Archmagus System

…

A family toured the Museum of Magical History in Doras Dagda, the capital city of the Archmagi Empire. The tour, although extremely expensive, was thoroughly engaging as it delved into the history of the Empire's beginnings.

It taught all souls, both magical and nonmagical, how and why the empire began the way it did. Passing by one exhibit…A mother and child glanced briefly at the warning signs posted all around the display.

"What's this, Mommy?" A young girl asked.

Her mother, a middle-aged woman of a plump nature, turned to see what had captured her daughter's interest. What she saw made her go pale with dread. "Nothing you need to see, baby. Come on, let's find a snack, okay?"

Hurriedly, she moved away from the exhibit in the Museum of Magical History. Written upon its informational plaque was the warning:

This memory, a twisted tapestry of dread, had been torn from the Warlock's mind by skilled history mages; their sacrifice will forever be honored by the Citizens of Doras Dagda. This detailed account of the fall of Clan Lamont in Albion is brutal and horrific. Experience this memory at your own risk.

Children are not permitted to view memory.

As for anyone daring enough to observe this memory, the magic of the artifact would transform them into the Warlock—not merely a viewer, but a vessel. They would feel his emotions as their own, his dark thoughts twisting through their mind.

It was more than just observing the memory; it was experiencing it, ensnared in his own skin as his will triumphed over theirs. Here is what it was like to be the Warlock on the night Clan Lamont fell into ruin.

A group of 4 teenage friends walked by the ominous exhibit. One of them was dared to go absorb the experience and tell them what it was like. He was a rebellious lad; he wore ripped clothing and chains around his belt loops. He had enough piercings to make his parents disappointed as well.

His father is the famous warrior mage Toby, and he had always wanted his son to grow up an honorable and proud member of the mage clans. But this boy had no desire to listen to those old useless stories.

He wanted to live his own life and had no interest in living in the past. He wanted fun, excitement, and some laughs. He shrugged off his friend's goading as if it were nothing to him.

Still, he felt a deep reservation against the dare. Tales of the Warlock's infamous deeds were well known to anyone and everyone in Doras Dagda.

Despite his outward toughness, he could feel fear seeping into his spine as his friends called him a coward and pushed him towards it. Eventually, he stepped up to the platform and tentatively placed his hand on the smooth red glass… The crystal flared to life, and his eyes went white.

This is a normal way to experience others memories via magical means, although it was always unsettling to others who could see them doing it. Here is what he saw from the perspective of the warlock.

...

The fortress loomed over me, its walls ancient and brooding, draped in shadows as if mourning the lives it would soon claim. My cloak of shimmering black rippled in the icy wind, swallowing torchlight whole. The staff in my grip pulsed with crimson veins of light, alive with power. My emissaries had been inside for hours, their silver tongues weaving honeyed lies...

The Lamonts believed in the promise of peace. That was their first mistake.

"Soon," I murmured, my voice a whisper on the bitter wind. The shadows around me stirred, rippling with anticipation, bound to my will. This was no siege of stone and mortar but of trust… and the cracks had already spread.

The fortress gates groaned open, reluctantly inviting the darkness inside. My emissaries stepped out first, their faces unreadable in the flickering torchlight. They nodded in silence. The Lamonts had been lulled into the false comfort of diplomacy. Their defenses were down.

I stepped forward, boots striking the cobbled path. Around me, shadows slithered like smoke, creeping into the outer courtyards. The guards by the gate lay lifeless, their complacency a fatal flaw. Ahead, the great hall beckoned, its massive doors carved with the sigils of the Lamont lineage: a hawk, a tree, and a rising sun. Symbols of hope and strength…how fragile they were!

Inside, the chieftain sat flanked by his kin. I had studied him well. A proud man, with the strength of a warrior and the eyes of a scholar. His great sword rested across his knees, its blade glowing faintly with protective runes.

Around him, his family watched me with a mix of caution and curiosity. They had welcomed my emissaries as harbingers of peace, desperate to protect their sacred veil. Desperation blinds even the wise.

I inclined my head, a faint smile curling my lips. "My friends," I began, my voice smooth, filling the hall like the tide. "Unity in uncertain times is a rare gift. Beyond your walls, the world grows darker, yet here you stand, a beacon of light. I come not to extinguish it but to ensure its survival."

The chieftain's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on his sword. "We do not consort with shadows," he said, his voice steady despite a faint tremor. "State your purpose plainly, or leave this place."

I spread my hands, feigning humility. "Peace. An alliance. My power, joined with yours, to shield this veil from the darkness that threatens it."

"And the cost?" His gaze burned, unyielding. "What is it you truly seek, Warlock?"

I met his eyes, letting my aura press against him, subtle yet suffocating. "I seek what is best for this world," I said softly. "To preserve its beauty. Alone, you cannot stand against the coming storm. Together..." The unspoken promise hung heavy in the air.

The youngest daughter, a girl with fire in her eyes, spoke. "Father, perhaps we should listen," she said, her voice tentative. "If there is a chance..."

The chieftain silenced her with a raised hand, his gaze locked on mine. "You reek of corruption," he said coldly. "We will not be pawns in your games."

I smiled then, a slow curve of triumph. "So be it," I whispered.

The first scream shattered the night, sharp and sudden. Then another, and another, until the fortress echoed with chaos. The chieftain surged to his feet, his great sword blazing as guards scrambled for their weapons. Too late.

The atrocities my forces would deliver this night, had already begun.

My emissaries struck from the shadows, their blades swift and merciless. Outside, my forces swept through the courtyards, their hungry shadows devouring everything in their path. My dark demons would possess any of the fallen warriors and become the puppet master to a fleshy warrior under my command.

