The low rumble of thunder echoed softly over the otherwise silent lands outside the old hut on the edge of the tall mountains. Embers burned low in the pit, illuminating the small room within with a soft red cast. A large table table sat in the middle covered with a scattered array of books, quills, ink bottles, parchments covered in various writings and drawings, and the occasional abandoned mug. Many artifacts from ages bygone lined the walls, trinkets of old druids lay dusty upon shelves. And in the corner, this huts lone occupant laid with soft snores matching the low rumble of the late summer storm outside.
His brows furrowed and his eyes opened with a red-gold light. Something was off. “What are you up to?” He asked the air about him. No answer came to him, and he groaned as he stood up. He walked over one of the trinkets, a mirror set on the wall and stood in front of it. But what he saw was not a reflection of himself, but that of a huge eye of a wrathful dragon glaring through the space.
“I asked, what are you up to Bronark.” He demanded, forcefully this time.
The words echoed in his mind’s eye. ‘You would think a boy who’ve I’ve been trapped inside for centuries would remember I cannot be up to anything whilst imprisoned as such..’
The old man growled. “Yet there is a shift that feels very distinctly like your doing…” He grumbled, turning away from the mirror and began to pack items into a backpack.
‘You know the rules, Ruarc.’ The dragon said, almost humoredly. ’You cannot interfere directly--’
“I know the damned rules.” The man snapped at the air. “But no one said I couldn’t pass knowledge off and see how they act.”
Within a couple of hours, the man emerged from his home. The storm was closer now, and the wind had began to pick up. It was odd for a storm of this magnitude to have grown in the late fall. But as the thunder rolled in the distance, the old druid couldn’t help but feel this was just a sign of what tidings this world would see in the near future. He turned to his house, his blue eyes burning bright and opened his mouth wide to allow flames hotter than the fires deep within the mighty mountain release and take hold of his home.
’So you’re determined, then.’
The man did not answer as he set off towards the south and east.
--
Two weeks have passed since that night as Ruarc stood upon sacred grounds in the middle of Penumbral. This was known as the Druid’s Mound, a small mountain with an abbey at the very top where in ancient times, mages from all over would come to train. There he waited for those who he had messaged along the way, the names and faces he had seen who’s destiny was tied with his own for the foreseeable future. He beckoned them to come, to meet him in the ancient hallways where no kingdom dared to touch.
And thus, he waited to see what would befall this land. Nay, this world. The chosen had been called.
His brows furrowed and his eyes opened with a red-gold light. Something was off. “What are you up to?” He asked the air about him. No answer came to him, and he groaned as he stood up. He walked over one of the trinkets, a mirror set on the wall and stood in front of it. But what he saw was not a reflection of himself, but that of a huge eye of a wrathful dragon glaring through the space.
“I asked, what are you up to Bronark.” He demanded, forcefully this time.
The words echoed in his mind’s eye. ‘You would think a boy who’ve I’ve been trapped inside for centuries would remember I cannot be up to anything whilst imprisoned as such..’
The old man growled. “Yet there is a shift that feels very distinctly like your doing…” He grumbled, turning away from the mirror and began to pack items into a backpack.
‘You know the rules, Ruarc.’ The dragon said, almost humoredly. ’You cannot interfere directly--’
“I know the damned rules.” The man snapped at the air. “But no one said I couldn’t pass knowledge off and see how they act.”
Within a couple of hours, the man emerged from his home. The storm was closer now, and the wind had began to pick up. It was odd for a storm of this magnitude to have grown in the late fall. But as the thunder rolled in the distance, the old druid couldn’t help but feel this was just a sign of what tidings this world would see in the near future. He turned to his house, his blue eyes burning bright and opened his mouth wide to allow flames hotter than the fires deep within the mighty mountain release and take hold of his home.
’So you’re determined, then.’
The man did not answer as he set off towards the south and east.
--
Two weeks have passed since that night as Ruarc stood upon sacred grounds in the middle of Penumbral. This was known as the Druid’s Mound, a small mountain with an abbey at the very top where in ancient times, mages from all over would come to train. There he waited for those who he had messaged along the way, the names and faces he had seen who’s destiny was tied with his own for the foreseeable future. He beckoned them to come, to meet him in the ancient hallways where no kingdom dared to touch.
And thus, he waited to see what would befall this land. Nay, this world. The chosen had been called.