It was to be a simple voyage, an ocean passage returning William Escobar 
to his father's estate in Panizo.  The waves were light, riffled by the 
steady breeze which carried him homeward.  The crew stood guard, scanning 
the waters for pirates, but the sea was empty of other vessels, friend or 
foe.  An uneventful journey, indeed... if only it had remained so.

It was late afternoon when the creature attacked.  Swooping in from the 
sun and shrieking like the oldest soul in Hell, a great winged monster 
tore the lookout from the ship's mast and flung him savagely to the deck.  
The velocity of its dive carried the creature past the ship before the 
crew could even react.  By the time they reached for their weapons, it 
was on them once again.  Opening one great clawed foot, it dropped a 
blazing orb onto the sails, setting them afire.  Within moments, the 
ravaging magical flames claimed all three masts and hissed their way down 
towards the deck.

Wisely valuing their lives over their ship, the crew dove for the lifeboats.  
William and the ship's other passenger, a man named Gregor, heard the panic 
abovedecks and quickly scaled the ladder from their quarters.  One 
glance at the hungry flames was enough to convince them to take their 
chances in a rowboat.  Together, they heaved a small craft over the side, 
leapt aboard, and paddled away with a strength neither man knew he had.  
Looking back at the ship, they saw the flames racing down the side of the 
hull, and knew they had narrowly escaped an agonizing death.  Their relief 
was soon pierced by horror, however, as a massive winged creature soared 
into view through the smoke, settled its eyes on them, and screamed.

On a rocky shore near his home town of Briala, Aren Cordelaine cast his 
line into the tidal pool, hoping to snare one of the silvertail trapped 
in its shallow waters.  Fresh fish would be a welcome addition to the 
evening menu at his family's inn.  As he twitched the lure skillfully 
through the water, his thoughts drifted far away, spinning vivid daydreams 
of adventure and glory.  These dreams were his constant companion, as the 
life of an innkeeper's son held little to recommend it to a young, 
headstrong man.

Aren's reverie was shattered by a nearby shriek, harsh and vicious, like 
nothing he had ever heard before.  Suddenly alert, he rushed to the edge 
of the rocks, peering down at the beach below.  A terrible sight greeted 
his gaze.  Two men, strangers, were under attack by a monstrous flying 
creature.  One of the men lay on the sand, torn and bleeding.  The 
other stood over him with a sword, trying desperately to fend off 
the shrieking beast.  His defiance was obviously futile -- 
the creature was larger than a full-grown bull and armed with a formidable 
beak and wicked claws.  Without thinking, Aren leapt into action, 
running down the rocks toward them.

He plunged recklessly across the sand, scaling knife held high, shouting 
loudly to distract the beast.  The monster, startled, withdrew momentarily. 
But after a brief hesitation, it suddenly dove forward to deal Aren 
a jarring blow.  Stunned, Aren stumbled back across the sand, relentlessly 
pursued by the creature.  In desperation, he threw up his hands to defend 
himself, knowing he was about to die.  But somewhere, in the blackest 
depths of his desperation, a power was born from terror and focused by 
a single wordless scream.  A blast of energy blazed forth from his 
outstretched hands and flashed the attacking monster into smoke and light.

Across the sand, William knelt beside the fallen Gregor.  A crimson shadow 
stained the sand around the older man's body, and his eyes focused on a point 
well past William's face.  His mouth opened and closed, trying to form words 
but producing only a harsh croak.  William hushed him, but Gregor forced 
himself to speak a single word -- "Consort".  With the determined strength 
of those who know their end is near, he drew forth a medallion and placed 
it in William's hand.  His eyes were pleading as he died.

William solemnly studied the medallion, but its glossy engravings offered 
no immediate revelation.  He tucked it away inside his pouch, and stood, 
suddenly remembering the stranger who'd saved his life.  Several yards away, 
that same stranger stood ashen-faced and motionless at the edge of a glassy, 
smoldering trench.  William crossed the sand and spoke to him, but it was 
long moments before Aren finally responded.

"What happened?", the young man asked, softly.  He held his slightly-smoking 
hands out before him, and looked searchingly at William's face as if the 
noble had somehow been the cause of the fierce blast.  William smiled and 
said, "Well, to begin with, you probably saved my life."  William explained 
that his father's household retinue contained the obligatory mage, who had 
once described an incident much like this.  He'd said that the gift of 
magical power often lay coiled within its possessor like a serpent under 
a rock, undetected until threatened.

William explained that the power which Aren's fear had unleashed was a 
great gift, but one which Aren must learn to control.  An untrained mage 
was unpredictable and dangerous, likely to inadvertently harm those that 
he loved.  As Aren had saved his life, William offered to take him to 
Panizo, to the Escobar family mage, for instruction and training in the 
use of his newfound talent.

Aren's mind reeled with reservations, doubts, fear of his own unexpected 
power, and then, suddenly, a wild exultation.  All of those dreams of 
adventure, of far-away lands and heroic deeds which seemed so abstract 
and distant while he labored at his at his father's inn, suddenly lay 
within his grasp.  Aren looked at William, his burgeoning hope answered 
in the noble's smile, and accepted his new future...