THE PARTY: Jacob's Story

I am a Black Mage.

My name is nothing meaningful or legendary, it is Jake. Jacob, if formal.

And I am now an adventurer. Tagging along on a quest against some ancient evil that a king in some country I never heard of before needs dead so a centuries old curse doesn't bite everyone in the ass.

I've been told by the Thief I travel with that this has happened before, frequently, in the past.

My specialty is, to be simple, destruction. Elemental fury and calling on arcane forces to destroy foes. Not evil, though it has great potential to be used for evil.

For this reason, you get a lot of weird, cautious, and even outright untrusting looks when people find out you can summon fireballs and blizzards at will. Restaraunt owners would ask me to leave when I tried to eat out with my family, offering discounts on take-out if polite, brandishing swords if not. Churches would condemn me without a single thought as to what I used my abilities for.

The funny thing about this? I was still expected to be the main artillery when a stray Marbolo wandered into the city. Me, and the other black mages. We had a "duty".

We got faint praise after the Marbolo is dead and smoldering and then they went back to fearing/shunning us.

Because, you know, we're only doing this for power. Our magic can only be used to fight, so of course we're evil. We couldn't possibly, you know, take up arcane forces in place of swords to suit our strengths.

They praise savage bums who swing sharp objects and treat barmaids like trash and shun us after we just got through saving a town from ruin.

Swords are weapons- items meant to kill. I can't use swords too well, so I take up magic as my weapon. The local Paladin guild even advises citizens to have at LEAST a dirk when they go outside the city. We have damned shops that sell discount maces and spears for longer trips, and tailor made leather armor.

Anyone can pick up a sword and start swinging. I had to learn, slowly, taxingly, to shape frost and flame, squall and storm. I learned responsibility and courage. I learned that an insult does not justify a fireball to the groin. I learned of brave Black Mages who stood their ground, hurling Thundaga spells at an army of Orcs that never seemed to slow down in their advance, fighting to the last breath.

Swing a sword and you're a hero. Sling a spell, and everyone gossips how you're going to try and sacrifice their children. Or dominate the world through their evil black magic.

I was 16, dammit. World domination was- and still is- out of my reach. Was it to much to ask that they refrain from reaching for their daggers when I walk by just because I use metaphysical power rather than sharp objects?

White Mages don't really have it any better. They get respect, but they're expected to be freaking miracle workers. God help them if they don't have all the answers, these people feel they are obligated to have all of life's answer's written on their palms in case someone asks. Still, it's probably better than people whispering about "Here comes the next Lich" whenever you walk in.

So, how do I get to be an adventurer?

It went like this. A band of adventurers, a white mage, thief, and a magic knight show up in town. (They enchant their blades with magic not unlike mine, and still get respected. The injustice makes me sick, but the guy was a decent fellow, so I refrain from taking it out on him.)

And wouldn't you know it, a Marbolo also shows up, and after years of disrespect, many of the local Black Mages have left. And by many, I mean, of course, all of them- except for me.

I'm expected at the age of 16 to go out and hurl fire and thunder and blizzard at it until I run out of mana, then distract it like bait while their brave soldiers sneak up from behind and attack it. God forbid they get hurt.

But... the adventurers got wind of the marbolo- not too hard, you can smell the things easily before you see them.

They saw me heading towards it.

I'm guessing it was either boredom or a paladin complex on their part, but what happened next would be a staple of my life.

We joined forces.

I blasted with black magic. The thief distracted and stabbed it in the eyes, driving it insane with rage. The white mage healed me and the magic knight when it started swinging its tentacles around in our direction- and connected more times than I like to think about. And the magic knight, unlike the idiot savages with swords who just charge and stab repeatedly, waited for lulls in its guard, coated his blade in ice spikes or wreaths of flame, and slashed at it methodically, aiming for eyes and severing its strongest tentacles.

I was lucky they came along, this was a particularly nasty marbolo with a huge appetite, and would of had me for an appetizer had I been alone. It fell, finally, after I mustered the last of my mana and chucked a fireball that burnt it enough that it fell over, dead.

The mayor saw this, walked up to the heroes, thanked them, and then started yelling at me about my incompetence and lectured me about "not performing to the best of my ability." Something about not 

being able to kill it alone and as fast as last time- never mind I had three more black mages aiding me at that time.

That's when the Magic Knight piped up that I had helped a great deal, which brought laughter from the townspeople. The mayor said that there was no need to defend me for my incompetence. Or my worthlessness.

That did it. The laughter died, and the mayor kinda looked like he wished he hadn't said that.

The Magic Knight, disgusted with the town, asked me if I felt like tagging along. They needed a spellslinger.

