I was strong in my absence, though my skills as an Isyan Mage may have diminished over time, my interests evolved and expanded. I sought out new adventures in other lands; I became an Archmage of a magical college and helped squash an upstart rebellion while learning the Way of the Voice in a far off, snowy land. I helped a sentient plant species defend their home world against an undead invasion. I even helped a red-suited, loud-mouthed mercenary save the world from a Sinister villain, we celebrated with a feast of chimichangas afterwards.... but I could not avoid this calling any longer.
With each passing month, the messages became more desperate. The messages came, one by one, trying desperately to feed on my sentimentality. The letters told me that my friends needed me, yet never got into specifics. Later letters spoke of further exploration and that my help was needed on these expeditions. With each letter came promises of rewards, and with each letter I ignored, the bounty grew more abundant. The desperation was clear to me, but I thought I had calloused myself enough to resist.
I did not. I fetched my Storas Wand from the trophy case in my Winterhold quarters. It was time to return to the world where my legend was born.
