Alamir, nicknamed the Stargazer, was Lawful Neutral and once a legendary figure on the Rock of Bral. He was said to have lived for nearly two hundred years.
He wasn't actually Legendary. The secret to his longevity was simply leaving his time behind on the Astral Plane!
The Rock of Bral occupied a unique location. A few days aboard a spelljamming ship was enough to leave Realmspace and reach the Astral Plane.
In that vast silver sea, creatures did not age, nor did they suffer from hunger or thirst.
As a result, many spellcasters were drawn here. They joined the Mages' Guild, became spelljamming helmsmen aboard magical ships, and traveled in and out of the Astral Plane to trade or adventure.
It wasn't hard to imagine that this was no academically oriented Mages' Guild. Most of its wizards were rather pragmatic.
Anser strode into the room, gave Alamir a brief once-over, then waved a hand and closed the door.
Thump.
The sound wasn't loud, but it broke the silence.
Alamir turned around, revealing an utterly ordinary, thin, dark-skinned face. His white wizard's robe hung loosely from his body. Despite how luxurious it clearly was, on him it somehow gave the awkward impression of a child wearing an adult's clothes.
His gaze settled on Anser. His pupils widened, and a trace of nervousness entered his previously composed expression.
"You truly are impressive. The rumors don't convey even a tenth of the real thing, President Holrewen."
"The same goes for you, President Alamir." Anser smiled faintly. This president certainly had a distinctive appearance as well.
Alamir laughed heartily, naturally catching Anser's implication.
He gestured for Anser to sit and personally poured him some tea.
The tea was piping hot, wisps of steam curling upward. The timing was perfect, almost as though Alamir had known Anser would arrive at this exact moment.
Anser silently took note of the detail. It seemed this president hadn't simply been waiting around. Everything had been part of his calculations.
This kind of person liked having everything under control and hated surprises, which didn't quite match his appearance.
The die turned slightly, and information about the target appeared:
[Alamir, President of the Rock of Bral Mages' Guild, Half-Elf, Level 20 Wizard (School of Transmutation)]
'He's strong.'
But after two hundred years without becoming Legendary, this was probably as far as he would ever get.
As his body continued to age, his strength would only decline.
"I do know a little about the Mind Flayers," Alamir suddenly said, holding nothing back.
Anser said nothing and waited for him to continue.
"There are four Underbarons on Bral: a human, a halfling, an elf, and... a Mind Flayer. That Mind Flayer is the Unknowable One. He's been on Bral longer than I've been alive. I met him once."
"He entrenched himself in the deep caverns and hidden passages within the Rock of Bral, specializing in smuggling. Sometimes he would also cultivate Intellect Devourers and turn Bral's residents into his spies. But back then... he showed restraint. A great deal of restraint."
Anser listened quietly. Yesterday, Osborn had led a team through the labyrinthine underground passages beneath Bral, but they'd only conducted a rough search.
The halflings of the Burrows could build safe houses and underground tunnels for themselves, and naturally others could do the same. After all these years, the interior of the Rock of Bral had long since become riddled with holes.
"After something happened to the Weave, I teleported to the Astral Plane and left all the guild's affairs to Mogg. During that time, someone secretly told me that he'd been acting strangely. I was too busy and didn't pay enough attention to it. Sigh—"
Alamir sighed and fell silent.
Anser inwardly curled his lip. How was that any different from saying nothing? The old man had rambled on and on, only to absolve himself of all responsibility at the end.
The old bastard wasn't being honest at all!
Anser didn't believe Alamir had noticed absolutely nothing. Even without Truesight, sensing psionic fluctuations wasn't particularly difficult.
So many magical apprentices had inexplicably awakened psionic abilities one after another. There was no way that could simply be a coincidence.
Either Alamir had chosen to protect himself and hadn't dared interfere, or he'd known perfectly well what was happening and had quietly observed from the sidelines in search of personal gain.
After all, he was old. Neither choice would have been surprising.
But Anser had no direct evidence, so he couldn't simply do anything to him.
A two-hundred-year-old wizard was bound to have connections. Accusing him and holding him accountable without evidence might only bring Anser unnecessary trouble.
