On this day, not as many years ago as you would expect, a young Warador was bouncing around, goofing off and making a child laugh - while the child was, of course, supposed to be sitting still to have his portrait painted. Waradors are very good at being very sneaky when they wish to be, so neither of the adults present noticed him. The portraitist, of course, kept having a minor fit (which turned his plump cheeks quite red) and the nanny was trying to both admonish the child and mollify the painter. This in turn delighted the warador and he made the child laugh even more. The portraitist ended up upending his easel, tossing down his brushes and storming off - which caused the nanny to give chase right after she told the young master to “Sit there, get a hold of yourself and let me see if I can get that old windba-Mr. Portraitist to come back. Your parents will be most angry if they cannot get that portrait painted in time for your birthday party!”

The child of course, nodded at her with sparkling eyes, all the while waiting for the coast to be clear. Once she was out of eyesight, he called out to his new friend. The warador popped straight up in front of him. As the warador was just now getting to be able to see the world, everything was fun and fantastic and new. It took a very long time for the nanny to soothe the portraitist and this meant they had plenty of time to become fast friends.

While learning more and more about the human child he found so much fun, he also encountered a lively curiosity, including the question “Where did you come from?” While the warador tried to explain where his kind congregated and how they just were, even went so far as to tell the child the legend of warador origins to try to explain things. Of course, the kid wanted to know if that was actually true, and if it wasn’t, what was? Why wouldn’t they all want to know where they came from? At the time he brushed it off and they went on to cause a merry havoc together at the birthday party.

Eventually though, after seeing the parents and child together as a family it began to nag at him. Why didn’t they know for sure how they came about? Was the real reason so terrible it had been buried? The kid knew where he had come from! It didn’t seem fair that no warador knew for sure. From the seed of a question a quest was born - the wardor and his child parted ways with much tears and very little mischief as he set out to answer the question, once and for all.

First he trekked to the Wizard, for surely he would know where to begin. Tasked with bringing back all manner of things to get what he wanted, the warador was quickly finding out that not everyone was as wonderful as his boy had been. Finally, one last pair of panties and broom-beating later (no one likes you when you abscond with their underthings, especially if they catch you in the act) he managed to get the Wizard to tell him that while he had combed through his books and spoken spells to try and find an answer for him all he had was the ability to point him in another direction. “Try the Mage. He can be a little curmudgeonly sometimes, but as one of the very people with the ability to both use Dark and Light magic, his collection of grimoires, tomes, journals and practically anything else even holding a whiff of magic is unparalleled. If somewhere is a written record of this ‘Warador the Mage,’ he would have it.”

Our intrepid warador accepted this, though he was rather put out that he was going to head back home after coming all the way back out here. He was heartily tired of the world at this point. So much of the laughter was cruel and not kind, so many creatures only interested in gold and material things. Yet even the most ghastly of them had a much better chance of getting their hearts desire. It seemed a bit unfair, but he was nothing if not determined.

Arriving back in Shadowglen, the other waradors noted the change in him. They all love a bit of mischief, but he wouldn’t be dissuaded from marching straight on to the Mage, not even willing to pause for a little bit for some fun. Of course they thought this was strange, but...there was nothing they could do. They quickly shrugged it off and went back to plotting the next prank to play on an unwary traveller as our warador vanished into the distance.

Being a shrewd warador he had made sure to take a bit of a detour on the way to the Mage’s house, just to make sure he was able to acquire an amulet with which to smooth the way with. This had taken a lot of effort on his part, as the amulets were highly prized and expensive. No one had one for sale at a price he could afford, so he had stopped by Quentin's first and done quests until he had been awarded one. The waradors mostly kept away from the Mage’s house as he was not one to find their antics particularly amusing and had several ways to evince his displeasure, even if he was quite polite, though firm about it. The amulet would hopefully make sure he got a foot in the door before being tossed out on his backside.

