Neo Greyhawk: The Magic War

In the quiet city of Neo Greyhawk, seven mages gather to fight to the death to make their wishes come true

It was a cold night. Neo Greyhawk had already gone to sleep, and a quiet stillness

settled over the city. A stillness that would soon be interrupted by a clash of eras. However, that

clash hadn’t come yet, as not all the participants were ready.

One particular building, however, was not fully asleep. Nay, its inhabitants had much

work to do. This building was a large building, a mansion in fact. It belonged to a powerful mage

family once, however, now only one member remains to inherit it.

And that one member is now found reclining in his favorite chair in the living space of the

house. He is quite a young man, with a curious air about him that usually puts off normal

people. He doesn’t care, however. There are far more important things to worry about than

personal image. He looks up from his sloppily written notes to the other man stepping through

the doorway.

This second man is a quiet man, however a determined one. He sits down on a sofa and

gets straight to business.

“The fourth Master has already been chosen. He is on his way here. I requested that the

perform the summoning under our supervision… just in case.”

The owner of the house, Coshram Erysivi, gives a pleasant smile. “Good, that. I am

almost ready to summon my servant. Just a couple more preparations to be made, and I’ll have

it done at 2 AM. I trust Lancer is doing well?”

As Coshram finishes his sentence, a third figure materializes out of thin air. His blue

armor is mostly covered by a black cloak, and a long glaive is strapped to his back. He bows

slightly to Coshram.

“I have already grown accustomed to this age. I eagerly await the moment of battle.

Surely great tests of strength and skill will come out of this war.”

Coshram nods distantly, distracted once again by his notes. “Yes yes, that will be fine

and all. Damion...” he looks up at the other mage. “What do you have on the other mage? I

never got around to asking about that.”

Damion Winters nods. “Her name is Rowen Greycastle. She is an entertainer, although

she does not mix her music and magic as far as I could tell. A powerful Evoker, and she seems

to have some resources almost as extensive as mine.”

Coshram raises an eyebrow. “I see… she may already know of our skills then. No

matter. Our alliance won’t be known to anyone else, except Hannibal of course.”

Lancer steps forward. “If I may inquire, who is this Hannibal?”

Damion chuckles. “A dangerous mage. He intends on summoning Berserker. He’s allied

with us for now, but we need to keep an eye on him.”

Lancer considers this. “I sure hope Coshram’s Servant is good, because I don’t want to

be in charge of containing Berserker.”

A slow smile spreads over Coshram’s face. “Oh don’t worry, he will be.”

The magic circle complete, Coshram begins the summoning. Magical energy flows

throughout the room, darker than what Damion is used to. Lancer throws his Master a

questioning glance, which is promptly ignored. Suddenly, a large blast marks the end of the

ritual. As the smoke clears, a blond knight in golden armor with a large greatsword strapped to

his back surveys the room, his eyes resting on his Master. He tilts his head in respect.

“I am Saber.”

Coshram studies his new summon for a moment before bowing with a flourish. “I am

your Master, Coshram Erysivi. I look forward to working with you.”

After a moment of silence, Saber speaks. “You’re a Necromancer, aren’t you? What do

you seek the Staff of Wish for?”

“Ah yes, my wish. It is a simple fulfillment of my family’s legacy, nothing more.”

Rankin narrows his eyes at his Master. “I don’t like the idea of working with a

Necromancer, but I will serve you as long as you prove to me that you won’t harm innocents.”

The mage nods. “You have my word.”

The sound of silence greets the shadowed figure like an old friend. He steps into the center of the temple courtyard, placing his magical artifact in the middle of the magic circle. He steps back, and begins his summoning.

His soft brown hair is stirred by the wind, and his calm face reflects the resolve in his soul. Lightning flashes, thunder cracks, and in the next moment, there is another figure standing with the mage known as Vedran Amal.

The man before Vedran is dressed in a simple maroon cloak and sandals. He sports short dark hair and a thin beard, with powerful blue eyes analyzing his Master.

“I am Caster. Tell me, fellow magic user, what is your wish?”

Vedran silently studies his Servant before speaking up. “You… you’re an actual wizard?”

Caster tilts his head in thought. “Yes, I suppose I am from the era of wizards. Your era seems to be devoid of them.”

The Master nods. “Ever since the incarnation of magic was destroyed at the beginning of Vecna’s reign, magic has severely weakened. Wizards don’t exist anymore, just us inferior mages.”

