If you have the chance to travel to a new world, would you take it?

If you had the chance to be something better than you were, would you?

If you did, what would you choose as your gift?

Would you be blessed with great strength? The power to crush rocks with your bare hands.

Would you accept the gift of knowledge? The power to know great mysteries.

Would you take the gift of speed? The power to run with the wind and challenge the sky itself.

Or would you be like me?

I'll give you a hint, do not be like me.

I don't remember exactly how I died in the world that I now think of as a dream. I remember being a college student. A college student of seven years. I was one of those people. I went to university with a general idea of what I wanted to be, but no real drive to make myself actually get there. I signed up for all the science courses I could find, because that was the only thing I really wanted to do.

Then of course, I died.

When I woke up from that dream and found myself here, in the land of Esturia. I suppose this is where my journey begins. Come away with me for a time, and I will tell you a story that should serve as warning. The paths to power are many and varied. Each has their price, and I certainly paid for mine.

This is the story of me, the Gray Mage.

XXXXXX

Ethan Dyre floated in a vast sea of darkness.

He tried to think of how he had gotten here, but every time he began, a small knot of pain in the back of his skull drew away his focus. The harder he tried to remember, the worse the pain got. In the end, he gave up and just let himself drift.

He remained there for a time, until he realized that there was something floating in the void before him. A light moved lazily in time with him, swirling in a pattern. Cautiously, he reached out, not knowing what the light could mean, but daring to hope that it would be a form of salvation.

Touching the light, he found himself standing in a room before a tome which laid on a pedestal of marble. Though he was naked, he did not feel the chill that the stone around him suggested should be present. His current state of undress did not really bother him, though something tickled the back of his mind in a way that made him think it should.

The cover of the book was emblazoned with a single word. Esturia. Ethan touched the cover. Warmth spread through his body from the contact, and he opened the well-worn spine of this ancient book.

The Tome of Blessings

Choose your Gift

Ethan wondered at that, then began to read.

Hours, days, or even months later, he was not sure, he looked up. The book's contents were swirling through his mind. He thought about the many gifts which were offered, many of them fantastical, others totally useless. Smelling colors? Jumping slightly higher than the average person?

Looking down, he spotted one last word, it was a subscript in a book which was written in a font already designed to cause eye strain.

Unlimited Potential

He wanted that.

Light exploded from the book.

XXXXXX

I opened my eyes for the first time in Esturia just in time to stagger out of the way of a carriage. The driver, not willing to spare any time for someone as lowly as a drab-garbed peasant, flicked his whip at me in passing, though it failed to strike me.

I sat down against a tree, still dazed at what had just happened. The experience of that room had been surreal to say the least. Although I had controlled the actions of that person, I had not really felt like I was in that body at all. As I thought of the book, I realized that my memories of its pages were fading. All that remained of the time I had spent there was a single phrase.

Unlimited Potential.

I would later reflect that this decision had once again been a manifestation of the pathologic indecisiveness that had plagued me in my previous life and would be the first of many hurdles to overcome in my new life in Esturia. For now, all I could think was that I must have been on some serious hallucinogens to have picked that over something like elemental mastery.

My sense of balance somewhat restored now that I had had time to sit down, I rose to my feet and stretched. My body seemed little different from the one that I had died in. I decided that I should try to find a mirror to see exactly how my body had changed.

In the distance I could see a walled town towards which the carriage that had almost run me down earlier had been heading. I stood and stared at it a good long time before finally being interrupted.

"Hey you!" A man's voice interrupted me, "Are you going to stare at Vern all day or head inside?"

I turned to look at a man wearing ragged clothing. Said clothing was covered in the detritus of a day's work, and with a start, I realized that the sun had begun to set while I had been musing on things.

"I uhhh-" I began.

"Enough of that," He said, "Name's Mike. You'd better hurry. The gates close at dusk, and it is best not to be caught outside when the witching hour comes."

"The what?" I asked.

The man rolled his eyes, "What are you, simple? The witching hour, when all the beasties come out."

"Beasties?" I asked.

The man snorted, then gestured at the town, "Ain't got time to talk right now, just get a move on. By the Lady of Grace, if we don't hurry, we'll be someone's dinner for sure."

I watched his back as he began to move, then quickly hurried after him.

"I am sorry." I said as I caught up to the man, "But could you tell me exactly what it is you are talking about?"

"You don't talk like one of the disciples in the temple," The man said, "But you're just about as daft as one. Didn't run into a Gollywobble did you?"

"A what?" I asked.

"Nasty creatures," He said, "Some prospectors run into them if they don't have their lamps properly consecrated. They can suck the reason right out of a man's head. Leaves a kind of a shell. The temple takes them in as disciples, though I don't see how they could pay for their own keep, seein' as how you need to care for 'em night an' day."

"No, my brain is fine," I insisted, "But I am new to the area."

"Ah," The man said, "In that case, allow me to be the first to welcome you to Vern, frontier of the fine kingdom of Aramor. You're probably from the consecrated north then, if you don't know about the witching hour."

