Sigma Stellaris
sigma1@hotmail.com

You walk into the bar of the Beggar's Feast, the sounds of the tavern filling your ears.  People chatter and drink and eat, the scents of fresh breads and cooked meats mingling with that of cold brews.  A fire glows brightly in the hearth, making you think of another fire you saw in a different tavern, one which gave a warmth not different to this one, magical and enchanting and inviting.

You walk to the Barkeep, and order your drink, taking another glance around the room.  A tall man with a scar upon his face speaks with low, jovial tones to a group of patrons, a couple ladies in elegant dresses, and a few more men.  The man wears the robes of a monk, but surely looks like no monk you have set eyes upon.

"Is this the Wiltshire Abbey?" you inquire to the plump barkeep as he walks past.

"Aye, so 'tis, sir."  You look upon the tavern of the Monks.  "Yew surprised?"

You begin to answer with a "No, not really," but you stop, upon seeing something that slipped your vision.  A man, or surely what appears to be a man, sits almost as one with the shadows of a corner, away from the people and the pleasantries, where the warm light of the fire does not hit.  He wears robes of the blackest midnight, the hems being interwoven with silver linings.  He sits alone at his table, a curious staff in hand, the tip of which being two silver dragon heads entwining upwards, only to face each other with their mouths open in a silent shriek of respect.

A deep hood covers the face of the man, though his eyes are visible, cold and dark and unfeeling, almost reflective in their surface.  He does not speak, does not move, though occasionally the soft sounds of a whisper escape his lips, in reply to a couple men not far from him who seem to grin drunkenly in his direction and occasionally toss a few words of joke or tease.

"Yes, I am surprised.  Who is that man o'er yonder?  He does not look like a monk to me."

The barkeep looks where you motion, and his gaze visibly pales.  "Yer right, M'Lord, that there is no monk of this world, that's fer sure.  That there is a man who's name I fear to speak, lest he turn those snake-eyes upon me.  He's done much good, or so I've been told, and is apparently beloved by most, but I cannae figure out why the Monks keep his foreboding presence around.  That, sir, is the Sorcerer Sigma."

"Sigma..." you turn the name over in your mouth, considering it.  Then a bit of recognization hits.  "Of the Burning Heart?" 

"The same," the Barkeep replies.  He points to the man with the scar.  "He over there is Daylar de'Otaros.  Both retired now from that once great guild.  Daylar runs the Abbey, along with the sorceress, Ardanna Kelvar, and the paladin, Tarl Taltos.  The ArchMage, though, he's been around for ages, and though he's not in one of the seats, he's almost as powerful."

You nod your head, and repeat, "Sigma Stellaris, Sorcerer of the Burning Heart...I've heard his name, but I know naught of him.  What do you know of the man?"

The Barkeep leans forward, and lowers his voice to speak only to you, casting the rare glance at the silent visage of the mage.  "Well...he is as old as the oceans, in all the years, he looks little different than when he first came.  He was one of the original ones, and though he did not come at the time Daylar first conceived of the Burning Heart, he showed up soon after it was created.

"He has never spoken of his past, not before coming to the Guild.  When he came, he grew in power fairly fast.  It didn't take him long to become a Hand Leader, a fairly powerful position.  After that, though, he disappeared, almost as if he slept.  He was replaced by Tarl; I don't know the details of that, but he and Tarl seem to have some sort of mutual respect.  Lord Taltos is the only other man he seems to respect, other than the Sorceress Ardanna.

"Later, he came back, and was again a powerful part in the guild.  When de'Otaros made the move to Norrath, that fateful move that struck the guild like lightning, Sigma followed him, retiring from the Burning Heart.  During that time, the Mage disappeared, sending word only in letters written to the Bard, Daylar, and to the Sorcereress, Ardanna.  Eventually, though, he returned.

"He went through a few trying times.  Once, even the great ArchMage succumbed to the spells cast upon him by his brother, Lunar.  And at one time, when he was banished by a ghastly mockery of the law, he returned different, changed.  He returned almost dead, dying, his body falling apart.

"I don't know how he did it, though the thought makes me tremble.  But somehow, the Mage disappeared again, and returned, with his health as it was, once again strong.

The Barkeep looks over at the Mage, and shivers.  "The elder ones here, they all taunt and play around with the man, as if he were a regular character.  But I know better, he's a sour, frightful person.  His voice, his actions, his very mannerisms...sure, they say he's done much in his time, and it legendary to his peers, but he scares me.  He's an enigma, and though they might tell ye otherwise, you'd do best to steer clear of that man.  Let his shadows poison him all he wishes them to.

You thank the Barkeep for his time, and pay him the two coins he's entitled to.  Then, standing you head towards this man, this Sigma who sits in the shadows.

Before you reach him, you see your limbs stiffening up.  Has he cast a spell? you wonder, but his mouth never moved, nor any other part of his body.  You're almost up to him, and soon enough you realize his eyes are staring right at yours.  You can see his face within his robe, young, healthy, strong.  And a strange, grim smile, a sneer almost, as he watches you try to approach him, your breath coming in short gasps now. 

The Barkeep must be making me silly, you figure.  You seat yourself at his table, and smile friendly.  "Hello there, my name is--"

The mage silences you with a move of his hand.  His voice is soft, almost a whisper, but like a mist it floats about you.  "Good afternoon, gentle traveler.  Welcome to our tavern."

You cough, work to maintain your smile, and nod.  "Thank you, thank you. The Barkeep was telling me a bit about you, I thought you an odd presence, Master Mage, in this place of monks and simple peasants."

The Mage, still with the curious smile on his face, says, "Well, this is anything but simple.  There are people here, people with a definite place in history.  As to who I am, I am pleased that such a scholar as our Barkeep could enlighten you."

You smile, and nod, and are about to say something else, to try to get more out the man, but a friend of yours calls your name out from the door. Apparently, it is time for the pair of you to go run more errands before the night ends.

You stand and start to say a formal farewell, but the Mage cuts you off. "We'll meet again," he says simply, and then looks off elsewhere. 

Uncertain if you should say anything more, you merely bow your head, and go to rejoin your friend, as Sigma resumes his quiet, ever vigilant watch over the tavern.

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