Prologue (Yes, I know a Prologue can be Cliche)

Roots snaked up around his legs and torso, lashing out with their tendrils to entrap his arms. Unseen weaves of energy sought to block him from the magical flows from which he drew his power. Thrashing wildly, he indiscriminately hurled magefire, desperately seeking to destroy the living vines that ensnared him, while simultaneously waging an unseen battle of will to maintain control of his magic. Gouts of rock and soil lashed through the air as blast after blast struck ineffectually into the earth around him. Trees and rocks alike shattered under the impact of mystic bolts of fire. One vicious burst found its mark and splinters of wood lanced out in all directions.

Bellowing in pain and rage, he clawed at his face, striving to dislodge the shrapnel embedded in his eye. Jerking the offending shard free he searched in vain for his enemies as more and more cords of root twined around his body.

Half blinded by his own savagery, he lay about him in a relentless barrage of magical flame. Unfortunately the pain caused his focus to waver and knots of magic drew tight about him. His frenzied onslaught ceased immediately and the creeping vines pulled tight, holding him immobile.

Like wraiths emerging from a fog, his five captors materialized from the forest around him. He watched as they approached him boldly, knowing they had nothing to fear now that he was cut off from the flows. As they drew near he could sense the one holding the spell which prevented his use of magic. He knew that unless his bonds were released, he was at their mercy. He also knew mercy would not be high on their list of priorities this day.