Caster begins slowly walking around the courtyard, taking in the sight of the beautiful gardens. “I can see that my actions were indeed mistakes. Or perhaps fate just wanted to play a joke on me. Either way...” he stops and turns to the young abjurer. “...you didn’t answer the question.”

Vedran stares at the ground momentarily before answering. “I don’t really know how to put it… I just want to be able to protect people.”

Caster lets out a small chuckle. “Protect huh? And you don’t even know how? What a fool.” Caster glances back at the gardens and seems to come to a decision. “Well then, Master, I’ll see you through to the end of this, so that we can discover just how you will protect.” He reaches his hand out to Vedran.

“My name…” Caster says as Vedran tentatively shakes his hand. “...is Rary.”

The city of Neo Greyhawk looms in the distance. Sitting near a glowing campfire, a small redheaded girl gazes upon the famed City of Magic, her mind busy contemplating the coming events. After a few moments, a silent figure appears from the shadows and casually sits on the other side of the fire.

The flickering light somewhat illuminates his face, a calm yet bold expression that never seems to falter. His simple black cloak allows him to almost fade into the darkness without trying, and the two shortswords on his back serve to add to his mysterious yet powerful figure.

“There’s no one around in the immediate area, we should be fine here for the night.” Assassin tosses a twig into the campfire as he speaks. “Do you really want to enter Neo Greyhawk tomorrow instead under the cover of night?”

Rowen Greycastle looks up from the campfire, blinking a couple times from the light, and responds. “If our competition is as good as they should be, then there’s no way we’ll get in at night unnoticed. Better to enter casually during the day than suspiciously at night.”

Assassin considers this. “Going by that logic, it would be even better to split up. I could make it in under the cover of night, and you can wander in during the day.”

Rowen shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t want to split up. We’ll just go in tomorrow. I trust in your abilities, Lax.”

Assassin chuckles. “All right then, make sure you get a good rest tonight. You’ll need it for the upcoming battles.”

Rowen turns back to the campfire, her fingers subconsciously pressing the valves on her flute. “Yeah…”

Saber and Lancer casually lounge in one of the many comfortable rooms of the Erysivi mansion. While wary of the mage that had arrived that morning, they were ordered to leave the Masters alone as they discuss the plan for the next few days leading up to the war. Instead of going into spirit form, however, the two Servants decided to enjoy some downtime.

“So, Rankin, what do you think about them?” Lancer asks as he takes a sip of wine, supplied by Coshram’s deep pockets.

Saber considers the question. “They have good intentions, but their methods are questionable. They remind me a lot of Rary and Robilar, back in the old days, during the war.”

Lancer sighs. “Those two were so blinded by their idea of the common good that they lost sight of what was important. You think the Masters will do the same?”

“I don’t know. They at least have decent goals, so I don’t mind allying with them for now. We’ll have to see their true natures on the battlefield to really discern the situation.”

Lancer nods. “What exactly is their goal again?”

At this moment, the door opens, and Coshram comes through. He closes the door behind him and then leans forward on a cane, a special family heirloom.

“We want to redefine life and death.” Lancer arches an eyebrow, and Saber remains motionless. Coshram grins at the two Servants. “Necromancers have always been considered monsters. But I have never been a monster. You see, ever since my father left the Association of Magic, my family has pursued a nobler path. But that path isn’t so clear cut, considering the nature of modern day necromancy. Since resurrection is imperfect, no one wants to be brought back to life as an undead. After all, who wants to be a walking corpse? And because of that, most successful necromancers bind the undead to their will, which is undoubtedly evil.

“So, my wish is simple. I want a true method of bringing the dead back to life, so that I can give good people a second chance at life. If someone dies unfairly, they can be brought back and try again, at no cost to anyone. The evil will keep dying off, but the good will prevail, and eventually, the world will reach the closest point to utopia that is humanly possible.”

The room is filled with silence. Lancer shifts uncomfortably before speaking. “Who decides who is evil and who is not evil?”

Coshram chuckles. “There will be a group of the righteous that will together deem who is worthy. Much like the Alliance that you formed, Rankin, the one meant to vanquish all evil.”

Saber speaks for the first time. “This power upsets the natural order of things. Not only that, it could potentially fall into the wrong hands. The last time something so close to True Magic was tried, it ended in an eight decade apocalypse governed by Vecna. Your plan is too risky.”

Coshram shakes his head sadly. “This is where we will never agree Saber. To me, it is worth the risk. And we will have safeguards in place. Damion and I are already working on a system. You may not think it worth it, but I plan on throwing everything I have into this plan. I will create a better world. I will...” Coshram meets Saber dead in the eye. “...I will succeed where my predecessors failed. That, is a promise.”

