"You are not a Mage Knight or a Battle Mage. You are a War Mage," the instructor's voice rang out, sharp and resonant, cutting through the noise of the training grounds. He stood at the center of the assembly, his armor gleaming like burnished bronze in the midday sun. Behind him, the banners of the War Mage Corps fluttered in the wind, their insignias depicting roaring flames and shattering earth.
The instructor was broad-shouldered and formidable, his scarred face a testament to countless battles. His piercing eyes swept over the group of recruits standing before him. "War Mages thrive in chaos," he continued, his tone fierce and unyielding. "While a Battle Mage may duel an enemy one-on-one, or a Mage Knight might lead the charge with blade and spell, you… you are something else entirely."
He began to pace, his heavy boots thudding against the ground. "A War Mage is not built for finesse. Your spells are not meant to incapacitate a single foe. They are meant to destroy armies, to reshape the battlefield itself. When the lines break and the skies burn, that is where you shine. You are the storm that sweeps away the enemy. Do not forget it."
The recruits stood at attention, their expressions a mix of awe and apprehension. Among them was a lanky young man with wild hair and a nervous twitch in his fingers. He raised a hand tentatively.
"Instructor Renald," the young man began, his voice trembling slightly, "if War Mages are so powerful, what stops us from… well, wiping out everything in our path?"
Renald stopped pacing and turned to face the recruit, his gaze cold and assessing. "Control," he said simply. "Raw power without discipline is as dangerous to your allies as it is to your enemies. A War Mage without restraint is a calamity waiting to happen. That is why you are here: to learn control, precision, and strategy. Any fool can unleash destruction. A true War Mage shapes it."
The young man swallowed hard and nodded, his nervousness replaced with determination. Renald resumed his pacing, his voice rising with intensity. "And then there are the Wardens," he growled. "Your natural enemy. They are the ones who will try to contain you, to neutralize your power. Wardens craft their precious arrays, their intricate traps, all to counter what we bring to the battlefield."
He spat on the ground, his disdain palpable. "But a Warden's strength is also their weakness. Their magic takes time, patience, and precision. They require stillness, focus. And we?" He slammed his fist into his palm. "We are chaos incarnate. We do not give them the luxury of time. We force them to act before they are ready. We break their carefully laid plans with raw, unrelenting force."
The recruits murmured amongst themselves, their resolve hardening. Renald's words ignited something within them: a fierce pride in their role, a determination to prove their worth.
"Remember this," Renald said, his voice low and commanding. "You are the fist that strikes first and the storm that leaves nothing standing. But never forget: power without purpose is meaningless. Your duty is not just to destroy but to ensure victory for those who fight beside you. A War Mage fights not for themselves, but for the army, for the mission. Fail in this, and you are nothing more than a weapon without a wielder."
He stopped and faced them fully, his eyes burning with intensity. "Now, take up your staves, your grimoires, your wands, and prepare. Today, you learn to command destruction. Tomorrow, you will become one."