destroyed what little else they could of his happiness. He began furiously drawing runes and symbols on every single surface he could, the walls, the ceiling, bookshelves, himself. Runes of correspondence, of translocation, of reality unmade and made anew anything and everything the mad book demanded. After hours of writing his stood in the middle of the array of magical symbols he had written his very body forming the center symbol and began to chant. He forced through every ounce of magical power he could, he could feel the room glowing with power and he could feel his body resonate with that power. He felt his skin burn as the runes he had drawn on himself began to activate and there was a horrifying whining sound like a thousand birds crying out in pain, followed by the sound of bricks coming apart and the cracks of wood splintering. There was a crack of thunder and then silence and darkness as Ixidor collapsed.


    At the base of the Academy people heard the sound and saw a dazzlingly array of blue light, as arcane symbols floated in the very air almost seeming to orbit the central spire of the Academy. There was a horrifying crack as the brick and wood structure of the tower began to give way and people began to flee the collapsing tower. Then with a single crack of thunder followed up a muted blip and the entire upper structure of the tower vanished without a trace.


    Ixidor eyes snapped open and he tried to leap to his feet; however, he could hardly move as the arcane energy had nearly destroyed his body. He looked around and noticed the library looked as it had before he passed out, he sighed thinking his last gambit a failure and slipped back into unconsciousness. When he awoke again he could feel his dry tongue inside of his mouth and his parched arid lips “water, I need water” he tried to say though a scratchy hoarse voice. Despite the protest of his sore body he pulled himself to his feet and moved toward the door. He drew the key from his pocket and unlocked the door and it slowly crept inward with a muted creek. Light flooded through the gap in the door as it grew wider, “That’s odd” thought Ixidor “the hallway can’t be that bright.” Finally the door stood fully ajar and Ixidor looked out onto a forest in wonder.


    Days passed and turned into weeks, which turned into months, and Ixidor slowly nursed himself back to health using the natural resources of the island. As he regained his full strength he began to scry in various directions, but no matter how far he cast his sight there was nothing beyond the bounds of the island he occupied beside the crystal blue of the ocean, a vast never ending ocean. After years of this Ixidor came to realize that he hadn’t transported the library to an island as he had originally thought, but instead he had created a pocket plane, a small pocket of reality forged in his image, and transported the library there. While this was an ideal location to protect the library he had only one issue, normally extra planar travel required a cadre of mages and several very specific reagents to accomplish neither of which he had. So if he was going to get back he would need to find another way. He collected every book in the library that had any information on the sphere of correspondence and set out to find one. He flew through books, poured over times and delved through in treatises; he tried anything and everything he could possibly try but as years of research turned into decades he began to realize that he might never find a way out.


    Seeing his own mortality closing in on him, he turned his attention to Time magic, hoping to undo what he had originally done before it ever happened. This research bared more fruit, while Time magic was much more dangerous it was also easier for him to control. Again years turned to decades and eventually Ixidor gained mastery over the sphere, as this happened he gained a view of his own timeline that mortal man was not meant to see. This made him aware of his now immutable timeline and even as he could travel back to the moment of his undoing he realized the folly of it. When he became timeless he also became incapable of influencing his own history. The awakening of a mage to the time stream was a fixed point in time that could not be changed.


    In his despair he retreated into the library and languished in depression for decades, with his new found timelessness came a lack of needs for mortal concerns of food and water and allowed Ixidor to sit in depression motionless for months or even years on end. It was in one of these episodes that he left his mind wander back to Espladar to his home as the fuzzy picture faded into view he saw the Academy of Arcane Sciences in all its grandeur complete with hundreds of human students milling about outside…”Wait human students?!” he exclaimed out loud, his throat sore and horse from a decade unused. “I’m not remembering Espladar, I can see it!” he leapt to his feet with a vigor he hadn’t mustered in a century. From that day forward he began to scry constantly, watching from on far the people of the world go about their daily lives, from the most common peasant to the machinations of governments he watched it all. With renewed energy he began again to work on his magic, refining anything that he thought might give him and edge in finding a way back to the real world. He kept trying, reading, scrying over and over again years passed, decades passed, centuries passed and ever he watched.


    Nearly 980 years since he was first locked inside of this realm Ixidor sat in his meditation posture and watched, he had seen the rise and fall of nations. He had long since read and committed to memory every single one of the 280,187 tomes the made up this library. He had mastered multiple forms of magic and had become adept in nearly all of the others. In the last years of imprisonment his now fractured and disturbed mind took up studying correspondence again in what he considered another vain attempt to free himself. He went through every book regarding the sphere rereading passages he had long since memorized until he came to a little brown book. He hadn’t read the mad book in hundreds of years in fact he realized he hadn’t read it since before he had created this plane over 900 years ago. He opened the book and his mouth fell agape; “It’s all so clear!” he chirped in a squeaky voice “Why didn’t I see this sooner!” he scrambled through the books and found a familiar purple tome. “Space isn’t just all subjective...” he hugged the purple tome and began devouring the mad book page by page “It’s all the same everything is one and one is everything!” He stood up and took out the same chalk he had used to draw all of those circles when he’d first stranded himself here and drew a doorway surrounded by arcane seals on the wall. He reached for the door knob and the door opened and he saw the ruined landscape that had once been Espladar.


    Free at last Ixidor tried to keep calm and remain rational but as he looked down on the ruins of his once great home he couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d seen through his mind’s eye. The ever present struggle between heaven and hell that pervaded nearly every aspect of the mortal world. The demons constant corruption and use of mortals and the angels in their righteous arrogance martyred them without questioning what they wanted in their self-described just attempt to save the world.


    While the years have stretched his sense of time they have only strengthened the resolve of that little boy locked in the mithril room. He has seen the endless loop of war and death that follows in the wake of incursions and manipulation by the outer realms, and because of that he has come to the conclusion that the meddling of demon and angel alike is mankind’s greatest obstacle on the road to peace and safety. It is to this end that he has embarked on a quest to shape and guide mortal heroes toward a journey that will lead to everlasting peace. A journey that drives ever toward putting an end to the machinations of those beings whom play with the mortal realm as though it were a prize to be won.

Writing Sample

    Ixidor floated upside-down in midair studying the guards around the outside of the castle: one of them was asleep at his post, three others were playing some sort of card game in the security office and the last one was staring down the barrel of his musket apparently trying to see why the bullet wouldn’t come out. He sighed, “Most of them just have no drive, no ambition, so few are any fun to watch.” He cocked his head as if seeing something in the distance and looked out into the night “Oooo she’s at it again,” he exclaimed to no one. His eyes flared up emanating blue flame and with a pop he was gone.


    Ixidor looked down at the fire-lit table piled high with books and saw a young elven girl with dark hair and eyes sitting at the table: her staff propped up against the arm of her chair. “Tis a shame really” he says to himself in a voice that emphasized far too many words in the sentence, “She’ll not find what she’s looking for in any of them, I reeeeally don’t think they were written with Aspuzoch’s decree in mind.” He rotated slowly inside of the ceiling and kept watching. “The two of them would work fine as a start. After all they rallied so many before. Maybe we should give them a hand” he mumbled to himself. The girl sighed and move on to the next book obviously not finding what she needed in that one. “A test! That’s a wonderful idea, a test. It will have to be hard though, stopping the Outer Realms influence isn’t for the faint of heart.” He had a sly grin on his face now and is paused his rotating and fixed his gaze on the elf “If they pass they’ll be perfect if not,” he shrugged and finished the sentence impassively “They’ll wind up dead.”

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