And with that, Coshram limps out of the room. Lancer glances at his old friend and shakes his head. “Let him do what he wants. Like you said before, as long as he doesn’t start killing needlessly, we don’t need to argue with him. Unity is the most important thing right now.”

Saber leans back and gives Lancer a tired smile. “You’re right, Tesheku. Lets focus on winning this war first. Which reminds me...” Saber gazes out the window, at the sprawling city. “I believe it is almost time for Berserker’s summoning.”

The basement of the mansion is once more filled with magical energy. This time, the energy is much less controlled, flashes all over the place. The mage performing the ritual, an unkempt man with a wild yet controlled look in his eyes, grins as the summoning reaches its final stages. The other Masters and the Servants watch in awe at the scene before them. After all, even if one has seen it before, the summoning of a Servant is quite the sight.

Just as the ritual finishes, a bloodcurdling scream fills the room. Hannibal Hammal backs away in excited terror as a large man in simple brown clothing charges at him with a giant, red, double sided greataxe.

Just as the greataxe is about to crash on the mage, a golden broadsword intercepts it. The startling impact sends Berserker skidding away as sparks shower the ground. Before Berserker can recover, Lancer is before him, thrusting a trident at the larger man. Berserker twists away, but the trident still manages to slice through his arm. Almost immediately, Berserker collapses, unable to move. Hannibal steps forward.

“Berserker, I am your Master!”

Berserker, calmer now, looks up at his Master in recognition. “Mas… ter...”

Damion lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “That was close. You watch him, ok Hannibal?”

“Don’t worry about it” Hannibal grins as Berserker gets up. “Part of the benefit of the mad enhancement is loyalty to a fault. He just didn’t understand what was going on before, but he is good now.” He turns to his new Servant. “Whats your name?”

Berserker stares at his Master for a moment before slowly replying. “Gri… gor… Cal… jor...”

Coshram chuckles. “Grigor Coljar huh? He was one of the Archfursts from Vecna’s reign. Wielder of Blood’s Bane. Looks like you got yourself a good one.”

Hannibal’s grin slowly grows wider as his comrades disperse to go about their war preparations. “Yes… yes I did...”

On top of a hill not far outside Neo Greyhawk stood a man. This man was well dressed, in simple yet elegant black attire. It seems to accentuate his gaunt, tight face and combed dark hair. He stood on a ridge overlooking the city, gazing upon the future battlefield.

Materializing behind the man known as Zell Vandran is a knight. Wearing black armor and sporting an eyepatch and a glove on his left hand, Rider casually walked up behind his Master.

“So, Vandran, when are you going to tell me about your wish?”

Zell hesitated. Drandell, a legendary dragonborn from the Common Era who was said to almost best Vecna himself in combat, was an honorable man. No doubt he would dissaprove of the Necromancer’s wish. Or, more accurately, the wish assigned to him by the Master of Necromancy back at the Association of Magic.

“I told you, Rider. I do not have a wish. I simply seek to test my own abilities. Once we retrieve the Staff, you are free to do with it what you will.”

Zell could almost feel Rider narrowing his eyes. “Fine then, Necromancer. I’ll be honest, I don’t like you and I don’t trust you, but as long as you adhere to the rules, we shouldn’t have a problem.”

The Master nods. “Yes, I would expect no less. Now...” Zell turns his attention back to the city. “To find that temple...”

Assassin materializes in the small yet comfortable apartment room.

“Nothing suspicious going around in the city. Any news?”

Rowen looks up from her notes and nods. “Two more Masters have been confirmed, making a total of six. Vedran Amal, an Abjurer who appears to reside in the temple here, and Zell Vandran… directly from the Association of Magic.”

Assassin arches an eyebrow. “What’s that mean for us?”

Rowen sits back and rubs her eyes, exhausted from a night of research. “I don’t know what the Association is after, but it can’t be good. Especially since he studied directly under the Master of Necromancy.”

“Wait, doesn’t that mean that there are two Necromancers participating?” Assassin asks as he sits comfortably on a nearby couch.

“Yes. And after a bit of digging, I’ve found that Coshram’s father was once a member of the School of Necromancy and worked closely with Zell’s teacher before leaving. That could make for an interesting tension between the two.”

Assassin nodded. “And what about the seventh?”

“He hasn’t summoned his Servant yet, he is waiting till he is in Neo Greyhawk. Hopefully he will get a good one.”

