Chapter 01

—Thud—

Milo hit the ground—hard. There was a brief moment of silence before he heard the sound of chairs being slid back on a stone floor and people rising to their feet.

He wasn't alone.

Milo quickly glanced around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. He was in some sort of dining room, lying face-up on a hardwood table. The room was richly appointed, and Milo was keenly aware of their solid brass candlesticks, as one was currently poking him most uncomfortably in the lower back. Most notable, however, were the half-dozen figures sitting around him. They were evil—like, really, obviously evil. Black robes. Masks. Hells, there was even a chandelier.

It didn't take Milo long to realize he should be putting his Improved Initiative to good use. As the cultist—these guys had to be in some sort of cult—who was sitting at the head of the table reached up the sleeve of his robe for a wand, Milo unleashed sparkly arcane fury.

"Avada Kedavr—Aaaah!" the cultist was cut off.

"Glitterdust!" A cloud of blindingly bright, glowing golden particles exploded out of Milo's outspread hands, covering the cultists and their furniture. The cultists clutched at their masks, temporarily blinded by the spell. Milo paused, briefly stunned. He'd gotten all of them? Surely, as primary casters, they'd have a higher Will save than that... oh well, think later, escape first.

Taking advantage of their condition, Milo rolled off the table and made a dash for the window. Standard action to stand up, move action to hustle and jump... he figured he'd make it just in time. There was a surprisingly painful crash (note to self: never jump through glass again) and Milo found himself in freefall. The window, it seemed, was roughly seven storeys aboveground.

"Feather Fall," Milo muttered, slowing his descent. As his feet gently touched the ground, he took stock of his surroundings. He was standing in the grounds of a rural manor, in the middle of some carefully kept gardens. The only thing between him and freedom was a clear shot over flat ground with the occasional shrub and a low fence. As he began to run, the cultists, judging by the hail of magic, recovered from their temporary blindness. An unfamiliar sparkling green bolt of light struck a shrub next to Milo, causing it to rapidly turn brown and wither.

Gulp.

"Mirror Image," Milo cast, summoning a trio of identical illusory copies of himself. The four Milos bolted in different directions, splitting the cultist's fire between them. As Milo approached the edge of the manor grounds, he noticed some distinctly unfamiliar mountains in the distance. The sky, he noticed, was missing a pair of moons.

"Crap," Milo muttered. He must have gotten hit with a Plane Shift or Greater Teleport, which was improbable, because both of those were well beyond even the supremely dark power of the Fell Lord, Thamior the Thaumaturge...

One of the illusory Milo's was hit with one of those weird green spells, vanishing instantly. As another of his doubles went down, Milo hopped the fence and ducked behind it briefly. His next spell took a little longer to cast than the others had, but Milo hoped it would pay off.

"Mount," he said quietly after concentrating for a few seconds. Next to him appeared a grey pony, which, except for its eyes—which were glassy and lifeless—appeared all but indistinguishable from a natural one. Unlike the mirror images, the mount was real—depending on your definition of real, of course. It was real enough to get him the Hells out of here.

Milo awkwardly pulled himself into the saddle (he never was much of an equestrian, as Skill Points were few and far between for a Wizard) and kicked the summoned pony's rump with his heels. As he was catching his breath, thinking of how close his run-in was (if that spell could just kill a plant like that, imagine what it could do to him? Milo's Fortitude save was lower than a serf's daily wage) he heard a loud crack from his left. One of the cultists suddenly appeared, wand brandished threateningly.

"Glitterdust!" Milo cast again, burning his last 2nd-level spell. As before, the burst of golden light blinded the dark wizard. If another one shows up, I'll have to resort to harsh language...

"They can teleport?" Milo shrieked. "That's a 5th-level spell! This is way beyond my ECL! I call shenanigans. Shenanigans!" But nobody responded. Who he was even talking to was unclear, as there wasn't another soul—except for the blinded Death Eater—in sight. After several minutes of galloping, Milo decided to rein his pony in for a short break while he considered his options.

Now you may be wondering, "what the heck is going on?" And that's a perfectly valid question, but unfortunately, Milo is as confused as you are. Perhaps a brief description of our perplexed hero is in order. As far as Milo is concerned, the information written on his character sheet sufficed as description: True Neutral, Wizard 3, Human, Male, Age: 11, Weight: 71 lbs (his world runs on the imperial system, the poor barbarians), Height: 4'9'', Hair: brown, Eyes: brown. And you may be thinking, "eleven years old? That seems a little young to be a Wizard." And you're right. Most Wizards, from where Milo comes from (more on that later) are at least seventeen before they become even a level one Wizard. Milo, however, managed to pull a fast one involving starting life as a Rogue and doing some retraining. "But wait," you protest. "That jargon doesn't mean anything to me at all. And even if it did, the minimum starting age for a human Rogue is still 16." But unfortunately, you don't have time to worry about problems like that, because Milo is, in fact, being attacked by a Death Eater on a broomstick. See what happens when you nitpick?

"Avada Kedavra!" the evil flying cultist shouted, making weird gestures with his wand. Milo felt his pony suddenly go limp beneath him as its heart stopped. Milo collided with the ground for most of his remaining Hit Points (Milo dumped Constitution during character creation, which seemed like a really good idea at the time). Weakly, he staggered to his feet as the cultist came around for another pass.

"You know, there's a reason most Wizards prefer to use a Phantom Steed to a Broom of Flying," Milo muttered. "That reason is Grease!" he said, with a complicated hand gesture to accompany the last word. He cast the spell, not targeting the cultist but his broomstick, which became nearly frictionless. Without any sort of safety strap or foot petals, the broomstick continued accelerating while the cultist, unfortunately, did not. Before meeting the ground, the cultist vanished with another distinctive popping sound. Milo frowned. What kind of cultist can cast save-or-die spells multiple times, teleport, afford a Broom of Flying, and yet not manage a simple Feather Fall? Maybe they're some obscure non-core class? Milo thought. Well, time to loot the corpse. A Broom of Flying would make an excellent replacement for his ex-pony, which was already starting to fade out of existence now that the magic keeping its form together was gone.

As Milo searched for the broomstick, he let his mind wander again. The last thing he'd done before slamming into that table in the manor house was confront the Supremely Evil Fell Lord Thamior the Thaumaturge (try putting that on a business card) with his companions. Everything was going according to plan, then suddenly... table. Milo was sure Thamior hadn't had a chance to get a spell off, especially not one of this magnitude. Maybe something over here pulled him across? Why in the Prime Material would anyone want to summon Milo, of all things? Milo shuddered to think of what Thamior was doing to his party without his arcane support. It was probably going to be his job upon returning to raise funds for three Raise Deads, because a thief, a meatshield, and a glorified box of band-aids against Thamior's power spelled T-P-K.

Milo stumbled across the broomstick, which had flown into the ground, point-first. He confidently pulled the stick out of the dirt, straddled it, and leapt into the air. Nothing happened except that Milo looked rather foolish.