Toth realized it was cold. That was the sensation that brought him out of a relatively peaceful slumber: His bedroom was cold. Stifling a yawn, he got out of his comfortable bed, out from under the warmth trapped by the goose-down blanket, knowing full well that it would be cold when he went to sleep that night. He shambled his way towards the privy, deciding to take care of cleaning himself up before his breakfast. He washed his face and then shaved away the growing stubble, while again examining his features.

His face was thin, graceful, his pale skin blemished only by the brown field of stubble beneath his mouth. Toth's attention carried over the rest of his face as he angled his head to get at the sides, exposing his ever slightly pointed ears to his sight. Toth paused to stroke them with some reverence, as they were a reminder that no matter his birth, no matter his power, this heritage of his elven mother was his, and were enough to say he was a member of the elven people. He then turned his head back, staring into the refection of the part of him that said otherwise to all who recognized them, his eyes of golden amber. Eyes that reflected the power that was his birthright, and reminded him of the price paid for that power.

Turning from the mirror, Toth headed back to his bedroom in order to get dressed. Both for the sake of modesty and to protect himself from the elements that he knew had turned the streets of Elf-land into a ghost town. After choosing a dark blue shirt and a green pair of slacks, he then proceeded to don the blue-black robe and cloak of his order, wrapping his face in a black scarf until only his eyes could be seen from beneath the wide brim of his tall pointed hat. He then slipped on a pair of winter boots, and walked out the door.

Outside it was beautiful. The snow lay across the streets in pristine elegance, the sunlight creating beautiful patterns across the drifts of snow. As Toth walked down the street, he was accompanied by the soft crunching sound his boots made against the powdered ice. It seemed he was the only soul in the entire city, as the streets remained devoid of life. Not surprising, due to the fact that the Elves preferred the warmer months of spring and summer, where life could be seen on every corner, in every blade of grass. To the elves, winter was the presence of death, anathema to their teachings on the sanctity of life. It was this very reason that Toth preferred the winter months, for he was a black mage, one who could command the very elements themselves to do his bidding. With but a wave and a word he could bring fire, summon ice or even call down the lightning itself from the heavens. Powers of death and destruction were at Toth's beck and call, and for that reason, he was a pariah amongst his people. For such was the price of power.

He was interrupted from his musings, when he was struck in the back of the head by a snowball. He figured it was a snowball, because with the poor harvest this year, very few would dare to waste fruit in deriding him. He turned around, looking upon two children, who had been playing against each other in the snow, one of their errant missiles striking him by pure accident. The fact that is was not a direct insult gave Toth some consolation as the children screamed as if the dead risen to claim them, before running away, likely back to home to tell their mothers how he had driven them away from their games. As his texts almost always said in their preface, that people often feared power, and thus to have power was to be alone.

Now, it wasn't that Toth was actually evil. It was more to the fact that many people were unable to understand why one would become a black mage. Many felt that it was pure ambition, that one became a black mage because they would not be sated with anything less than the raw, unbridled power black magic brought. There were those who felt that a black mage lived only to destroy, and that their magic was a gift from the dark gods themselves; and there was even a small minority who felt that the black mages were simply cursed, their magic corrupted for whatever reason, usually a grievous sin committed by an ancestor.

They were each in their own way correct, but incorrect as well. It was true that one had to have ambition to master black magic, and that the majority of their spells were destructive, yet it was also true that a black mage was cursed for studying their art. Cursed to be a pariah, someone who would only receive respect out of fear of what he could do, to have to earn a living as a mercenary, unlike the white or red mages who could turn their spells to an honest profession. But then there was the truth most people were unaware of, and that truth was that in the grand scheme of things, black magic had great importance. White magic was representative of the giver of life and of creation. Without it, nothing would ever grow or be born. But it would never change. Black magic was its opposite, bringer of death and destruction, but it also brought change, vitality, and passion. Black magic represented the opposite end of the cosmic spectrum, where the harsher aspects of nature lay. Fire was destructive, but it when it destroyed it left the land clean to grow anew. Ice brought an end to growth before growth could lead to stagnation, marking the end of the life cycle. And while the powers of the raging storm could flatten entire towns, it brought vitality to the natural world around the town so that the people could harvest food for their families. To be a black mage was to have great power, and this was the power Toth had paid for.

He continued down the city streets, musing on his magic as he always did, doing his best to ignore how his own people despised him and took to blaming him for anything that would go wrong, making his way to the grand library, where upon entering he was greeted by the countless faces of the books that helped him along his path of arcane knowledge. He passed down rows and aisles like gardener would his vineyard, his fingers brushing along the covers, until he found the text he sought.

Wrapped in leather that had been stained midnight blue by those who had bound it together originally, it was a text of monsters, or more specifically, their ecologies, and what components for spells could be harvested from them. He whiled way the hours at a desk, reading how the venom harvested from a giant scorpion could be distilled into the making of an elixir of healing, and the number of years it took to boil dragon's flesh until it was fit for human consumption. He was left undisturbed, save for a librarian lighting a candle beside him when it got too dark to read by sunlight.

Finally, he had finished a fascinating dissertation on vampires, put the book on the cart to be put back on the shelf, and began to head home. As before, the trip was uneventful, save for the graffiti wich now was painted across the door to his home. All this meant to Toth was that it was but another sign that he should leave the next time his human brother Hugo stopped by, and travel as part of that group of mercenaries he was in. In fact, the more he dwelled on the topic, as he set about preparing a fairly meager supper, the more it felt a good idea.

He ate his supper in silence, Hugo's offer further sticking in his mind, then prepared to sleep for the night. And, as he suspected far earlier that morning, his bed was cold.

With a somewhat amused look as the thought drifted through his mind, he said

"A cold bed is a small price to pay for power."