Assassin gazes thoughtfully at a mural on the wall. “Are you sure we can trust him?”

Rowen shakes her head. “We can’t trust anyone. But that doesn’t matter. He will be a valuable asset, especially since we are in enemy territory. There are two mages living here, one in the temple and another in a mansion, and at least one of them will probably have an ally.”

Assassin considers this. “I’d prefer to work alone, but I can see the benefits. All right, lets hope he gets here soon. I’m sure the other mages are getting anxious.”

“You called for me, Master?” Ranking steps into the sizable training room, his golden armor reflecting the light of the sun pouring in from the large window embedded into the side of the wall.

“Yes, Saber. I was hoping we could try sparring. Maybe you could teach me something.” Coshram grins at his Servant as he raises his cane up like a weapon. “What say you, sir knight?”

Rankin hesitates a moment before responding. “I take it you have a training sword for me?”

“Ah yes. Right over there.” Coshram gestures to a closet in the back of the room. Saber walks up to it and peers inside. All sorts of swords, axes, bows, and other weapons are neatly organized. Saber picks out a hefty longsword and walks out to face his opponent.

“Now, on the count of three.” Coshram steps back, cane in hand. “One… two… three!”

Both warriors surge forward, weapons clashing. In the next moment, Saber’s blade is making a downward arch through the air. Coshram barely brings his cane up in time, and Saber is already halfway through the next attack. This time, the Master grasps his cane with both hands, blocking the full force of the blow and skidding back a few feet.

As soon as he stops, Coshram whips the cane forward, and it suddenly detaches into several segments connected by a steel cable. An expression of surprise overcomes Saber as he blocks the steel whip, which puts a deep cut into the sword. Saber lowers his sword and admires the cane, returning to its original shape.

“Nice weapon you have there.”

Coshram chuckles. “Yes, my father spent a large portion of his work creating trick weapons. This one is my personal favorite. Its called a threaded cane.”

Rankin strolls back towards the weapon closet. “Well, this one is done. Did you show me all you wanted to, or shall I get another weapon?”

Coshram waved his hand. “Actually, there was another reason for calling you down here. There’s something I’d like to talk about it, if you have the time.”

Saber smiles nervously. “That is the one thing I have an abundance of right now.” He puts away the sword and walks back to Coshram. “What is it, Master?”

“So I’ve been thinking about my wish. And you were right. True resurrection magic is dangerous. So, I’ve changed it.” Saber remains quiet as Coshram continues. “I want to destroy all resurrection magic, so that the dead can’t be raised in any capacity anymore. That will tear apart modern Necromancy. Then, I’ll dedicate my life to studying Necromancy as a healing medium. Restoring life, but only to the living. Maybe I’ll even settle down and become a doctor.” Coshram finishes with a chuckle.

After a moment, Saber replies. “That makes sense. I’m glad you have chosen this path.” As he turns to leave, he pauses for one more statement. “I wish you luck in your pursuits.” And with that, he left.

“You’re late.” Lancer says as Damion climbs to the rooftop.

“I had to make sure the spell was secure. We don’t want Hannibal hearing anything, do we now?”

“I suppose not. Now, what did you want to tell me?” Lancer walks to Damion, his trident, spear, and glaive all visible on his back.

“Two things. First, Coshram’s wish changed. He wants to destroy resurrection magic as a whole and collapse all necromancy, except that which is used as healing. Second, I brought you a couple things.” Damion tosses Lancer a quiver and a silver mask. Lancer looks up questionably.

“That is good to hear… but what are these for?”

Damion gives a cold smile. “They’re part of the plan. If you put on the mask and remain silent, no one should be able to deduce your identity. That quiver also has a magical pocket dimension allowing you to store any weapon. With it, you can store your lances. Also here.” Damion takes the quiver and pulls a bow out of it. “With this attire, we can trick the others into thinking you’re Archer. They try to get close, you bring out the Lightbreak Trident and use it to paralyze them.”

Lancer nods. “Good plan, it should give us the jump in at least the first one or two battles.”

Damion nods and turns to walk away. Then, as if remembering something, he turns back. “Oh also, Coshram wanted to know your opinion of his wish.”

Lancer considers the question. “Necromancy caused a lot of trouble back in my era. I wouldn’t mind seeing it defeated. I’m in.”

Damion grins. “Thats what I like to hear.”

Author's Note

This is based off a D&D game I am hosting for my friends, so I can't change any story elements. I would love feedback on my stylistic choices and the writing itself. Also, if the work seems incomplete, that is because I am constantly updating it. Thanks!