The Mists of the Past
    The desert was transmuted to gold under the watch of the ever-present sun, yet the Wanderer in the white mantle paid no attention to such things.  He continued on his way across the barren sands toward a destination unknown to all but him.  One who did not know him would think that he was a fool, to trespass in the domain of the sun alone, with nothing but a white mantle to cover his dark clothing and protect him from the sun.  This Wanderer was no fool, however, though neither was he a typical man.  The only life he could remember was a life of wandering across the land in search of the past.  He did not fear the wrath of nature, for he was a master wizard as well as an expert traveler: he brandished his power over the natural world to ensure his survival during his journey.  In his travels he feared nothing: neither the might of nature nor the strength of humanity.  Any who opposed him were sure to meet a quick and messy end.  Such was life for this black garbed traveler as he continued his endless journey.

    In time, a silver flaw appeared in the midst of the pure golden desert.  Seeing this, the Wanderer smiled to himself: this silver flaw was the very thing he sought in this barren land.  As he continued to approach the silver object, details appeared.  Pure silver gave way to layered plates of silver, one overlapping the other.  These overlapping plates in turn gave way to an immense silver object with smaller objects jutting off of it.  Finally, this immense silver object gave way to the reality: an immense ruin of metal, a graveyard of the past.  It was here that the Wanderer, Artolis by name, believed that he might find some clue as to his own past.  With a smile of anticipation, Artolis the Wanderer approached the ruin, his white mantle fluttering in the dry wind of the desert.

    As the Wanderer entered the dark ruin, he removed his white cloak, revealing the long black coat underneath.  He quickly stowed the white mantle with the rest of his belongings, in the pouches he kept hidden within the coat.  The Wanderer peered into the darkness, trying to make sense of the shadows within.  He soon discovered that this was a futile gesture.  No sunlight entered this forgotten place except through the doorway he had just entered.  Artolis lifted his hands, and quickly began to trace arcane patterns in the air with his hands.  He ceased this activity a short time later, and soon a wisp of white light materialized in his hand.  Artolis held up this light and concentrated, causing its pale glow to become a brilliant torch that banished the darkness and illuminated the forgotten ruin.  The dim shadows he saw in the darkness became metal boxes and glass domes.

    Artolis strode into the illuminated ruins now, searching for something that would cut through the mists of the past to reveal reality and perhaps restore to him some of the memories which he had lost during his journeys.  He cared little for treasure and even less for the simple money that many killed for.  These things were useless to him except on the rare occasions when he was unable to find food in the wilderness.  Spell books, magical artifacts, and other arcane items tended to interest him at first, until he had either discovered that they contained no new knowledge or he had taken from them the understanding of the arcane he desired.  It was history, however, that interested him the most.  He did not know where he had originally come from or why he began his journey in the first place, for at some point during his journeys, all the memories that he did not need to survive were forever lost to him.  All that he had in place of precious memories of the past was a blank void that threatened to drive him insane.  So he continued his journey in search of the ancient past of the world he lived in as well as his own personal past.

    Continuing to walk down the dark corridor, the Wanderer held aloft a magical beacon to light the way.  As he looked around, he noted that this place truly deserved to be described as a ruin.  It was no longer the metallic wonder it was in the long forgotten past: Long ropes of metal hung down from the ceiling, broken.  A few of the walls were broken down due to the toll time had taken on this place.  In a few places the metal was rusted, indicating that once water flowed through the metal pipes in this forgotten place.  Every once in a while he would pass a broken down pile of metal that was not firmly fastened to the ruin itself.  These must be the long-dead corpses of the Steel Demons that still inhabit many of the ruins in the world.  It seems that even demons can die of old age when their master is eternally absent.

    'Such is life,' the Wanderer thought to himself, 'in all things and in all times, nothing lasts.  The rains of the future become the life-giving streams of the present.  The streams of the present become the mists of the past.  Then, they fade away into the nothingness of forgotten memory.'

    At the end of the hallway was a large room.  This room seemed like all the rest at first, but as soon as he held up his mystical torch, he immediately knew that he had found what he sought.  This room did not have plain walls.  Instead, the there were long metal shelves along them.  These shelves could be seen to cover all the walls from floor to ceiling, except for the small portion of wall above the door the Wanderer had just walked through.  On these shelves were books:  tome upon tome of delicious, precious books.  They still existed after all these years, instead of reverting to dust, because of the powerful technology of the ancients.  Solid panes of something like glass protected the books and held out the air, perfectly preserving these books for the people of this time.  Artolis drew his sword and cast a spell to empower it.  Then, he brought his sword down on the glass prison with the intent on freeing this newfound treasure of knowledge.  The glassy substance shattered on contact, age having worn it down enough that the enchanted sword was enough to utterly destroy it.  The Wanderer then carefully made his way through the shards on the ground to the books.  He browsed through the books until he had found one that interested him, and began to read.