At the very edge of the property, he held up the amulet and said clearly “I’d like to return an Amulet.” Nothing responded, not that he exactly expected it to, but he did wait a moment before crossing the invisible line that usually got waradors tossed out on their backsides for violating. Evidently the amulet was token enough, as before he knew it he was in the house before the Mage. Before the Elemental Mage could even finish the first part of his greeting (“Hello, young trav-”) he interrupted with an apology. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mage, I am here under false pretenses. You are welcome to your amulet back, but it is not a Tome of yours I’d like. Well not an elemental Tome anyway.” From here he launched into an explanation of his journey and what he was looking for.

The Mage looked pensive, stroking his beard for a moment before seeming to come to a decision. “Well, young warador, usually I send your kind out the door as most of you would prefer to put salt in my sugar and sugar in my salt than study, or return amulets, thank you for this one by the way. I admit your quest is a good one and I also admit I am not sure I have the answer. I have many, many books, but some of them are too dangerous for a novice to read. I will, however, allow you to read any that I think are safe. Hopefully one of them can answer your question or point the way for you.”

So began the waradors education in the fine arts of Dark and Light magic. He discovered that like the Elemental Mage, he was able to use both magics, though only minor things, especially at first. While pouring through tome after grimoire after journal he discovered so much, he was for a time simply content to read and learn and search for “Warador the Mage.” Eventually though, even the Mage’s extensive collection began to run out of ‘safe’ books for him to read. None of them had much of anything useful in them and even though that touched on waradors didn’t mention “Warador the Mage” or how they came to be. The Mage himself was a good teacher - seemingly pleased to have someone else who could use both dark and light, even if he was not his equal in power. They decided it would be easiest if he slept at the Mage’s residence as there was would be for more people a cupboard that worked perfectly for his bed, with the added benefit of a lack of other waradors getting in his way. This also meant the Mage could keep a closer eye on him and meant the arrangement suited them both for different reasons.

It had taken so very long to get to this point, but he couldn’t help eyeball the locked cabinet. It was large and made of deep rich wood that shone gently with care and polish. It was here that the “unsafe” books resided. It was then that he decided he couldn’t leave without making sure the answer wasn’t in there instead of out here. Unfortunately for the Mage, waradors were naturally clever and sneaky about getting past and he had learned much from his studies. While the Mage was out to the market, he took the chance to fiddle with the locking spell. He didn’t need to break it, merely, ‘massage’ it into recognizing him as a second ‘key.’ This effort nearly wiped him out and he was asleep in bed before the Mage returned.

Waiting for his next chance at the cabinet, to see if his work had succeeded, the warador could hardly contain his impatience. This time the Mage would be headed to Darkside on a wild tome chase, having heard rumors about a particular book he’d been searching for that may have turned up there. As the door swung silently open, he blinked, as there were only five books inside. He had expected more to be considered dangerous, but perhaps the Mage had decided he could handle more than he had initially thought. Shaking himself out of this not-useful train of thought he scooped the books out and hauled them over to the table to read. Ok. Skim. He did not have time to read them all, but he had become most proficient at skimming a text to glean any nuggets of information it contained on what he was looking for. He had replaced the fourth book in the cabinet and was only left with a small, slender and unassuming book when he became aware the Mage was returning! He shut the doors quickly and quietly, before realizing the last book was still on the table. He barely had time to slip it in his pocket before the door opened.

The Mage had been none the wiser about the lack of the fifth tome, having come home not with the book he had set out for, but a different, fortuitous find. The warador congratulated him and told him he was going to turn in for the evening. Once in his cupboard though, he cast a tiny light spell on his staff and began to skim. While the book was fascinating, there was not a single mention of Warador or of waradors. That was it. The last book. While the Mage had come home with a new book, it was all about cooking spells and beyond unlikely to contain what he had so desperately come to want. There had to be more books out there, more tomes, more collectors….but he felt the harsh tug of despair when he thought about the time, the travel and the expense of such an undertaking. It was probably a fools errand and he was so angry, angry that no warador had seemingly ever bothered to write down something so fundamental about their race. It was then that book jerked itself from his hand, falling into his lap and flipping itself open to a page of its own volition. The top of the page read “Alchemy - Even Dross can turn into Gold.” Realizing he had been...hasty to skim it, he turned back to the first page and began to read….