The one now called the God of Magic was a defiant, joyous, fierce sort of mortal... Born in the Wizards' Conclave to the High Mage Dynmea Na Flaithis and her servant Belanades Alaar, coming into the world born of humans, the short-lived and lamentable creatures the elves so pitied, he was considered a sort of mascot for the conclave, and spared death, despite his bastard lineage. Since the majority of the higher mages were bred from longer lived races, and nobler bloodlines, the bastard of Dynmea went unnoticed, most of the time... Quietly absorbing tome upon tome of lore before he'd even achieved 10 years of life, learning service and silence, gentility and kindness from his mother and father, whose love and passion had been sparked, some say, by Faewynne herself. As he grew, he started to compete with the other students; a prank here, a laboratory joke there... His cunning and rapacity for knowledge, combined with his good nature, won over many, and eventually, he was acknowledged by the house of Dynmea Na Flaithis as her legitimate heir. This was to become the foundation of his legend; by trickery, kindness, cunning and magic, defying all odds, the Trickster Mage would someday claim a seat in the high heavens themselves…
Once accepted into the fold of the Conclave, he studied passionately, and graduated with honors into the ranks of the Mages, only to turn his attention to the Elementalist's arts, and following that, the ways of Enchanting and the Druids. By his 30th year, he had attained a wealth of cunning and experience, but little wisdom, becoming a rival of Archmages and a thorn in the side of the gods. He found love, as men are wont to do. In this case, in the arms of a Paladin of Tyrion. Her name was Bhantiarna, and she was one of the Champions of Good of the Age, who -may- have been sworn to chastity before he came along. No one ever said he was perfect. Still, even the haughty god of Justice had to admit that the love between the two was pure, even if the consummation was... Questionable. The powerful wizard who did not listen to Wisdom, and heeded not to Prophecy, garnered a reputation even among Champions, though the Fates declaimed that he was not one himself... During the age of the Dark Wedding, he yet feared nothing, and seemed a candle burning too brightly, a daring fool, doomed to die... To the credit of his naysayers, in some ways, what happened at the Wedding killed part of him.
He was not part of the group of Champions sent to stop that dire prophecy... But Bhantiarna was. And, in the manner of men in love, especially arrogant wizards, he tried to tilt things in the favor of those he cared for. He bargained with the spirits, with the fae, with demons and angels... Bending the fabric of fate to try and ensure his beloved's survival, even as all reason, all the messengers of the magical world, all the omens, told him she would die, must die, be made a puppet handmaiden for the Dark Wedding. By the slimmest of margins, by the most desperate and mighty act of spellcraft the cunning and reckless master of magic could conceive, he managed to save Bhantiarna's life, and whisk her away from the conflict before her role in the Fate of that day came to fruition...
But at a terrible cost. His meddling strengthened the Dark Wedding's ritual aspect, as the weave of fate rebelled against being toyed with. Thousands more died to save that one life, and Bhantiarna, ashamed of her love's selfishness, cast herself from a high cliff. Twenty-five long years passed, with the now-Archmage disgraced and broken, his heart in tatters, his failure evidenced in signs and portents all around him.
But the high heavens are not without mercy, even for fools... When the wizened, aged Alaryyn came before Tyrion and Masarius to ask for execution, for the release of death, he was, instead, granted a chance for redemption. If he would cast aside his arrogance, and take the place of the lowest god of heaven, he would be given a chance to guide mortals to do what he had failed to.
Thus is the legacy of Alaryyn... Hope and sorrow, joy and foolishness, arrogance and humility.
Alaryyn's first act upon ascension was to consecrate the ashes of those who died trying to prevent the Dark Wedding, and cast them in a perfect circle about the high city Altethia, birthplace of his beloved. The Champions of Good had suffered horribly, but their sacrifice, he declaimed to the higher gods, would -not- be in vain. Binding the essence of their nobility and their regret into the very stone of the earth with the aid of Tyrion of Justice and the permission, after an impassioned plea to the Mother Goddess, of all the High Heavens, the Mage God cast the fate of Altethia into the fabric of the universe like a brand, burning its image into the ebb and flow of the battle between the gods, untouched by the enemies of Good until the end of time.
To this day, even his (Alaryyn's) own few priests credit Tyrion with the idea and the accomplishment, publicly, their god's own guilty conscience preventing him from accepting the honor.
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