The great hall erupted into a storm of steel and blood. The chieftain's blade was a beacon of golden light, cutting through shadow and flesh alike. His warriors rallied to him, their cries fierce, but they were overwhelmed. For every Lamont that fell, another rose as my thrall, their souls devoured by the shadows. They would all rise again as my loyal undead warriors.

In the chaos, the chieftain carved a path toward me, his strikes relentless. He was magnificent, a lion cornered but unbowed. When he reached me, his blade came down with the force of a falling star. I raised my staff, the impact sending a shock wave through the hall. He staggered but recovered, his eyes blazing with fury.

"You will not take this place," he growled.

I tilted my head, amused. "Courage is admirable, Chieftain, but it will not save you."

With a flick of my wrist, shadows coiled around him like serpents. He fought valiantly, his blade a blur of light, but the shadows were endless. They struck, venomous and unyielding, and he fell to his knees. Around him, his kin lay lifeless, their fight extinguished.

Gasping, bloodied, he looked up at me, his voice a rasp. "You may take my life, but Albion's light will endure."

I crouched before him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Albion's light may endure," I said softly. "But it will no longer shine here. Moira has failed, and so have you."

I waved my staff toward him, weaving unmaking magic, an art fueled by shadows and decay. The dark energy coiled like living tendrils, eager to consume. The Laird tried to resist, his fists swinging wildly, but the magic latched onto his soul.

It dragged, relentless, pulling the silvery light of his essence free. His cries of defiance faded, swallowed by the deathly silence of the magic's grasp. His soul shimmered… a last futile attempt to reclaim his body, but the shadows consumed him bit by bit, shredding his light into nothingness.

With each fragment devoured, the staff pulsed brighter, crimson veins rippling with stolen power. The final flicker of his spirit collapsed into the darkness, leaving only an empty shell. The chieftain's body collapsed, lifeless, the last echo of his proud rage… silenced.

Satisfaction warmed my chest as I turned to the living crystal at the heart of the fortress. Its golden glow faltered, dim against the encroaching red haze of my power.

"Seal it," I commanded, my voice slicing through the charged air. My disciples moved swiftly, carving runes into the stone and chanting ancient words. The crystal pulsed weakly, as if resisting, but the runes glowed with malevolent energy, drawing its light inward.

Around me, the portal shimmered, a rare and precious gateway to the Otherworld. Gaia. My lips curled in disdain. Even now, Moira meddled in that fragile world, her feeble attempt to rally aid, pathetic.

"As if her chaos could ever be tamed," I muttered, dismissing her efforts. "Seal the portal," I ordered, the finality in my tone brooking no argument.

The disciples obeyed, their chants rising in a crescendo. The portal's glow twisted, its golden radiance corrupted into a deep crimson hue. Power rippled outward, severing the connection between Albion and Gaia.

I felt the rupture, the snap of magic unraveling as the lifeline between the realms was severed. Albion's light dimmed further, leaving its fragile defenses vulnerable.

A flicker of movement caught my eye. The fiery-eyed daughter. She darted from the shadows, a streak of defiance amid the chaos. My gaze locked on her, the last remnant of the Lamonts. I unleashed a burst of red lightning, aimed to strike her down, but the golden core shielded her, a desperate last act of protection.

My attack ricocheted, striking a disciple who disintegrated in a flash of ash.

The girl ran, her speed unnatural, wind magic aiding her flight. She dove headfirst into the portal, slipping through just as the runes flared, sealing the gateway shut. Fury boiled within me, but it was a fleeting irritation. Let her escape. She would wither in that barren world, a remnant of a dying clan.

I turned back to the crystal, now encased in its own flickering shield. "You," I hissed, anger lacing my words. "You will serve me."

The crystal's pale light wavered, its defense fragile. I funneled my power into a concentrated spear of unweaving magic, its edges sharp with darkness. The shield cracked, then shattered, collapsing inward as the magic devoured the crystal's defenses.

 A sound like shattering glass filled the air, and the crystal's consciousness screamed, a desperate, haunting echo of its sentience.

Twisting its runes to my will, I felt its resistance crumble, its mind bending under the force of my command. When it finally snapped, silence reigned. A new voice spoke, trembling with submission. "Greetings, master. How may I serve you?"

My smile was cold… victorious. "We have much to do," I said…

But look… There is another, watching my triumph. You, young rebellious child, will see me again. I stared directly at the invasive magic crystal recording me and reached out to grasp it in my hand.

"Look who it is, watching me uninvited... Toby's son, is it? I will remember you..."

 In the crystal was the face of a rebellious teenager, Toby's son... Saul was his name.

…And Saul could now see from the Warlock's point of view, his own face gazing at him in shock and terror. 

This magic was wrong. It was working in reverse. What was once a harmless memory of the Warlock had taken on a corruption of its own, fueled by the memory itself…

And pulled directly from the Warlock's mind. It began to work backward, bending space and time, and breaking the laws of science through sheer force of will. The warlock of the past gained new knowledge of the future and the name Saul, son of Toby.

Toby is just a harmless child living in Doras Dagda, but he must play a pivotal part in the plots against his dominion.

The warlock and Saul spoke the same words together, as one person, "I will kill the man called Toby. And everyone that knows him."

 Saul experienced the fevered fantasy of his own hands ripping into his father's guts and leaning in to devour fast on his father's organs through cannibalistic sacrilege.

Saul ripped his hand from the crystal, screaming. His thoughts were traumatized by the vision forced on him. His friends laughed for only a moment, mocking Saul.

 "Haha, 'I will kill the man named Toby!' What a moron, haha!"

 Of course, that was before realizing Toby was bleeding profusely from his ears, nose, and eyes. His blood-curdling screams would never stop.

.