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Thread: The Primeval Dark (IC)

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    Troll in the Playground
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    Nov 2014

    Default Re: The Primeval Dark (IC)

    24th of Abadius, Sunday - Time: 5:16 am (Morning) / AR 4707 (Winter)
    The Lost Coast Road; Sandpoint Hinterlands
    The Gap; Point 19: The Sacred Grove

    The old man rocked in his chair as he stuffed strange herbs, which was certainly not tobacco, within an oddly shaped pipe. He nodded as the woman finished her abridged recounting. "...The halfling then? Don't fret over that one, she'll be fine. Unfortunately, she cannot wake til she wakes herself. You can leave her with me." He lifted a finger to the edge of his pipe and the contents sparked to life, the use of a cantrip wasn't odd of course, but the spell itself was. There was no somatic or verbal component, and the light of the fire's glow burned with a deep purple and black. [Knowledge (Abstract) - DC10: Failed]

    She knew no name for a flame which acted in such as way. The herbs did not produce smoke nor burn, but rather seemed to glow, enveloped by the light. The leaves appeared to harden and grow transparent, as if slowly calcifying and becoming crystal. "I'd be more concerned for your friend, the witch. Playing with forces beyond her control while you're not looking is in poor taste." He brought the pipe to eye level, the wood had turned as clear as glass, he inspected the contents before turning the device around and taking a deep draw. He breathed out a puff of glittering light, like a nebulous cloud of infinitesimal stars. "Denil didn't bring you here for the shorty, I might not like the fool, but he's not completely daft. He saw something... and it scared him. That's why you're here." His gaze seemed to drift to the shadowy figure at Arina's side, he ignored the question she posed, but his dead steely gaze spoke volumes. "They spoke on your behalf. I've tended to these children for many years, but never have they shown a semblance of what you might call empathy. Not all who dwell between were once living, some even fear it. The weight of mortality." He scratched his bearded chin in contemplation, "I've tended to the young ones, as I have an accord with the Guardian of E'Auldordun. The master of the Guardians, a powerful creature named Wenyri. He comes every few years to ferry these children to their home within his world." He paused, shifting his gaze back at the woman, "I'm telling you this, because you need to understand. Understand they are neither ghosts nor of the spirits you can name. They have no attachment to you, yet they spoke for you. Now they can never return to their home."

    He took another puff from the unusual pipe, "You're haunted, but not in a conventional sense. Every creature who remains bound to the natural order of their world, is tied to it, literally. An essence of a sort, an energy links us all together; you, me... them. Before the Long Night, that was just a common belief among many spiritual sorts. Since the world changed, those beliefs had been revealed to some. We are each tied to that something, that balance, a grand web of energy called the Weave. In our own world, our own universe, there was once entities - elemental forces of a primordial existence, which tended to this Weave. Likely, long before this world existed, that web weakened and atrophied. These entities which tended to it fell dormant. Now some have awoken, but abandoned their duty, losing their sense of purpose and self. They have instead grasped at our individual threads, binding themselves to the creatures to which these threads are attached for their own means. Such crestfallen existences are called Relicuum spirits... and now one such entity has bound itself to you." The man slowly rose from his chair moving off to the side. He took careful steps, avoiding all of the strange fetishes and trinkets which lay scattered about. He approached a large cupboard, placing his pipe on top of the thing. Pulling a one small door open, he removed a small wooden box. The little thing seemed unassuming enough, though the wood which it was made was burned black. He carefully opened it revealing a securely placed bead the size of a marble. "The state which you've found yourself in... is a curse, don't doubt that. But that doesn't mean that's all it has to be. This vision you spoke of... and these foolish children's action. It is an auspicious sign. Some are born into a position conductive to their purpose, and some are born with a natural affinity which threatens to tip the balance... I think you might be the later, and I think they believe it too."

    He presented the box to Arina, displaying the small sphere still seated within. It looked like a fine polished marble-stone, simple and humble in design. "Wenyri spoke of it many times, that where was once a soul destined to bring balance between the realms of mortals and the Otherworlds. Perhaps it is you... or perhaps not, but the stone will find its own way. Take it. While you bear it you may receive the blessings of spirits and mortal souls alike, and to overcome your oppressor, you will need many. Aid every spirit you can, and prepare yourself to face this Relicuum while the time bought with these children's sacrifice remains..." The man placed the box down on a table before turning back around to reclaim his pipe and shuffle gingerly back over to his seat. "Wenyri should be along shortly to aid your friends..." He leaned back, closing his eyes wearily, "...I would not return to this place, but if you someday happen upon my grove, I will teach you what I can."

    Last edited by Mornings; 2018-07-08 at 04:02 PM.