Lord Alwen Graymane

Lord Alwen Graymane was a respected mage and advisor to King Rennyn. Controlled and precise, every spell struck exactly where he intended.

Then he investigated a fey ruin in the Western Lowlands. The details remain unclear. Something about a mirror, a threshold, a bargain he didn't realize he was making. When he returned to Wilhelmdale, his magic was broken.

He can still cast spells. He just can't aim them.

He tries to hit an enemy directly in front of him and the spell veers left and strikes someone fifty paces away. He aims at a charging warrior and the magic curves around and hits an archer on the ridge behind them. He targets the mage throwing fireballs and his spell finds a scout hiding in the trees. Random, unpredictable, completely beyond his control.

Some in the Royal Court called him cursed. Others called him useless. Alwen called himself "inconvenienced" and continued his duties.

When King Rennyn ordered forces mobilized against Mahkah Hemlig, Alwen volunteered.

"You're a nobleman, Alwen. And you can't aim anymore."

"Mahkah tears the land apart. The Conclave seeks power that could destroy us all. And you're concerned about my aim?"

"You might hit our own soldiers."

"I'll definitely hit someone. And it won't be our side."

"How can you possibly know that?"

"The curse is precise in its imprecision. It hits enemies, just never the ones I'm aiming at."

The king considered, then nodded. "Very well. Oh, and if you see Taye Loreswift among the fellowship, tell her I found her latest ballad transcendent."

"I'll pass along your regards."

The march east was strange. Alwen's allies kept a wary distance. During drills, he'd aim at practice targets and hit completely different ones. Every time, without fail. As they approached the Broken Lands, he tested his magic. Aimed at a boulder and hit a tree. Aimed at the tree and hit a rabbit. Aimed at nothing in particular and hit a Conclave scout watching from concealment half a mile away.

He found Captain Maud Stonefoot standing alone, water dripping from her beard.

"Rough curse?" he asked.

"I'm a dwarf who leaks water like a soggy sponge. You?"

"Mage who can't aim."

They stood in silence.

"We're a disaster," Maud said.

"We are." Alwen conjured a small flame and watched it drift away to ignite a distant campfire he hadn't been aiming at. "But perhaps that's what's needed."

When they reach Mahkah's forces, Lord Alwen Graymane will cast his spells and let the curse decide who dies. He can't aim. But the enemy will fall anyway.