59 Some years ago, the planeswalking thaumaturge Wyman Stoddart settled down on a quiet, largely uninhabited world that was rich with the magical energy he had dedicated his life to studying. He built yet another laboratory there- a proper lab and a home, not one of those makeshift affairs he had slapped together so many times before. He thought he would live out the rest of his days in peace there, studying his craft. And so he did... at least for a while. But eventually, like so many times before, he started running into dead ends in his research. His thirst for knowledge required new tools, new ideas, new inspiration that could not be found within his library. But above all, he needed an apprentice, someone to whom he could pass all the knowledge he had gained over his lifetime and who would continue his studies of the arcane.
So he picked up his old staff and armor, and set off into the multiverse once again. World after world he visited, spending only enough time on each to make a rough estimate of if it would be worthwhile to spend more time there. He would appear on a plane, wander around for a few hours or a few days, take a few notes, and vanish again just as swiftly. When he tired of this preliminary exploration, he thought, he would review the notes he'd taken and choose a few of the most interesting-looking planes to study in more detail.
But it was not to be. On one of his then-routine exploratory trips, he emerged into reality in the space between two rustic-looking buildings. He'd barely gotten his bearings when he was tackled by a couple of thugs who'd seen his arrival and evidently thought that the brilliantly-glowing purple orb at the end of his staff was of great value. One of them grabbed the orb and tugged; it popped off in his hand. The other tried to take the staff, but Wyman kept his grip and, with a quick jab, sent the men running.
When Erindal and company came into view, they saw facing away from them a man wearing leather boots and a full suit of armor made of a purple metal none of them had seen before. Strapped to his back was a book of some kind and at his hip, a leather pouch that he was currently reaching into. He withdrew another purple orb from the pouch, affixed it to the end of his staff, and aimed it at the men who'd mugged him only moments before. Some rocks and clumps of dirt out in front of Wyman rose into the air, but the thugs were already out of range. With a sigh, Wyman turned around, taking stock of his surroundings. Now, Erindal and company could see that in addition to his armor, he was wearing a pair of gold-rimmed goggles with purple-tinted lenses. What could be seen of his face was covered in wrinkles, and he had a long, silver beard. When he saw Erindal and company watching him, he took a step back, not sure whether they'd be friendly or not.
