Introduction

My name is Jazhir ibn Faheed, which means “son of Faheed” and thus begins my journal chronicling my experiences as an apprentice, of sorts, to the wizard Oslo the Great.  Honestly, I did not make up that title – it’s simply what people call you when you’re an extremely powerful and old spellcaster.  Before I begin my account of the present, I should tell you a little about me and how I ended up in my current situation. 

My father was a moderately successful merchant in the desert nation of Zakhara.  He was based primarily in the northern trade city of Wasat, but his business took him to many places around the land.  In Hazuz, also known as the City of Delights, he met a beautiful woman named Azeela and was enchanted by her (not literally – at least, I hope not.)  I favor her in appearance, with bronze skin and bright blue eyes.  Her hair was the color of honey where mine is dark, like my father’s.

Their courtship was a whirlwind and in a short time, they were married and a little over a year later, I was born.  Unfortunately, I have no memory of my mother.  Before my second birthday, she disappeared from our lives.  It took over 15 years to discover the truth about what happened to her, but that is another tale.

Though my mother was gone, I had a pleasant childhood.  My father provided me with everything I needed and more.  We traveled all over the country and had many wondrous experiences.  I danced in the fountains of Hazuz, rode camels across the desert sands, visited libraries and museums, and I even spoke with an ancient and powerful genie.

Most of our time was spent in Wasat.  The city was small and boring compared places around the country, but as soon as I was old enough to be allowed into the taverns, I knew I had found my calling.  The great Rawun, or bards as they are called in other lands, captivated my interest.  They told stories and sang songs and I could not get enough.  Soon, I was collecting tales and practicing them in my room until I was comfortable enough to perform in front of an audience.

At first, I was terrible, but I was determined to get better.  I took the money I had saved and enrolled in the bardic school in Wasat.  Things were going well until my father remarried.  I liked the woman and her family, but they did not approve of me or my lifestyle and to prevent any strife, I decided to move away.  My father gave me a large sum of coin, enough to start a new life.  Taking my few belongings, I moved to Hazuz and continued my training as a Rawun and garnered a small amount of prestige as I completed my basic training.  I performed for nobles and merchants, at theaters and taverns of all levels of wealth.

During one of my biggest performances, my life took another drastic turn.  In the middle of my second story at a high class tavern, I was suddenly transported to a dark, dingy lab.  Surrounding me on the floor was a mystic circle and standing in front of me was a wizened human male with long, stringy white hair and  wrinkled skin the color of old parchment.  He looked at me with milky eyes that were once blue and introduced himself as Oslo.  (I learned about the “Great” part later on from people that knew him.)

He told me a tale of how he had traveled to my homeland as a much younger man and trained as a Sha’ir, wizards who dealt with powerful spirits.  He summoned and bound a genie, a Jinni actually, named Jamale.  While in his service, she taught him much about magic and the elemental planes.  He also secured one wish from her.  He used this to be bound to her forever.  (I don’t know the exact terms of the wish itself, but that was the general idea).   Now, as a rule, genies do not like to be “bound” in any way, so she found a way around Oslo’s wish.  She conceived a child with him and thus, through their descendants, they were bound for all time.  When their child reached adulthood, the bond transferred to the child and Jamale was free.

This cycle has continued for generations and my mother was the last.  After her death, Oslo feared that the bond may finally have been broken, but then he learned about me and the rest is history in the making.  I have decided to keep a journal of my experiences as Oslo’s “apprentice”.  Someday, this may turn into a book of epic tales, assuming I live long enough.