    The magical light began to dim, causing Artolis to look up from his reading.  Only then did he realize how much he had read, and how much of what he had read what absolutely useless.  Much of it was fascinating...but nonetheless it was useless to him.  The books spoke of life in the ancient past of the world, and a few hinted at what might have been the cause of the fall of the great civilization that had originally created this ruin.  They dreamed the dream of mad wizards and power-hungry kings: to have mastery over the world.  They longed to destroy all diseases and uncover the hidden secrets of the universe.  This seemed to have been their downfall: they amassed too much power, and one day they loosed it upon themselves.

    'Such a sad tale,' the Wanderer thought, ‘how much sadder that we have forgotten that crucial lesson...'

    With that last thought, he began to prepare to end the day's events with a fitful rest.

    That night, Artolis dreamed.  Dreaming while asleep was a normal thing for him.  But these dreams ... these dreams were not mere flights of fancy created by an overactive imagination, nor were they prophetic visions of the future.  If anything, they could be called visions of the past, almost like a reverse deja vu.  It was as if the stories of a long forgotten past had awoken his own memories of the past.  Artolis dreamed that night of his own forgotten past.


He dreamed...

    Artolis Lucius walked down a long stone corridor, his robe reflecting the light of the magical torches on the walls.  His mind was normally completely focused on the task before him, but today his thoughts wandered, and he began to recall the events that led him to this task that he so enjoyed.  He had joined the military months ago, before the war broke out and conscription began to fill out the ranks of the infantry.  Initially, he was a simple soldier in a magical support unit.  Due to his new approach to magical support - which mainly consisted of concocting new spell variations on the spot - he was transferred rather quickly into Research and Development.  During his research, Artolis came to specialize in the development of alternate elemental spells.  This line of research led him into his present line of work: the interrogation of enemy prisoners for any information that could be used to further the war effort.  So now Artolis strode down this underground corridor toward his work for the day.

    As he neared the end of the hallway, he came to a door that was closely guarded by a pair of soldiers.  They were garbed in the traditional highly polished chain mail and coif of the military police.  As he approached them, they began to analyze him.  Upon noticing the white-silver badge that he wore, indicating his occupation and security clearance, they moved away from door, permitting him entrance.

    "Good day, Sir Artolis," one said to him.  The other soldier, however, remained silent.  Likely he was one of the unfortunates that were struck mute during a magical accident a number of years ago.

    "Good day, soldiers," Artolis said in reply to the greeting.

    Artolis opened the door, and walked through.  On the other side of the door lay a desk with another examiner sitting behind it.

    "Ready for the interrogation Artolis?" The man asked.

    "Of course, Naros," Artolis replied with a grin, "what do we have today? A simple foot soldier? A spy? Or perhaps...a wizard?"

    "A soldier," Naros told him, "but this one seems like he might know a little magic."

    "What kind of magic?"

    "Just some low grade effect dispellation."

    "Very well," Artolis said, his smile slowly widening, "I haven't recorded any spells of that sort in my handbook yet.  I think I'll try my luck."

    "Alright.  I'll stand watch, just to make sure nothing undesirable occurs.  Not that I don't trust your ability, Artolis."

    With that being said, Artolis entered the chamber.

The dream began to blur...

    The prisoner was in the chamber, sitting in a chair.  Anything that could be used as a weapon had been taken away from him.  Artolis approached him and began to talk calmly.

    The words that were spoken... were lost.  The dream had lost some of its realism.  The words did not come, nor did any other sounds.  Just the images were made known.  Artolis spoke calmly to the prisoner, but received no response.  The wizard his voice slightly, and again was ignored.  One last time he began to speak, this time with an angered look on his face.  He seemed to be threatening the prisoner, but yet again was ignored.  Artolis finally began moving his hands wildly and speaking quickly, causing something like a small fire to form in the palm of his left hand.  The wizard concentrated, and the light intensified.  Artolis then finally thrust this hand into the prisoner's face, palm facing forward.  The prisoner tried to move away, but Artolis held him in place with his other hand.  Covering the prisoner's eyes with his left hand, Artolis once more closed his eyes and concentrated.  The prisoner's mouth opened and let loose an unheard cry of terrible agony.

The scene froze, and the dream faded away...

Blissful nothingness engulfed Artolis' consciousness as he slept...

Another dream began, a clear dream...

    Artolis the Archmage was in his laboratory, hunched over a table that held several open tomes.  He was working on a new idea of his in the field of applied magic.  A door opened slowly, and his assistant, Erlen, walked in.  The archmage looked up from his work, and a a somewhat cross look formed on his face.

