Morfumax's page

Morfumax was daydreaming as he sauntered through the meadow. A small motion snapped his mind out of its trance. He caught a sidelong glimpse of a rabbit lazily making its way through the tall (at least for a halfling) grass. The critter was headed for the shade of a large oak tree, the only tree in the area. The young wizard slowed his pace, becoming more silent than the breeze that tickled the blades of green grass surrounding him. Moving toward the large tree where he had spotted the rabbit heading, he began chanting as softly as he possibly could, a look of determination on his face, and willed his hands through the mysterious motions of a spell.
"This should be fun," he thought to himself, "...as long as I don't get too close this time..."

It was a relatively new spell for Morfumax, and he was still getting slightly varied results each time he cast it.

...lucerne coopiere vestuous fugere

The final words slithered their way through his lips as the nearby area exploded in rays of brilliant light and twinkling particles that settled on anything and everything nearby.

Morfumax hooted with self-satisfied laughter as the rabbit scampered off in a crazed zig-zag away from the tree in what would probably prove to be the most surprised state of its life.

"A fine demonstration of glitterdust, young one," Stalsimar, his most recent teacher, would have said.

Stalsimar was also his most respected teacher. Conventional, he had not been, but neither was Morfumax. Born with the name Minton Felloweather, Morfumax had always resented convention as well as his name. He had grown up in a small nameless village on the countryside with little stimulation for his expansive intellect. He worked for his parents around their shop, always bored, always finding small things to build/fix/destroy that would occupy him for a time. He occupied himself with these things rather than playing with the other children because his mind was peerless. The other children simply did not understand Minton and Minton refused to put up with them. The building and fixing things didn't so much bother his parents, but the destroying part of his daytime activities got him in trouble enough that he was finally sent off to the University of Wizardry in the nearby town of Brandywine.

Little Minton was accepted to the school early because of his incredible ability to learn. The elder wizards saw enough potential that they acquiesced to his parents' request to take him in to learn the ways of wizardry. Minton, however, was not amused. It wasn't that he resented his parents for dumping him on the professors so much as he simply didn't like his mentors. He picked up wizardry quickly enough, he was quite adept at learning the poetry of magic. His steady, deliberate hands had no problem accepting the patterns traced in the air to coerce the forces of nature into action. And yet he was still bored of the tired rituals and excruciatingly slow pace his teachers insisted upon. When it became too much, which was within a matter of months, Minton struck out on his own, to find a place that would suit him.

This journey proved more frustrating than he had first assumed. From town to town to city to village, all of the universities he came upon were far too dull for Felloweather. Finally, after a day of raiding supplies from a village he had been staying near (Minton was also quick on his feet and sneaky when the occasion called for it) he stumbled upon an old shack with a certain quality that made him stop. Upon further investigation, he found an elderly wizard living inside, Stalsimar. Stalsimar turned out to be just the wizard Minton had been looking for.

Stalsimar was a retired adventurer. He had a bad leg, and was unable to go on the quests that once consumed him. Stalsimar had been kind with the young wizard that day. Minton found himself returning to the shack to converse with the old man often. These visits evolved into a dialog about magic between the two. Minton put up with the old man because he was brilliant as well. Yes, he lacked some of the enthusiasm of the little halfling, but he was old; it was to be expected. Minton did notice a spark of brilliance in the man, and that is what kept him there. Stalsimar began to teach Minton some spells, but more than that, he taught Minton what it meant to be a wizard. Minton listened intently because he felt that this particular old man knew what he was saying, and could back it up with tales of glory and adventure that rang true. Minton did, however, retain his previous ego. He was good at his craft, and he took pride in his own stellar performances of magical prowess. He took the name Morfumax (although he never told Stalsimar so) because he felt that a wizard of such skill as he should have a name that foretold it.

"When people hear the name Morfumax, they will think of a mighty wizard," he thought to himself. "I only need one name for myself because Morfumax says it all. And if they ask what the rest of my name is, I will add 'the Great and Powerful' so they have some spice to add to the stories they tell their children of me."

After a time, Stalsimar told Morfumax that it was time to leave.

"I shall teach you no further little man," he said. "It is time for you to use what you have learned."

"But you still have so much to teach me," Morfumax had replied.

"It is not what I have to teach you that you must learn, Minton. The world has its own lessons, and it is these that you require. Take this, I no longer have need of it."

With that, he handed Morfumax a cloak that had always hung on a hook in the corner of the shack. He had always seen it, but never inquired about this particular object.

Seeing his look of puzzlement, Stalsimar added, "It is a Robe-of-Many-Things. Simply pull off any of the patches you see, and that object will appear for your use. Use it well. I know you will. So long my little friend. May your travels bear fruit. Fortinuae eht fautitas"

With that, Morfumax gave his master a nod and replied to the fairwell with his own.

"fortinuae eht fautitas, erhim"
--fortune and favor, master--

Morfumax had not belabored the matter. With the words of his only master, he left and did not look back. It was only a few days later that he found himself in the field, terrorizing the local fauna. It was harmless fun, but it also served the purpose of honing Morfumax's essential skills.

"Soon," he said out loud to the dandelion in his hand whose sparkles were now fading, "soon I will get to show off all I've learned for real. Everyone will love me, and I'll kick massive amounts of monster ass just like Stalsimar."

A smile crept across his lips as he readjusted his eyes to typical amounts of sunlight again and continued to stroll across the meadow with a spring in his step.

"Who am I kidding," he added silently, "Everyone already loves me."

• Lvl 1:
  . Grease
  . Summon Monster I
  . Magic Missile
  . Minor Image
  . Ventriloquism
  . Shield
  . Comprehend Languages
  . Shocking Grasp
  
• Lvl 2:
  . Glitterdust
  . Invisibility
  . Summon Monster II
  

• Spellbook
  
• Material Component Pouch
  
• Scroll of Scorching Ray (x1)
  
• Scroll of Web (x2)
  
• Robe of Many Things
  . Dagger (x2)
  . Lantern (x2)
  . Pole (10ft, x2)
  . Stainless Steel Mirror (2x4ft, x2)
  . Sack (x2)
  . Hemp Rope (50ft, x2)
  . Bag of 100gp (x2)
  . War Dogs (x1)
  . Silver Coffer (500gp, x2)
  . Wooden Ladder (24ft, x2)
  . Potion of Cure Serious Wounds (x2)
  . Mule with Saddlebags (x1)
  . Window (x1)