Wizard's Tower smells like Patchouli, Vetiver, and Pipe Tobacco

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A Legend’s Secret

He was once known as the Living Conduit: the only wizard able to channel magic directly through his own body, as well as the inventor of sensory magic. A weapon in his own right who fought with honor and strength that rivaled the gods. He is a living legend feared by even the most ancient and battle-hardened. I wonder what those fools would think to see him now.

Sequano Diomasach - the man behind the stories - stood hunched over his alchemy table, hidden away in the heart of his tower.

The mossy stone walls curve and capture every wisp of vetiver haze that seeped from colored bottles and beakers. What once had been a wooden floor became a labyrinthine dance through books and papers that swirled through the air as needed. The table was covered with dried plants, indescribable stains, and a set of smoking pipes held in a small rack that looked polished from frequent use.

The room’s center was a garden nurtured by magic: shrubs of patchouli and flora unknown blossomed around a luminescent tree, the flowers clinging near the tree roots like stars beckoned by moonlight. Every leaf and petal is grown for the sole purpose of healing. I watched from the doorframe as Sequano turned, reaching for fresh herbs with old, tobacco-stained hands.

What gentle light the tree gives was swallowed by chasms that once held Sequano’s eyes.

Few know the secret shame of the Living Conduit.

An invincible warrior, brought down by an infection delivered via a handful of dirt to the eyes. Fewer still know where he hides away, burying himself in his studies and his sweetened smoke, searching for a potion to regain his sight and his glory.

Perhaps it was the shared pains of our pasts that sent me seeking him as my mentor. Perhaps it was his need to carry on his legacy in a protege that caused him to accept.

Somehow, though, I am certain we need each other...