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Guest
Guest
"And so our fate is sealed"
The aged magician turned from the window overlooking the Bay of Sorrow. He had been staring out that very window more and more in the recent weeks, something the others in the room had noted with some unease. More than once they had found him gazing out upon those calm waters, unaware of their presence, seemingly lost in thoughts that weighed heavily upon his brow. He scanned the room with sorrowful eyes and continued...
"The Guildmasters near the end of our final quest," he spoke softly. "And when we succeed, for succeed we shall, our powers and influence shall cease to be."
The silence remained unbroken for a long minute, then a small voice spoke from the rear of the room. "Forever?"
"No." The mage leaned on his staff. "This new age shall endure long, and many changes will come to our way of life. None in this room can hope to avoid it, and none shall outlive it. But, all is not lost. Our knowledge need not die with it, should we act now to preserve our ancient heritage as mages and warriors of this land."
"Wherein lies thy hope, Dahakon?" demanded a voice from the front row. "What magery is of use against the end of magic itself?"
Dahakon's dry chuckle stilled the murmur of the crowd. "Was it not you, Hector, who wrote the scrolls describing this new age?" With that, he strode across the room to a table laden with mystical artifacts. He peered for a moment, selected a small jewel, and raised it high. The stone began to glow with ethereal power, seeming to sheath his arm in it's light.
"In this new land lies our only hopes!" he cried, his eyes blazing in the stone's violet aura. "We must preserve our heritage, embody it, before all is forgotten. You must seek this land, for it is our demise as well as our salvation."
"And who shall do this?" scoffed a voice from the crowd. "You, Dahakon? You have made your distate for this new land clear to all of us. Clear as the nose on thy face."
The jewel's glow faded with the words, and the mage replaced it with a sigh. "Nay, not I, Meridius. I am bound to this land, as desolate and barren as it is becoming. And, I am far too old to make the journey." He strode back to the center of the room. "The fabric of our magic is unravelling. We dare not rely on it's power, or our influence, for protection. Another way we must seek. This I have seen."
Hector's voice was skeptical. "And suppose we succeed, what becomes of us then?"
the old mage turned once more to the sea. "Then we shall begin a new way of life, a new age. We shall write a new chapter in the long tome of our history." his voice was trembling. "And this chapter I cannot write for you."
And so it was spoken, and so it came to pass. The last meeting of the High Council of RavenOak was concluded, and the mages, warriors and craftspeople slowly filed from the tower. Some stopped for one final look, the rest trudged away with nary a backward glance. Those that did stop beheld only a structure of stone, it seemed diminished somehow. Once a mighty stronghold, almost crackling with the ethereal power of the mages that lived there, pulsing with the strength of the warriors, it was now merely a home for one aging sorceror, who stood at the window, leaning on his staff.
He watched his fellows leave to seek their new fortunes.
"Farewell, old friends, we have served well. I will not ask any of you to endure in this darkened land any longer. Go, seek your own fortunes. May safe paths guide thy way, and friendly faces greet thee when ye arrive."
With that, he turned from the window, strode across the room, and passed his hands over the stone that bound them together. A crack appeared in it's face, then spread over the runes inscribed there. At that moment, the rings of the High council ceased to glow, and fell unnoticed from the hands of their bearers.
"And so it shall be." he whispered, and turned to face the darkened tower.....
And so it would be for an age out of mind. The days passed, the seasons changed. Births were celebrated, deaths mourned, and battles waged. Those that once made up the great land were mostly lost, as young and powerful warriors stepped into their palce. And in this fashion, most memory of RavenOak was lost. Those that once wielded arcane powers and brandished steel in it's name forgot the ways of old, adapting to the easier way of life offered by this enw land. Gold took their souls, greed blackened their hearts, and their spirits were lost in the quest for fortune...
Yet, in this time, unseen hands have shaped the gathering of those that would renew this way of life. Unbeknownst to those it would affect, these forces would push them together gently, and what follows are the tales of this time, as much as can be told by any mortal man, for only fate knows the true story....
