|"The Miser of Sorcery"|
Some gods of magic are generous with their wonderful gift, spreading it to bloods all over the planes, hoping they'll teach the art in turn and make every berk a spellslinger. Not Math Mathonwy.
He is, like Diancecht, fiercely possessive of his skills. Unlike the god of medicine, though, Mathonwy uses his abilities freely only for himself and his family, withholding his touch from others. But he's fascinated by any new type of magic and might be persuaded to part with some of his secrets in exchange for a truly new spell.
His realm is called Corriegrave. It's on the first Mount of Gehenna, nestled under an overhand of pure obsidian. Lava freshets pour over the ledge occasionally; a traveller to Corriegrave must keep careful watch when entering and leaving the realm to avoid a shower of lava.
A cutter who ducks the magma must then travel along a long tunnel. Eventually, he'll reach Corrieton, an ancient city that seems open to the air above. A high castle sits atop a twisted hillock overlooking this burg, and Mathonwy sits within, his feet always in the lap of a beautiful maiden. But Corriegrave is free of Gehenna's usual volcanoes, lava, and steam. Fact is, a visitor might think he's stepped through to another plane.
The realm's air is gray and charged, as though awaiting an impending explosion. Anyone versed in magic can recognize the feeling as the essence of magical energy. 'Course, the essence is clearly marked as the property of Math Mathonwy; any berk who tries to use magic in the realm draws the immediate wrath of the god himself.
It keeping with his stingy nature, Mathonwy doesn't dole out any of his power to proxies. Anyone who wants to be a proxy can petition the god, but chances are the poor sod'll be turned into a beast for his trouble.