"Mogg was the one that Mind Flayer arcanist was impersonating?" Anser pressed.
"Yes. The real Mogg should already be dead." Alamir put on a somewhat sorrowful expression.
"Mm. I originally wanted to interrogate it, but the Mind Flayer tried to resist, so I killed it with a single slap." As Anser spoke, his gaze drifted seemingly casually toward Alamir's head and neck.
Alamir's fingers trembled. The tea in his cup rippled, spilling several drops that ran down the back of his hand and into his sleeve.
The image of that Mind Flayer arcanist's corpse involuntarily surfaced in his mind, sending a chill through him.
He hadn't returned today at all. He'd already been in the city yesterday and had merely pretended to show himself for the first time today.
Truthfully, he wasn't afraid of people playing mind games with him. What he feared was someone like Anser, who looked as though he might beat him to death at any moment.
Not only was Anser overwhelmingly powerful himself, he could casually call in four Chosen, along with more Peak Professionals than Alamir could count on one hand. Alamir couldn't muster even the slightest thought of opposing him.
Anser remained silent for a moment before speaking again. "How many people does the Mages' Guild have right now?"
"There are more than two hundred registered full-fledged wizards, but some haven't been here in decades. In recent years, only around fifty or sixty have actually remained on Bral.
"The guild recruits a batch of apprentices every year. Most never amount to much, and there are a little over a hundred left now. The guild specifically hires the full-fledged wizards to take turns teaching them, but these days... it's mostly become a formality." Alamir sighed.
With the Weave collapsed, they were barely any better off themselves. Those wizards could barely look after themselves; how could they possibly have the time to teach anyone else?
"I suggest that President Alamir issue an announcement right now, gather everyone together, and check whether any stragglers slipped through the net." Anser phrased it politely, but his tone carried an assertiveness that left little room for refusal.
He was getting rather tired of this old man. The fact that he was still addressing him respectfully was already quite courteous.
Alamir froze. He had thought Anser was going to make trouble for him, only to discover that this was all he wanted.
"Isn't the Federation going to take over the Mages' Guild?" he asked tentatively.
"Of course it can. If you're busy, I can find someone to handle it for you. I know Lady Safahr of Waterdeep and a Chosen of Azuth. I can ask someone to come help." Anser looked at him with a faint, knowing smile.
"Huh?" Alamir's face looked as though he'd suddenly become constipated. "I am indeed rather busy..."
"In that case, I won't make things difficult for you. Go take care of your business." Anser cut him off. "I'll contact the Magic Research Society and ask them to send someone over to manage things for the time being. Once you're no longer busy, we can arrange the handover."
Alamir's body jolted, and he suddenly felt a little dizzy. He drew a deep breath.
"Then... thank you very much!"
He understood perfectly well that the Mages' Guild was slipping farther and farther away from him.
"Mr. Alamir, go pack your things and issue an announcement while you're at it. There's no rush. I'll wait for you." Anser didn't hurry him, leaving the time to Alamir.
Hearing that, Alamir relaxed, and most of his resentment dissipated.
Anser was clearly giving him time to take away everything that belonged to him: the treasures in the secret vault, the books in the library, and his trusted subordinates.
So Anser wasn't after the guild's wealth at all. The things Alamir valued were things Anser discarded like worn-out shoes. The sheer purity of it left Alamir momentarily dazed.
If a Draconic Bloodline Sorcerer wasn't greedy for wealth, then what was he greedy for?
From beginning to end, Alamir had never believed those registered wizards and apprentices had any real value.
In the eyes of a refined egoist, those people were nothing more than tools for making money. Like flowing water, one batch left and another arrived, and their numbers never diminished.
Anser couldn't be bothered with what Alamir was thinking. Watching him hurry away, he found the whole thing rather amusing.
He planned to establish a comprehensive magic academy on the Rock of Bral. With the Bral Mages' Guild already in hand, didn't that give him teachers, apprentices, and teaching materials all at once?
Apprentices were talent too. If they couldn't become wizards, he could throw them into administrative positions for some practical experience, and before long they'd be capable of handling responsibilities on their own.
These people were all foundations of governance. They wouldn't produce visible results in the short term, but they could rally popular support and lay a solid foundation for the Federation.
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