Angry at this rotten village and pissed off with my parents for not sticking up for me, I agreed. I finally understood what my fellow mages had been trying to tell me for so long- that when our services go unappreciated, it's time to move on.

THEN they pleaded. THEN they apologized. THEN they said they were only joking. THEN they said they were grateful for all I did but they never thanked me for. THEN my parents told me they didn't mean it when they always asked aloud "where did we go wrong?".

Too little. Too late. Too bad. I'm not an evil person, an evil person would have burned the town to the ground after one day of what I went through. I had simply had my fill for a lifetime of abuse and suspicion.

I was about to leave with my new group when the Mayor asked me to stay, to help protect the village. I refused, citing the ingratitude and disrespect. Not to mention lack of pay. It was too much for one inexperienced Black Mage to handle. He then got all angry and started lecturing me on ethics and putting the community first.

The thief, Thomas, told me now was the time to leave. "Blowhards like this only talk to hear themselves sound smart."

As we left, my father yelled after me that I could never return home- he no longer considered me his son for abandoning him.

I yelled back that I never considered him a father- for shunning me when it was found I was better with magic than swords. At age five.

He didn't say anything, just looked at the ground. Mom cried and another elderly woman held her as she sobbed. Maybe they felt genuinely sorry for how they treated me.

From that day on, life was... interesting. I made friends with my party members quickly- you don't help each other fend off a goblin raiding party, backs to backs, and not come out of it with a sense of unity.

I have fought off hungry wolves and faced down an evil lich who offered me a position as his student and apprentice, and responded with a Fira (a big nasty fireball of DEATH) to the face. We forced him to teleport away to avoid utter destruction, looted his tower, and faced him again when he swore revenge on little ol' me.

I swear, these guys need to find someone worth the effort of elaborate revenge plots. I mean, seriously.

It has been four years. I have fought, died and been resurrected, learned powerful magic, faced down demons both inner and outer, traveled into parallel dimensions, and have traveled into the lairs of ancient red dragons and demons to rid the world of big nasty monsters.

I have seen thieves try to take over towns, I've seen idiots glutted on too much rich food and fine wine plot and scheme for their own personal gain, and have helped topple one or two. I have cast Water spells at minimum force to douse roaring fires to save lives. I have been offered drinks by dwarves and boarding by elves, and I see little difference between them and humans aside from appearance.

I now own a rod that augments my magic a good deal and a robe that resists rival mages' attempts to incinerate me.

I am writing all this as we travel via an airship to a land where supposedly Bahamut himself dwells among the righteous metallic dragons (the kind that don't eat you to see what you taste like.) He supposedly has heard of us four and wants to ask us a favor. It's sure to be interesting- dragons don't ask favors from humans unless they really need something.

Hanna, the white mage, is sleeping, and I blush when I realize I've been watching her smile in her dreams. We've got a... deep thing. It's the result of Thomas telling her after she regained consciousness that I went into a fury when a dark knight struck her down and barbecued him in a fit of rage, then wept over her as the town healer tended to her, and the incident where we got seperated, I got hurt by a trap, and she held my hand as I bled, her mana and our potions gone, hoping to comfort me in death. Fortunately, Thomas found us and got a Hi-Potion in me and an ether in her.

Roy is praying for favor and that he doesn't do something to offend Bahamut. I swear, the guy is so self-critical it's almost annoying sometimes, but he's the kind of guy who'd you'd want at your side either in the midst of combat or speaking to kings, draconic or otherwise.

Thomas is playing cards with the airship members, and is getting a fair share of the pot.

I am sitting, on one of the cots on board, thinking.

The town I grew up in eventually fell apart as the soldiers assigned to guard against monsters grew cowardly and disgruntled, becoming more abusive towards merchants until one by one, people moved away. The mayor drank himself to death in despair. Mom and Dad... I don't know where they are. Last I heard, they moved to a smaller village. They haven't written. Oh, well. Too late to bail out now, and I'm not feeling particularly homesick.

I don't know where this little adventure will end. We may be heroes. We may be saints. We may be martyrs. That's the life of an adventurer- you're more likely to be a pile of bones than a hero.

But I have no regrets. Not now. Not ever.

The captain says that it'll be a good four hours before we reach the land of dragons. Fine with me. Time for a nap. As I lay down, I begin to think.

I could have been anything else, but I chose Black Mage.

I wonder how other choices, like maybe a simple fighter or thief would be, and decide nothing would be as exciting as this. It may very well be I wind up dead on this journey, but when we all reach paradise, we'll have to laugh and say "Woo! That was one hell of a ride, huh?"

That's what this is all about, adventuring. You can choose to be safe and protected and sheltered...

Or you can choose to live.