    "Sir, is there anything you need for today's experiments?" Erlen politely asked.

    "Yes, Erlen," Artolis said with a sigh, "I thought I told you yesterday."

    "I'm sorry, sir, but I've forgotten," the assistant quickly replied apologeticly.

    "Erlen, Erlen. How will you ever be a wizard -- much less a master wizard like me -- if you cannot manage to remember things from the day before?"

    The apprentice said nothing, but a frightened look on his face and downcast eyes spoke volumes to the archmage.  Another sigh escaped from Artolis' mouth.  Then he began to speak once more.

    "I need two moderately powerful artifacts. One with light magic and one with dark magic.  It would be preferable if you could find some that are unfocused."

    "Yes sir. I'll fetch them right away."

    Sighing again at the incompetence of his assistant, Artolis returned to his work.  He read from the books on the table in front of him, thought for a second, and wrote in the mostly blank book directly below him.  The archmage repeated this process several times while waiting for his assistant to return.  One of the tomes he consulted contained his own notes on the properties of the light and dark elements.  Another originated from a far off land, and contained information on the uses of earth magic in creating artifacts.  The other books strewn about the table were books on magical theory.

    Finally, Erlen returned with a pair of wands, one in each of his hands.  The one in his right hand had a large quartz crystal on it.  The one in his left hand had a large piece of obsidian on the tip.

    "I'm here, sir," Erlen called out as he approached the elder wizard, "Where do you want the artifacts?"

    "Ah, good job Erlen.  Just come here and hand them to me."

    Erlen continued to approach the wizard, the rod in his right hand held forth.  Artolis carefully took the quartz-tipped rod from his assistant, and then set it on a nearby pedestal.  He then took the other rod from his assistant, and set it on another pedestal.  Then the archwizard turned to his assistant and began to speak.

    "Erlen, I'm ready to begin the experiments.  I need you to do something for this first one.  I need you to gather a moderate quantity of earth element, and then simply hold it.  Don't focus it at all, just hold onto it so that I can take it and use it.  Can you do this?"

    Erlen's face brightened considerably upon hearing this.

    "Absolutely, sir!" Erlen replied, "Gathering magic is easy for me.  It's the focusing I have problems with."

    Artolis nodded, and then moved so that he was standing between the pedestals with the rods on them.

    "Move that book stand over here in front of me and put the book I was just writing on it.  Then stand next to the book stand and gather that earth element," Artolis commanded his assistant.

Reality dimmed...

The dream became like a dream, not like crystal clear reality...

    The assistant did as he was told to.  He moved the book stand, then moved the book.  Finally, he stood by the book stand and began to gather earth element for his master's use.

    Artolis began to cast the experimental spell.  His mouth moved, yet no sound came forth.  As he cast the spell, light element came up from the rod under his left hand.  Darkness sprang forth from the rod under his right hand.  Light became a will o' wisp.  Darkness faded from sight, and a human-like form replaced it.  The earth element that the apprentice gathered flew from his control and wedged itself between the light and the dark.  The archmage concentrated fiercely.  The light, the dark, and the earth came together.  It changed into something new, something terrible.  This new thing went haywire, rampaging about the laboratory and committing terrible acts of violence.  Erlen screamed.

The dream faded to red, and then was engulfed in darkness...

Time passed in the darkness...

A dream filled the nothingness...

The dream was not like a dream, but it was a yet a dream...

    Artolis stood in the laboratory again.  He was alone.  Erlen was gone.  He had been gone for years, ever since that first experiment in what was now called necromancy claimed the boy's life.  But now - now the process was perfected.  The archwizard known as Artolis was dying, but he would be born anew on this day.  The necromancy would create a new body and he would unite with that body to become new once more.

    A pedestal sat in the middle of the room, and atop this pedestal sat an amulet.  In this amulet was a large white-and-clear gem, a jet stone, and a large topaz.  The artifact was charged, and all was prepared.  The ritual began.

    Artolis summoned the power of darkness.  He molded the darkness into his own likeness.

    Artolis summoned the power of light.  He connected with the light, and the light anchored itself in his own soul.

    Artolis summoned the power of earth.  He took the earth and made it to bind that which was to that which was not.

    The elements were brought together.  The body-from-darkness bonded to the power of earth.  The light bonded to this construct as well.

    Artolis forced the parts of the spell together more closely, and the necromancy was complete.  His body slumped forward and fell to the ground, dead.  The archmage's spirit lived on, however, alive in the new body forged with magic.  He would live on in this new form now, alive in the physical world as a lich.  Artolis laughed to himself, overwhelmed with his accomplishment.  The laughter grew louder and louder until the dream was naught but laughter.

