The Fourth One's Wayward Call

[Swgrclan 2682]

The trek was harsh as it was cold. It was stepped with the jagged edges of the earth's footholds, and scattered with the frost of an undying winter, and it was within this harsh waste claimed by the stout and hardy that the Druid of Shadow sought answers. The Elder Druid was staunch against the cold, even as it scourged what bare skin was left, uncovered amongst his robe of leathers and furs. The climb was difficult, and it only led upward to the peak; the desired point of destination, for what else reaches higher, and offers better sight of the land that stretched before him? The land that harbored the secret that he, and brother Caladrius, sought; only led by visions and dreams that the Druid was granted in the premature stages of their search.

But he found nothing upon this frozen peak, cold and bitter in the face of these natural elements. Emptiness, but not silence, for such a blessing was replaced by the harsh whipping of the wind against the clawed tip of the mountain. But even then, the Elder Druid, weary and aged, cared little; he had meditated abask in the realm of hellfire, hailed by the Draakar. He had meditated abask in the darkness, hailed by the Aengul of Spiders. He had trekked to a mountaintop, and thus it was claimed by his; his place of meditation, by rite of his efforts.

The Druid's Elven, ashen ears twitched from the numbness of the cold as he sat upon a frost-laden surface of stone, untouched by the intricacies of vibrant green life. He sat, and he listened to what the world said to him.

It said to breathe.

It said to focus. It said to rest.

And thus, he closed his eyes.

And thus, he dreamt.

 

The Druid opened his eyes; staring into the bleak base of the mountain, but not the skies as he left them. He was abask, drifted into a snowstorm, but it's frost did not cripple him -- the Aspects' clawing brought him an inner-warmth, a desire to step onward - but the Elder Druid did not understand where, and the only direction known was up. So the Druid climbed, and the warmth grew.



While he struggled the mountain's steps, he did not tire. While imbalance forced him to his knees more often than not, he was not pained. The warmth grew into an incandescent force; a burning sun within his heart, a power which seeped into his blood and set it alite -- that churned a primeval energy yet unseen by mortal kind. Through the torrent of depthless white, the Druid of Shadow witnessed pillars of stone; standing tall and strong, hindered naught by the storm that was ceaseless and with no end in sight. The Druid approached this ruin, and with the warmth at it's burning peak in his heart, he heard a great roar.



The ruin was far too grand to witness all at once, and the Druid of Shadow was too allured by the bestial cry of what lingered within it. The arches hung over him ominously as he stepped past a doorway, and into a hallway that hosted warm flames and a tall door beyond. The crackling fire stole the sun within his heart, but quickly replaced it with a blanketing heat that assured him protection from the dreams' chill. The door was tall and foreboding; an asset to keep others out, to keep something in, or to exemplify the magnificence to this place?

No matter the reason of it's raising, the Druid pushed the door open and stepped into the next hall.



The hall was but a shattered mirror of the last; lacking of fire, lacking of warmth, but reveling in the shadow and the chill whence drawn from the heart of the mountain. Far ahead was a collapse in the floor; a ruin that, without question, the Elder Druid paced towards and descended with utmost care. The darkness was almost blinding within this massive cavern he found after his descent, but it's edges were lined with light. Despite the lack of life he could feel here, there was another presence, and it felt naught that it watched from the cornered shadows, but from all around him -- judgeful, bitter, expectant, much like a parent to it's child. A path led onward through the shadowed cavern and rose with stone steps, and it was there he beheld greater divinity only mirrored in a past land, in a past form, warped by the Draakar's fire and shadow. But no more was this stone-scaled divinity corrupted to the core; it was wisdom, and it's stolen intellect extuded a warmth of it's own.



The grand dragon stared down upon him, and it was the very awe within the Druid of Shadow that blackened his sight, and dulled his mind; fading his gaze into nothingness, until the incandescence of wisdom, too, faded once more into obscurity.

He awakened, atop the mountain; cold, but warm.

[Raptorious 1899]

Caladrius stands atop the summit of the Sanctum, leaning against his black iron staff. His skin pale and his eyes gaunt, the 3 years of isolation and tireless searching having taken it's toll upon his body.

 

His silver white hair flow in the wind, escaping from beneath the edges of his iron mask,  his worn and torn crimson robes fluttering in the blowing wind as he looks out over night horizon.

 

Words of visions and dreams, dragons and blood and power float in his thoughts, having heard a number of the Druid of Shadow's previous premonitions. He glances down to his hand, thinking of how close he was to his goal. How he could almost taste the power, smell the blood. Touch divinity.

 

The Stone Serpent must be found.

 

The power of Blood will be mine.

 

 

((For those of you that didn't realise by now, Blood Magic 2nd Gen the introduction got ret-conned, the true introduction begins with this thread.))

[Avacyn 1712]

 

Atop the tower, standing by Caladrius' side, is the hooded and robed figure of Abigail, the Sorceress of Rhoswyn. She leans upon her oaken staff, the cold night wind and snow buffeting the two as she too gazes outward, though different thoughts pass through her own head. Raven-black hair peeks out from beneath the hem of her brown cloth hood, whipping in the blistering gale, breath escaping from her lips in foggy clouds. A curious sword hangs from her hip, sheathed in a plain scabbard, swaying with the wind.

"Do you think they'll come back empty-handed?" she asks the other, vibrant green eyes scanning the frozen landscape ahead of them. "Coren seems to be good at what he does."

Gaining no response from Caladrius, she sighs slightly, and continues to stare.

[Moot 1719]

Deep bellow the mountain lays a hollowed out hall, inside Kalameets sits at a wooden table, adorned with stacks of books and tomes. The air is thick with dust and cobwebs, and the room is silent. Kalameet bares an opened tome in his hands, each page baring no words or letters. Instead faintly glowing runic symbols scatter the pages. Regardless of the two eyeless sockets behind his blindfold, Kalameet stares down, seeming intent.

Thinking of recent events, his lips thin into a grim expression,

"I hope my apprentice is prepared for what is to come... Nevertheless, the Third Eye will continue to watch, for his sake."

[Glyc 234]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.