| Marc Pelzer | Fabian Wiestner
The young mage Tirion found himself in front of a gorge. He had been following the road for twenty-seven days and it had not escaped him what beauty laid in this journey. Forests, plains, and mountains could be discovered, always putting one foot in front of the other.
Normal people would be afraid to travel alone on the road in these times, but Tirion was not one of them. He was a fire mage. Long ago as a child, his parents noticed that he was different. After he was involved in several accidents, including setting fire to the family barn, his father willingly gave him to a wandering mage, who took him to the School of Fire Magic. He quickly accepted this headquarters of the Fire Mages' Guild as his new home. As he had great talent, he learned quickly and a lot. Now, two years into his training, he was able to channel and control magic effortlessly, making it easier to get through everyday travel and to defend himself if necessary. Even if his simple, still slightly boyish stature did not show it, he stepped through the world with a tremendous self-confidence. He liked the power that magic gave him and non the less he resented his parents for giving him away, he was grateful to have received the training to become a mage.
Tirion was on his way to the north. During his studies in the guild, he had rummaged in one of the older books. That happened often because of his great thirst for knowledge. He was enthralled by the mysteries of this world and wanted nothing more than to explore the known and also the new ones. In one of the old, mostly dusty books he read about wild and magically gifted people with special abilities. Very little was known about these people but that, he told himself, could be changed. Now that he was travelling freely through the land like most of the other fire mages, he longed for nothing more than to meet them and learn all about them. he would be his name, he thought to himself, somewhat proudly, on the book about these people.
The wind howled and his trademark red cloak fluttered through the air. He had walked far enough for today, even if it was only afternoon. Tirion looked around. A little off the road rose a rock face under which a small natural cave had formed. He grabbed some wood, piled it on top of each other and carefully placed stones in a circle around it. Then he stretched his hands towards the wood. He relaxed, his breathing became regular and slowed down. Something awoke in him. He clearly felt it spreading through his chest, tingling all the way to his toes and fingers. Tirion's eyes closed, and he concentrated completely on the tingling in his body. He let it flood through him, let it become more intense. Then it hissed softly and half a moment later the wood was on fire. It was not a coarse flame that engulfed the wood, but a fine one, just big enough to keep the fire burning permanently. He had learned at school that fire devoured everything if it was not controlled. It could be dangerous. But that was his greatest strength, control. The campfire warmed him, and he sat back. He smiled contentedly.