The aged magician turned from the window overlooking the Bay of Sorrow. He had been staring out that very window more and more in the recent weeks, something the others in the room had noted with some unease. More than once they had found him gazing out upon those calm waters, unaware of their presence, seemingly lost in thoughts that weighed heavily upon his brow. He scanned the room with sorrowful eyes and continued...
"The Guildmasters near the end of our final quest," he spoke softly. "And when we succeed, for succeed we shall, our powers and influence shall cease to be."
The silence remained unbroken for a long minute, then a small voice spoke from the rear of the room. "Forever?"
"No." The mage leaned on his staff. "This new age shall endure long, and many changes will come to our way of life. None in this room can hope to avoid it, and none shall outlive it. But, all is not lost. Our knowledge need not die with it, should we act now to preserve our ancient heritage as mages and warriors of this land."
"Wherein lies thy hope, Dahakon?" demanded a voice from the front row. "What magery is of use against the end of magic itself?"
Dahakon's dry chuckle stilled the murmur of the crowd. "Was it not you, Hector, who wrote the scrolls describing this new age?" With that, he strode across the room to a table laden with mystical artifacts. He peered for a moment, selected a small jewel, and raised it high. The stone began to glow with ethereal power, seeming to sheath his arm in it's light.
"In this new land lies our only hopes!" he cried, his eyes blazing in the stone's violet aura. "We must preserve our heritage, embody it, before all is forgotten. You must seek this land, for it is our demise as well as our salvation."
"And who shall do this?" scoffed a voice from the crowd. "You, Dahakon? You have made your distate for this new land clear to all of us. Clear as the nose on thy face."
The jewel's glow faded with the words, and the mage replaced it with a sigh. "Nay, not I, Meridius. I am bound to this land, as desolate and barren as it is becoming. And, I am far too old to make the journey." He strode back to the center of the room. "The fabric of our magic is unravelling. We dare not rely on it's power, or our influence, for protection. Another way we must seek. This I have seen."
Hector's voice was skeptical. "And suppose we succeed, what becomes of us then?"
the old mage turned once more to the sea. "Then we shall begin a new way of life, a new age. We shall write a new chapter in the long tome of our history." his voice was trembling. "And this chapter I cannot write for you."
And so it was spoken, and so it came to pass. The last meeting of the High Council of RavenOak was concluded, and the mages, warriors and craftspeople slowly filed from the tower. Some stopped for one final look, the rest trudged away with nary a backward glance. Those that did stop beheld only a structure of stone, it seemed diminished somehow. Once a mighty stronghold, almost crackling with the ethereal power of the mages that lived there, pulsing with the strength of the warriors, it was now merely a home for one aging sorceror, who stood at the window, leaning on his staff.
He watched his fellows leave to seek their new fortunes.
"Farewell, old friends, we have served well. I will not ask any of you to endure in this darkened land any longer. Go, seek your own fortunes. May safe paths guide thy way, and friendly faces greet thee when ye arrive."
With that, he turned from the window, strode across the room, and passed his hands over the stone that bound them together. A crack appeared in it's face, then spread over the runes inscribed there. At that moment, the rings of the High council ceased to glow, and fell unnoticed from the hands of their bearers.
"And so it shall be." he whispered, and turned to face the darkened tower.....
And so it would be for an age out of mind. The days passed, the seasons changed. Births were celebrated, deaths mourned, and battles waged. Those that once made up the great land were mostly lost, as young and powerful warriors stepped into their palce. And in this fashion, most memory of RavenOak was lost. Those that once wielded arcane powers and brandished steel in it's name forgot the ways of old, adapting to the easier way of life offered by this enw land. Gold took their souls, greed blackened their hearts, and their spirits were lost in the quest for fortune...
Yet, in this time, unseen hands have shaped the gathering of those that would renew this way of life. Unbeknownst to those it would affect, these forces would push them together gently, and what follows are the tales of this time, as much as can be told by any mortal man, for only fate knows the true story....