Despite all popular beliefs the Mad Mages Maze (or triple M,) was not named for the mental state of its creator per se. (That would of course have been an absolute jerk move.) But rather for their temperament at the point of creation.

Enola Emevael, the mage in question was something of a hermit, who due to her unique expertise in her field of magical structural engineering had been forced by circumstance for many years to lecture on the subject. She endured years upon years of constant calls to lecture at prestigious magical academies the world over. While secretly gathering the components required to free herself from her bonds, via the mythical route known as tenure. (Hey if they can’t fire you why would you need to show up?)

When this failed she resorted to plan B, B in this case meaning of course blackmail. Over several years she amassed enough dirt on her erstwhile employers that she could attain her freedom, and with it the hikikomori lifestyle she so desperately desired.

Unfortunately for her this plan met with failure, as she was trapped by the role of consultant, meaning that despite her desperate plotting, and substantial savings to ensure she never had to step outside and deal with people again people still kept coming in. So she wasn’t mad per se, she was bloody livid (She had blackmailed all those lecturers and headmasters fair and square gods dammit.)

Finally at the end of her rope Enola turned to a combination of the magic she was strongest at, and several samples from the hostile botany department, to produce a labyrinth as antisocial as she was. Every time guests came in they found the maze had altered itself in new and baffling ways. Passages would twist round like snakes, and could even cut off in the privy pit. The walls were soundproofed in some places to the point where you could hear the food churning in your guts, and the blood in your veins. Then two steps further down the passage a fart would leave your ears ringing for weeks, via a volume spell, and very creative use of echoes.

Some rooms could best be described as a pool house (in the sense that they were full of water to the ceiling,) and other passages would suddenly decide to start a new career as a slide as soon as you set foot on them. If you were lucky that day they wouldn’t even drop you down into the hostile botany section. Or a random spot in the mazes kitchens. (The last place on earth anybody wants to randomly drop into, except of course the aforementioned privy pit.)

Thus Enola finally got exactly what they wished for, a quiet and uninterrupted life.

The maze however over time made for a rather unique and sometimes painful problem, what exactly do you do with a gargantuan maze with the mind of a hermit, a temper, and a predilection for potentially painful practical jokes and pranks in their many and varied forms?

Well the sensible answer to that would of course have been you leave it the hell alone. But Wizards and Mages despite their many many differences (which usually consist of both sides yelling how they are in fact nothing like the other, despite any and all evidence to the contrary,) are not exactly known for being sensible.

As a result the maze had been through multiple different jobs over the years. Each with interesting, catastrophic, or merely amusing outcomes depending how much their presence annoyed and/or amused the maze.

It had been at one point a music hall (an unfortunate incident involving a tuba had quickly made the mazes disapproval of that plan apparent, and had left the entire orchestra with ringing ears for three weeks afterwards. With the exception of the triangle player, who the maze felt sorry for.) The Parents Teacher Association conference centre. (Ten seconds from arrival to Privy Pit.) The academy dance committee (not only did maze like them it actively helped in the planning stages, until the committee was cut due to budgetary concerns. The chap who approved the cut wound up saving the academy money on the hostile botany department budget in the long run after being silly enough to step into the maze, providing means, and motive to a sentient maze that already had the intent. Though in all fairness the Star-shine sundew that year did extremely well.) A chemistry and alchemy lab, (all things considered this was not their brightest idea, and the results were fairly predictable.) Then finally a greenhouse for the academies finest examples of hostile botany. (Which the maze kept, resulting in the mages finally realising they had literally no use for the maze. But also had absolutely no idea how to go about demolition of a piece of literal hostile architecture, particularly not one that was keen to take you apart if you even tried it.

The place was eventually abandoned, and became a hotbed of carnivorous plants, used only for dares and bets. Until one day a group of students realised something, the passages made a superb obstacle course for the type of person who says “wow dude you broke your leg on that? SICK." This led to the creation of a whole new class of racing flying machines, which the academy pretended not to notice. (While the faculty staff placed bets on them,) until eventually a student let the cat out of the bag.

From there of course things got more complicated, as the board set up liability waivers for the competitors, and stands for the audiences they could now acknowledge existed, and the entry fee for the stands went straight back into the academy budget. Win win really.

Over the years the races became more and more complex, and the maze tolerated them, even if nothing else. On the grounds that it allowed them to knock the stuffing out of a few people, and the silliness entertained it. While the board allowed it on the grounds it was cheaper than expelling the students for doing it in secret. Thus began The Wand Prix.