Aakuta tripped and fell to the ground near the rear of the temple on the Island of Darkness. He cursed under his breath as he heard a bone crack as his body hit the ground. The added pain of a new cracked rib was not even noticed by the dark mage. His body was continually wracked with pain every moment of the day, a result of the curse put upon him by Dobuk, the Fallen One.

Aakuta closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on peaceful and serene thoughts. He had found that if he concentrated hard enough, the pain dulled somewhat, although it was never bearable. He had almost succeeded in transporting his mind elsewhere when someone brutally kicked him in the head. Aakuta’s hands instinctively rose to protect his face as he rolled over to gaze upon his torturer. Aakuta snarled when he recognized Xavo, a young mage in the service of Vand.

Xavo was an egotistical fool. Although he was handsome and had mastered a great deal of magic, the young mage lacked common sense and consistently overrated his own power. Aakuta hated him.

Xavo never passed up a chance to humiliate Aakuta, especially if there were others around to enjoy the demonstration. On this particular day, a dozen red-clad soldiers stood behind the young mage, laughing hard as the old mage’s plight.

“The great Aakuta,” sneered Xavo as his foot swung to deliver another blow to Aakuta’s head. “You aren’t so great any more, are you? Nobody goes against Vand and survives.”