Rise of the Runelords
A mage for all occasions. Except perhaps the social kind.
Born in Riddleport, the City of Cyphers, Filiaris seemed much like other gnomes to his doting family. They thought they understood his tendency to wander off unattended as a child, assumed it was a young gnome’s fascination with the teeming city around him.
They were wrong. It was all so damned boring.
When the Brindlewise family and home were lost to a summer fire, Fili hardly seemed to notice. None of it mattered; what were a few accidental deaths in a world made incomprehensible by its very randomness?
Riddleport was a human city with human struggles; when Fili’s hair began to whiten and his skin began to gray, none of the humans sharing his slums recognized it for what it was. The Bleaching. Fili had begun the slow death of a bored gnome.
The fortuneteller saved him. The old Varisian woman, alone among the poor, saw the emptiness inside the young gnome and realized what he was missing. A purpose. A pattern. A puzzle. The cards were the first step. Soon Fili’s days were filled with the comforting sound of shuffling Harrow cards and his nights with the old woman’s murmured readings. His eyes began to move again, seeking patterns in a world of chaos. Soon the connections the Harrow readings offered were not enough; there had to be more. There had to be a larger pattern.
And there it was. Wizardry. The power of the arcane was all around in Riddleport, scribed into the very stones of the city long ago by the Thassilonians. Surely they had left answers, if only Fili could learn to see them.