In the infinite expanse of the universe, there are no two ideas more contradictory than fate and free will. They are strings that direct the very universe itself as it hurtles through time. Every action performed, every spell spoken, every incantation crafted, can be explained using these ideas. Yet these ideas contradict. They do not agree upon the forces that govern the universe. One is a description of destiny, truth, and order; immutable and unchanging despite the efforts of man, myth, and machine alike. The other lends itself to chaos, deceit, and the uncertainty of choice; spiraling out of control until the end is finally written. They are complete opposites, incompatible in every sense of the word. A world of fate has no free will. A world of free will has no fate. They diametrically oppose each other, eternal in the push and pull of their individual philosophies. They are opposites yet can be seen as two ends of the same rope. One invariably leads to each other. The free will of an individual will weave a quilt of fate that cannot be avoided. The quilt of fate will affect the free will of an individual. Those that affect the world in greater and greater quantities must, therefore, caution themselves on the fate they weave for themselves.

This fact is observed in the world of magic, no spell or enchantment is without a price. The manipulation of mana affords a certain power that makes decisions all the more impactful. Those with power must caution themselves on the quilt they create for themselves. Yet they have the free will to do what they will with their power. Those that grow their power often forget this lesson. They become a scourge on their land and seek only to better themselves, regardless of the wishes or wellbeing of those around them. Sadly, fate is slow to act but powerful in its execution. Endless atrocities can be performed before their quilt of fate is complete, woven by their own hands. Once their quilt is complete, it only becomes a matter of if and when their quilts will fall, in this life or the next. It is up to those around them to decide.

Nestled deep within the hills of a world, most alien to you and I, lies a cavern. A cavern illuminated by deep darkness, like the maw of a predator, waiting to snatch its next victim. The inhabitants of this cave are familiar yet strange. Their appearance and names come from our fantasy, elegance, and beauty present throughout, but they deviate from expectations.

One such creature of fantasy was hastening through the tunnels within. The dark figure stalks through the caves, cloak billowing behind him. His stature towered above his brethren, but in our world, he would be comically stout. His head would stop short of the most anyone’s heart, though his head would be just as large as ours. The eyes peering from his hood were swelled larger than golf balls in their sockets with retinas the size of quarters.

He slinked through the dank caverns towards his objective for the evening, a ritual most precise and deliberate that would finally appease his faux master. “For once, mayhaps Almar will relinquish his knowledge on the outsider weapons he possesses. The lord would be most pleased to learn its secrets.” The figure finally came upon a door along the walls of the cave. Archaic muttering could be heard through it as he approached. Robed guards stood on either side of the door, accompanied by braziers that threw dancing flames on the walls behind them. The figures bowed to the newcomer and he waved them aside as he passed.

The door opened of its own accord as he drew close and allowed him to ingress into the strange ritual. He pulled his hood back, revealing his strange ears to the world, as the door closed as quickly as it had opened. The chanting echoing around the cave. The guttural incantation caused an involuntary twitch in his ears, pointed and extending an inch or two beyond our own. The ritual before him was a strange and unnatural one, born out of decades of time and research, derived from knowledge on the realms and the stars beyond. Hooded figures lined a circle carved into the floor, runes cut deep into the hard earth. Archaic staves of iron and magic held purple flames between each figure, two dozen in total and just as tall. The air around the figures was filled with arcane air as glowing runes materialized and morphed in the ritual circle. They swirled about the center as those on the edge were united in chant, drawing power from the very world around them. More hooded figures occupied tables along the walls of the cavern, mixing ingredients into a powder and tossing their creations within.

The first figure approached one of them and laid a hand on their shoulder. “How goes the ritual? Is it almost complete?”

The hooded figure nodded in response. “Most nearly. The crystal nearly has its target. We need but a few moments more.” The first figure nodded as he looked into the ritual circle once more. A jagged red gem spun wildly in the center, casting a deep green light about the room. The gemstone was the centerpiece of this ritual, a rare object worth more than its weight in gold tenfold. It was a high price to pay but, if your selection was precise, a price worth paying. Through the stone another world could be seen, one of strange magic and towering outsiders. The figure had seen many things, but these outsiders always intrigued him. The crystal was slowly approaching one such outsider, a special request for the ever-demanding Almar.

The figure scowled as he looked at the creature before him. It had a visage like his own but somehow stretched beyond belief, muscles thick across its forearms as its hands gripped the strange controls in front of him. If it stood outside of the metal chariot it was riding in, it would tower above it and all those across the land of Adympia. Its ears were rounded and small, eyes the size of plums in its head. He did not expect it to be able to see or hear all that well, but it must be adequate for it to be able to pilot a horseless chariot at such speeds, outpacing even the fastest of their steeds. His hypothesis was vehemently supported by the rectangular spectacles donning the being’s head, correcting what was undoubtedly inferior vision. Most curiously though were his eyes, peculiar even beyond their small size. A rare mismatched pair only yet found on common house pets. One eye was a sky-blue hue, glimmering in the reflection of the crystal, while the other reminded the figure of a forest in the spring, a splash of green and brown that contrasted the blue in its brother. The figure ran a hand near his own green eyes as he felt his heart burning with contempt. Outsiders were always troublesome. Fortunately, there is no shortage of those that find joy in taming these unruly beasts. “If Almar wishes for such an outsider, then such an outsider he shall have. He had better hold true to his word. I do not wish to waste energy putting him in his place.”