[ WP ] A young man/woman steals the power of a mage . The powerless mage sets out for revenge .

Garret clung desperately to the slick railing and the rain continued to fall in unrelenting sheets. He heaved himself up and over, twisting and falling clumsily onto the balcony in a wet pile. It had taken years of planning, but everything had finally gone right. He laid for a moment, staring up at the ominous clouds above, water pooling on his face. 
 
 
 Finally he pulled himself up to his feet, his arms and legs aching from his recent ascent. He moved across the balcony towards the door, and gingerly tried its handle. He blew out softly in relief as it turned and the door slowly opened into a dark room. Had the door been locked, his plan would have been made much more difficult before it had even really begun. 
 
 
 He had to grease many a palm, from guards to servants, their coin purses heavier after their clandestine encounters with Garret. He eased himself into the bedroom, and as he had been promised, it was empty and seemingly unused. The room was dark, only illuminated from the dull light which wormed its way in from the cracked door, occasionally growing brighter as the lightning flashed and thunder rolled across the manor. 
 He slowly pulled off the wet rags which clung to his skin, dropping them onto the plush carpet. From his pack he withdrew the nondescript servant clothes he had acquired earlier in the week, and uttered a small prayer in thanks, that the greased leather pack had held tight against the elements. With another dip of his hand into his pack he removed the small sharp knife he had procured many years ago, one of the only loyal companions he had journeyed with in the years of his dutiful planning. He slipped the familiar knife up his sleeve, and bound it to his wrist with a small loop of leather. 
 
 
 Garret moved across the room, and ran his hands across the plush bedspread. Such decadence! He had never even seen such luxury and this room sat forgotten, accumulating dust. He eased open another door at the far end of the room, and moved slowly out into a large hallway. Reciting the directions in his head, which he had obtained, at great cost, from a homely housemaid, he moved further inside the manor. 
 
 
 The halls were richly furnished, and Garret ’ s soft shoes made only whispers as he moved across the lush carpet which ran their length. He passed portraits, only giving them a glance of attention, most likely family members of the Lord of Storms. Garret gritted his teeth, and pushed the Lord of Storms from his thoughts. Anger welled up inside him though, and his mind went distinctly to the cold Khylian metal pressed against his wrist. He had never actually used the knife in a malicious manner, he had brandished it, and backed away from the odd thug or two, but had never actually attacked anyone. Now though, it burned against his skin, and he lusted to feel it in his hand. 
 
 
 Finally he made his way to a small antechamber, and thanked the gods he hadn ’ t run into any servants along the way. He wore the outfit as an outward bluff, but any close inspection would be met with alarm. The antechamber housed a set of ornately carved double doors at its far end. This is where the housemaid had said he would find the main hall, three floors up, and through the maze of hallways. He slipped across the room, his feet tapping along polished granite blocks which lined the floor. He turned the handle of one of the doors and pushed gently. Blue light streamed from the crack and fell on Garret ’ s face. The light shimmied and moved, much like light reflected off of churning water. 
 
 
 Garret moved stealthily into the room, and closed the door softly behind him. The main hall was large, and took up a bulk of the manor ’ s upper floors. The main hall was lined with enormous windows, which peered out over the small village of Candinburg. From the vantage of the manor, the village looked rough, sagging roofs, and streets turned into slow moving rivers. Many of the occupants had moved on once the Lord of Storms made the manor his residence a few years back, bringing with him the unrelenting rains.The ceiling was made of glass as well, and as Garret peered up, he could see water running across the large planes of glass. The storm was increasing in intensity, and rain pelted across its surface. 
 
 
 Standing in the center of the hall was a large granite pedestal, and atop it, Garret ’ s prize. Stairs had been carved out from the granite, circling up and around the pedestal. Rain poured across its surface, the large panes of glass had been opened directly above it, allowing the storm to rain down in full force. Garret stayed low and moved across the hall, his eyes glued to a glowing figure seated atop the pillar of granite. 
 
 
 He moved into the rain, and silently made his way up the slick wet stairs, rain beginning to soak once again into his dry clothes. After a few years on the streets and living in the shadows, Garret had learned to move quickly and quietly, most of his meals being snatched from open stalls or open windows in those early years, absconding into the alleys which had become his temporary home. 
 
 
 As he ascended the last of the stairs, Garret peered at the quiet figure. The Lord of Storms sat quietly in the middle of the pillar, giving off a shimmering blue light. He was draped in blue robes, their material and embroidery was opulent, even from Garret ’ s untrained eyes. 
 
 
 Garret slipped the small knife into his hand, and approached the man. He knew that once a year, the Lord of Storms must regenerate his power during an intense storm. Through the loose, and not so loose lips of his servants, Garret had learned through the years when the Lord had performed his regeneration ritual. With his careful observation and scheming, Garret had discovered the Lord ’ s cycle, and when the next sizable storm moved lazily toward Candinburg, he had known it was time to strike. 
 
 
 Rain poured across Garret ’ s face and he moved silently towards the man, and angered seethed through his veins, his hands gripped into tight fists. A flash of lightning split across the sky, and Garret dashed forward. With the clap of thunder covering his approach, he dove towards the figure, and they sprawled across the granite, water splashing up around them. 
 
 
 The Lord of Storms grunted with surprise as they crashed down. Garret knew the ritual required intense concentration, and as long as he stayed quiet, he would take him by surprise. They grappled for control, rolling harshly through the puddles on top of the pillar, neither gaining a clear advantage. Garret scratched and punched in a wild frenzy, rage boiling inside of him. He felt the edge of the granite slide across his back, and they came to rest, the Lord of Storms mounted on top of him, his hands gripping the front of Garret ’ s tunic. They remained in that position for a moment, Garret teetering off the edge. A wave of recognition washed across the Lord ’ s face, “ Y-You! ” He stammered in surprise, “ You ’ re alive! ” 
 
 
 Garret sneered as he latched onto the Lord of Storms and pushed with his feet, sending them careening off the ledge of the pillar. 
 
 
 They fell for a few feet, tumbling end over end, before slowing to a stop in midair. The Lord laughed as they reoriented with their feet towards the ground, the Lord ’ s hand wrapped around Garret ’ s throat, holding him up. 
 “ You! ” He said again, this time in a jovial manner, “ I can ’ t believe you ’ re still alive! I could have sworn your wounds were mortal! ” 
 
 
 Garret grunted and swung at the man. His punch bounced off feebly, the light emanating from the Lord, flashing as he struck. 
 
 
 “ You know better than that, old man! ” The Lord boomed. 
 
 
 Garret tried to speak, but the Lord ’ s hand squeezed tight against his throat, choking off Garret ’ s words. 
 
 
 “ No. ” The Lord said, “ There is nothing I want to hear from you. You are merely a specter from my past, an obstacle I have already surpassed. ” 

