P A R A G O N
Jac observed the rising of the wards without much comment. He felt the shift in temperature in the air giving little more than a grunt of affirmation as to their function. When Iselya displayed the manifestation of the Dawnfire, its appearance captured his attention. Once it was dismissed, he looked between Imogen and Iselya with a curious expression.
“Interesting.” As the others gathered their wits about them, the mountain of a man knelt down upon the deck of the ship and retrieved a pouch from his hip. He opened it and began pouring its contents upon the surface of the smooth wood. A glittering black sand pile soon formed. After a moment, he ceased pouring the sands, returning the pouch to his hip. With one hand he smoothed out the sand pile, patting it down until it formed a canvas upon which he could do his work.
“The dragon’s name is Exathun, called the Horror Who Dreams. He is an Ancient. Old enough to have known the world before Kaitos folly burned the heavens and scorched the earth.” Jac retrieved from another pouch a single white scale which he placed upon the canvas of black sands. It was a pristine alabaster white that had blackened at the edges. The hunter began tracing symbols into the sands as he spoke, forming a pattern around the scale.
“He was the guardian of something sacred. An object known only as the Voice of Tekrah.” Jac looked up at the gathered. “The Voice was stolen. I suspect its thieves have nested nearby.”
Looking back down at his sands, Jac finished drawing his symbols. He passed a hand over them, black mist flowing from his hand as he did so. The mists infused the sands causing them to emit a soft violet glow. To any with the gift of Semblance, the sands would seem to almost whisper. Voices of dozens muttering varying pitches that hissed, gasped and giggled. None of them distinct enough to be discernible through casual observation but unsettling enough to know that some manner of communion was taking place. Jac listened quietly as the whispering continued, his brow furrowed in concentration. After a few moments, the black sands all began to pop and turn a dusky grey as they became dust and ash. These ashes were caught by an aethereal wind that wrapped around the white scale with its blackened edges. The ash formed a black cloud that became infused with violet light that soon gathered into the scale. The dust and ash funneled into the scale with a low whispering moan until they were completely absorbed by the scale. When the display was finished, the scale had veins of violet running through it. Jac picked up the scale and rubbed it with his thumb.
His left eye flashed briefly with that same violet light and he looked to the east.
“We go east.” Jac stood up and walked to the railing of the ship to peer eastward. He scanned the horizon. “Our journey will not be without a challenge. Exathun has stirred spirits of Ice and Shadow into a frenzy. They will seek to kill us as the dragon seeks to kill those who have stolen its charge.”
Jac rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck.
“We should be off. The spirits will grow stronger as daylight lessens.”
“Interesting.” As the others gathered their wits about them, the mountain of a man knelt down upon the deck of the ship and retrieved a pouch from his hip. He opened it and began pouring its contents upon the surface of the smooth wood. A glittering black sand pile soon formed. After a moment, he ceased pouring the sands, returning the pouch to his hip. With one hand he smoothed out the sand pile, patting it down until it formed a canvas upon which he could do his work.
“The dragon’s name is Exathun, called the Horror Who Dreams. He is an Ancient. Old enough to have known the world before Kaitos folly burned the heavens and scorched the earth.” Jac retrieved from another pouch a single white scale which he placed upon the canvas of black sands. It was a pristine alabaster white that had blackened at the edges. The hunter began tracing symbols into the sands as he spoke, forming a pattern around the scale.
“He was the guardian of something sacred. An object known only as the Voice of Tekrah.” Jac looked up at the gathered. “The Voice was stolen. I suspect its thieves have nested nearby.”
Looking back down at his sands, Jac finished drawing his symbols. He passed a hand over them, black mist flowing from his hand as he did so. The mists infused the sands causing them to emit a soft violet glow. To any with the gift of Semblance, the sands would seem to almost whisper. Voices of dozens muttering varying pitches that hissed, gasped and giggled. None of them distinct enough to be discernible through casual observation but unsettling enough to know that some manner of communion was taking place. Jac listened quietly as the whispering continued, his brow furrowed in concentration. After a few moments, the black sands all began to pop and turn a dusky grey as they became dust and ash. These ashes were caught by an aethereal wind that wrapped around the white scale with its blackened edges. The ash formed a black cloud that became infused with violet light that soon gathered into the scale. The dust and ash funneled into the scale with a low whispering moan until they were completely absorbed by the scale. When the display was finished, the scale had veins of violet running through it. Jac picked up the scale and rubbed it with his thumb.
His left eye flashed briefly with that same violet light and he looked to the east.
“We go east.” Jac stood up and walked to the railing of the ship to peer eastward. He scanned the horizon. “Our journey will not be without a challenge. Exathun has stirred spirits of Ice and Shadow into a frenzy. They will seek to kill us as the dragon seeks to kill those who have stolen its charge.”
Jac rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck.
“We should be off. The spirits will grow stronger as daylight lessens.”
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