[ WP ] A young apprentice confronts his master , suspecting him to be his long lost father . The truth is slightly more complex .

In a town called Yardel, in the 27th year of the Glorious Reign of King Ionil the Second, there was a tower tall and filled with secrets. Carved upon the entryway were the words, written out in the script of the Elder Tongue, the Scholar's Stone. In it dwelled two men, one who was called Ynvarg, though none truly believed that this name, a name from a ancient era now gone when the wild magic that had ruled the world was tamed and conquered and bound to the will of men, was his own from birth. Ynvarg was ancient and oft coughed, great hacking wheezes which shook his body and left him exhausted and in pain, but so very wise. He spoke the Elder tongue as if it were the language of his birth. 
 
 The other was named Ulthir, a bastard boy of the age of 16. He served as the apprentice of Ynvarg, learning the ways of magic and its command using the Elder Tongue. One day, the youth approached his master, and asked him `` Ynvarg, are you my father?'' The master turned to his ward, a hint of a smile upon his face. `` And what makes you think I am, young one?'' `` Well, my father disappeared during the Destruction of Morgshold, but I always felt he was alive. I felt drawn to you, as if you were someone I knew, and we share a hint of the same look. But that was not enough to make me suspect. But there is more. You see, my mother never told me my father's name, but I searched through old letters and found his name. Vayar. And what name did the witch of the wilds call you when she bound you with your true name? Vayar. Then there is this.'' the whelp held out two stones, a deep dark red. He then touched them together and they began to shine with a unnatural light. `` Blood stones. Made from our blood. They glow when they touch kinsmen's blood.'' 
 
 `` I hope you did n't take essence from a old man while he slept. I have need for as much red life as I can muster'' 
 
 `` Of course not, I took it when you had me clean the floor after that little mix up with the summoned imp. I know we share blood. And you share my fathers name. So, why do n't you just tell me, please? You are my father are n't you?'' The boys eyes seemed to shine with tears as he begged for his master to give him trust, a bond. The old man now looked as if someone had told a joke during a solemn occasion, struggling to keep his face straight. 
 
 `` My boy, there is little I can say. I have two pieces of advice. The first is that when you long for a home you shall find one on the banks of the river Eidir. The second,'' the old man seemed to whisper, forcing the boy to lean in to hear. He listened as if every word was weighted by gold. `` The girl by the tavern, Gunwuld? She fancies you.'' the old man now laughed, unleashing the mirth hidden behind a stony face. The boy's inner fire now raged outwards as if lightning had struck upon straw. 
 
 `` You dare taunt me, old man? I have cleaned your piss pot, helped you up the stone steps, carried your burdens, cleaned your messes, cooked your meals, and in exchange I was promised knowledge. Yet I ask you something so key, so vital, so easily given but so hard to do without, and you refuse me! You will tell me you horrid living carca...'' the speech of the quickling was cut short as a great hailstone rained out from the wizards pointed finger, driven by words which carried with them all the power and fury of the cold northern storm. The whelp was struck by four chunks of ice, each of which formed a maniacal that held him fast to the wall of the rock. His lips then frosted over, turning to solid ice. 
 
 `` I must? I must? I must tell you at whose behest, youngling? Do you claim the power to command me, your master, to obedience? Would you have me bowing before your boots young master? You are a fool it seems. You remembered the blood stone recipe, but you seemed to have forced out old knowledge to make room in your little mind. We follow the Old Ways here. It is the sacred path that allows us to command magic in safety. Its tenants guide us. Now, I am going to free your mouth the first thing out of it had best be the 1st of the 8. 
 
 The boy now felt the ice around his mouth slowly turn warm and melt. `` The apprentice is to obey the master, for the knowledge most ancient of the master gives wisdom to the new who will carry it on, and the master must be heeded.'' the boy stuttered automatically. `` Ineed. And yet I must. Still, I suppose the Old Ways do, in some ways command me to do as you ask... let us say this, we shall decide who deserves the title of master based upon another of the Old Way's. If you ever best me in a duel then you shall gain what you seek.'' 
 
 And the master and his apprentice continued in this way for years. With the apprentice following dutifully, but with occasional outbursts like a coal which appears to cool then flares brightly as the wind touches upon it. They dueled many times, but each the master was victorious, using some trick or secret which the boy knew not of. And eventually these duels ended when the master fell ill and began coughing more and more. And so, on the 28th year of the life of the boy Ynvarg died peacefully abed. And the boy, now a man, buried his master in stones carved in the runes of the Elder Tongue, that his body might resist the onslaught of the ages. 
 
 The boy, now a man, took the tower for himself, and for his bride, the girl Gunwuld. He had been married by his master, insisting than other than the man who brought them together could perform the ceremony. Ulthir had a son in time, named for his master who was perhaps his father in blood, but who was most definitely his father in spirit, as Vayar. And so time marched on and Ulthir continued his masters work, finding secrets old and new and teaching them to those who would serve in the tower that was called the Scholar's Stone, including the young Vayar. Eventually the former boy now master passed away and left the tower and its collected knowledge to his son. 
 
 Vayar worked tirelessly to instead the passing of time. And one day while he worked, around the home which his father had built far from the village on the shores of the river Eidir, he found himself taken with a flash. He found the river barren of population, and wandered far. He found the village of Yardel, far smaller than he remembered it. He asked about the Scholar's Stone, whose place was barren and received no answer. People spoke about Morgshold as if it yet remained standing to this day. And when he asked the year he was answered that it was the 39th Year of the Glorious Reign of King Ionil the First. So he realised that his effort to understand the passage of time, which carried all men as easily as the river carries a stick, had taken him upstream. And so he realized now his true identity, that of the ancient sage which his father spoke of in his stories. So when he was asked his name he answered that he was Ynvarg, `` the Wise One'' in the Elder Tongue. And when asked why he had come to the humble dwelling of Yardel he had but one answer. `` I wish a peaceful place to construct a tower, a place to work. A place of knowledge. Other than that, well... who can know the future?''