"I'm ah, definitely not from around here." I agreed, trying not to begin my life with more than a lie of omission.

"'Tis fine," He said, "Though you're lucky that I ran into you. Name's Mike, I'm one of them prospectors that I was telling you about."

I raised an eyebrow, "What do you prospect?"

"Around here?" He said, "I mostly scout out iron veins. The pay's good if you can find a real motherlode, and it's good work for a wick geomancer like myself."

"A what?" I asked.

"Boy, did you grow up in a cave?" He asked.

"... Yes?" I replied.

The man sighed, "At least tell me you've got some coin. I'll be happy to tell you all about the wonderful world of Esturia if you buy me dinner."

Belatedly, I realized that I did in fact have a bag on a leather string around me neck. Peeking in, I saw several coins of varying denominations. I pulled one out randomly, seeing that it looked like it was made of gold.

"Boy," The man said when glanced over at me, "You'd best be putting that away before the guards see you have it. The entry fee of a single copper will suddenly become a whole silver if they know you've got a gold sovereign."

I quickly put the coin away and drew out what looked like a copper coin.

"Much better," He said, "Where exactly did you say you were from?"

I grimaced, "I don't rightly remember."

Strangely enough, it was true. I could remember a lot of facts from my previous life. All the biology, physics, chemistry, and pre-medical courses I had taken were sitting in the back of my head. Even my training as an emergency medical technician was there. What I couldn't remember were faces, names, and places.

"You sure you wasn't eaten by a Gollywobble?" He asked, "Even just a little?"

I shook my head, "Positive. I just... can't remember."

He shrugged again, "Alright. I'll have to take your word for it. I'm no black mage. Couldn't peek into your head if I wanted to. Here's the guards, just keep that purse of yours hidden, and let me do the talking. I'll make sure you get inside without a fuss now."

True to his word, Mike spun a tale for the guards that had them eyeing me with some wariness, though none of the hostility I would have suspected of a foreigner in this strange land. I paid the entry fee without complaint and we entered the city.

"Thanks." I said to Mike.

"You're still buying me dinner," Mike pointed out, "I'll consider it my finder's fee."

I smiled, "Where to?"

Mike pointed at a run-down looking building with a sign that proclaimed, 'The Rusty Bucket,' an inn if I wasn't mistaken.

"Lodging is cheap, though the smell isn't great," Mike said, "And the food ain't anything special, but it will fill you up. Everything but meat has to be imported due to the ah... difficulties of farming on unconsecrated ground."

Mike introduced me to Falia, the proprietress of The Rusty Bucket. I won't say she took an instant liking to me, but we would eventually become friends. In the meantime, she charged me three coppers for the meal and a night's lodging. An extra copper got Mike his dinner and we were seated before long in a quiet corner, though the common room wasn't very busy in the first place.

"Now it seems to me that you might be a bona fide outlander." Mike said, "Is that the case?"

"A what?" I asked.

Mike settled back with his drink, "Outlander, stranger, alien. Take your pick. You just woke up on that road and haven't the slightest as to what is going on around here."

"How..." I began.

"It's not common," He said, "But all the tales start with that common theme. An outlander, come to Esturia for one reason or a another, that can't rightly remember their past. Though for the life of me, I can't figure out why they never mention how daft you all are."

"So," I said, "I'm not the only... outlander?"

Mike tapped his chin, "I haven't heard of any new stories. The oldest is decades before I was even born. Lord Paendrin the Pyromancer. He was said to have appeared in a flash of fire that burned down half the Fae Wood. The fairies weren't very happy about that."

"I don't think I'm a pyromancer..." I pointed out.

Mike shrugged, "Most folks aren't. The talent for magic isn't especially rare, wicks like me are one in five people. Falia is an ember herself, though I've never seen her do more than light the hearth in the morning."

"An ember..." I muttered, "So she's a pyromancer?"

Mike laughed, "Not in your dreams lad. I wouldn't go around calling wicks anything of the sort. Falia is an ember, the weakest kind of red mage. I'm a sandfellow, the weakest kind of yellow mage. Calling her a pyromancer or me a geomancer without using wick as a qualifier... It's likely to get you beaten at the very least. Especially over at the guild."

"I'm confused." I said.

"I can see this is going to take some time," He said, "Why don't you go buy me another drink and I'll start explaining."

I nodded, standing up.

"Oh, and another thing," Mike said, "I know that at some point, as an outlander, you're going to want to go on some quest. The guild would be the best place to start, but let me warn you. Outlanders are not common, but they're not rare. The ones that don't make it into the stories... they die very quickly. Just a word of warning from an old wick."

We were up well into the night discussing this new world that I had been thrown into. It would only be later that I would realize what a blessing it had been to encounter Mike, rather than somebody looking to fleece an outlander. Mike and Falia were honest people, and they were the only reason that I was able to survive my first week in Esturia without being robbed, beaten, or killed. Whenever I visit Vern, I make it a point to place another rock on the cairn that I built for the man when he died