Sitting on a rock along the side of the gravel road he tirelessly traveled, Drae’tarn watched the mountain in the distance crumble into a shadow of it’s former self.
Vibrating in his hand, the orb shook.. Typically only when intense orb magic was used, the most he ever saw an orb respond, was a very light humming.. Until now. Barely able to grasp his fingers around the orb from it’s movement, it’s dance was not surprising to him, feeling the ground beneath his feet shake, the Unjaryk asunder and all the wildlife he could imagine, from the dead seeking Carrion Hound to the noble Grosvenor, running in fear, towards Naator, away from Puzzle-Tyric.
Unsolved to him, was the mystery of who had used such orb magic.. Dangerous, the orb’s were and from the sound of the blasts, that danger went unheeded, probably taking the life of the caster. Casting.. His power had returned and although not empowered by an Anthranhall, he felt capable of easily dispatching any foe that might cross him, by spell or hand scythe. Maybe, the one who dampened the Cultist’s powers, had been destroyed by the orb magic or even destroyed themselves by casting such a powerful spell, he thought.
His thoughts turned to Gastien, as well as the rest of his brothers.. Would he see them again? If he did, would they all share the broken oath that Gastien now upheld, or would they keep their oath’s to Naator, in the same way he had?
Many questions needed answers, but without his presence in Naator, many more remained unanswered and so he set off upon the gravel road, in search of a resolution to his conflict being waged within, so he could finally begin to resolve the rest of the world’s conflicts, but only after his own.