They're nothing. Nothing but weak, indolent fools who play at being mages.
That oaf Hallgrod, a hireling who should by all accounts be swiftly expelled from his position to give room to those who rightly deserve a position. How he even got the position under Spellwright Varsva is a mystery that Sotha Sil himself could not unravel.
Sniveling Balver, always whining, a cretinous retainer who thinks his scheming goes unnoticed, but not by my watchful eyes. Not when his back is turned and he thinks he's safe, no. I observe his every movement and know of his plots. Worst of all, he reeks of some pungent stink.
Then there's Oathman Llaro, a churlish upstart who will sooner than later fall. He may hold rank for a short time but sooner rather than later he will err and I will capitalize on his hubris.
Spellwrights Varsva and Moran will see that I am worthy than all of those before, these imbeciles, and that even though my ability to weave magic may leave something to be desired, I'm still a servant whose ambitions surpass even the highest of magisters. I alone can maneuver the ranks, and I find openings where they are left open for me, and create my opportunities where at first they may have appeared invisible to those untrained.
The magisters will soon see the talent they've overlooked and what a sharp mind and deft hand can bring for them. If only I can get my opening.