The dream that was not a dream disappeared...

Artolis knew nothing for a time...

A new dream began...

    The archmage had failed in creating his immortal body, one hundred years ago.  Today, he stood in a new lab, with a new plan to live forever.  He would evade death once more, hopefully forever this time.

    His plan was perfect.  Instead of making for himself a new body, he would make a permanent house for his soul.  Artolis had spent the last hundred years studying the art of forging weapons.  Over the past few months, he fashioned a long sword with masterful skill.  The sword was double edged, and the blade was as straight as could be.  At the tip, it tapered off to a fine point capable of piercing the most finely crafted armor.  The hilt was inscribed with intricate patterns, miniaturized versions of the focusing runes mages used.  It also bore a gigantic crystal its center.  The entire sword - blade, crystal and all - had been enchanted with a spell of permanence, which wove the matter of the weapon so tightly together that it was nearly indestructible.  The crystal bore no magical power at the moment.  That was to be the soul cage, the eternal home of Artolis the Lich.

    His plan was to use a spell of necromancy to bind his own soul into the crystal in the blade, and then use the sword as a medium to cast his spells.  The lich would use spells to give him senses while in the blade, and wait for someone to come and pick up the magnificent sword.  As soon as someone would do that, he would use the sword to cast a spell, and then dominate the person who held it.  In other words, he would permanently reside in the blade, and steal the bodies of others to be temporary shelters.  It was a wonderful and masterful plan, crafted by a genius.  It was a terrible and devious plan, crafted by a devil.  And soon, very soon, it would all begin.

    Artolis began to gather the elements for his spell, using his amulet as a focal point and a sort of magical battery.  As he gathered the elements, suddenly, six forms appeared in the room with him.  None of the forms had real features, but instead resembled unfocused masses of element.  In fact, each form was a different color, each color corresponding to one of the elements.  As he gazed upon them, it occurred to him that these forms somehow seemed intelligent, as though they...

    …As though they were the Greater Elementals themselves.  As though they were the gods that waged a great war using people as pawns when he was but a child.

    Then he heard the voice...no, the voices.  They were not truly audible, he soon realized, yet he understood them as well as he could understand the speech of another human.  They spoke to him somehow, and offered to make a deal with him, a bargain.  An immortal body was offered, and with it he would not need to use the sword and dominate others.  Rather, he would be truly undying, this body would not fall apart as the one he fashioned for himself would.

    "What's the catch?" He called out into the not-so-empty room.

    Memories, the six essences told him.  His memories of life would be wiped by them every twenty-five years.  If he would willingly pay this price, they would give him the body of his dreams and leave his skills intact.  Only the pitiful memories of a life lived.

    Artolis thought about the proposition for a while.  He had accumulated many memories over the course of his long life, most of them sad.  When life is artificially extended, a great many memories were acquired of people dying, memories of the deaths of loved ones.  When living is prolonged for more than a century, the fact is clearly seen that the memories of bitter childhood cruelties do not fade.  

    'Happy memories exist, yet is not an eternal life without centuries of painful memories more desirable than retaining the happy memories of centuries?' Artolis considered, 'I would say that it is more a blessing than a curse to lose all your memories when blessed with a never-ending life.'

    "I accept!" Artolis shouted into the room, sealing his doom forever.

* * *
    The dream disappeared suddenly and Artolis began to awake from his slumber.

    "NO! NO!" He shouted as he returned to the waking world.

    'Those dreams...they are true,' Artolis thought, and suddenly he knew this with certainty, 'That was the life I lived?  I worked so hard, committed such crimes against nature and against man, allowed good men to die so I could pursue the study of magic?  I nearly became a monster that stole peoples' lives and bodies simply to avoid death?  That was me!?  And then, I decided of my own free will to abandon my memories for the sake of an unending monotony of existence? I was such a fool!'

    Artolis drew his sword.  It was identical to the one in his dreams.  Indeed, it was the very sword that he had once intended to seal his immortal soul into.  Calling forth a spell of illumination, the Wanderer gazed into the sword's polished blade.  In it, he saw the young man that walked down the corridor, the only difference being the weight of a life poorly lived.  Artolis released the magic, dropped his longsword, and fell to his knees.  He wept over the life he once lived and the foolish decisions that he made.  He shed tears for the lives he had ruined in the pursuit of his own selfish desires.

    Suddenly, a glow filled the metal room lined with shelves and books.  Six distinct forms of energy appeared, each one the color of a different element's manifestation of energy.  The Greater Elementals had come to him, and he knew why.  The Greater Light Elemental spoke to him, and confirmed his fears.

    "It has been twenty-five years, Artolis the Wanderer.  It is time."