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| Author | Troublesome sensations |
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It was made known that on the morrow the peculiar being known as the Hermit would be returning to his own home across the sea, and as decreed by the Empress, he would not leave without being honored with the greatest of feasts and celebrations that night.
In response, a great host of Lords and Ladies throughout the realm gathered in the Chriselleum, a massive domed building which housed untold stories of both history and beauty. Towering statues of past kings and nobles filled its interior, and in its center an enormous glass sculpture depicted the prestige and radiance of the Empress Herself. Large banners and ribbons hung from the walls and ceilings, while down below the Lords and the foreign guests, including Hermit, dined, danced, and discussed the latest gossips and tales of battle. Amongst them was Lord Kalirosh, but his thoughts were far from the party and merrymaking.
Much closer were they to a place he had never visited or seen depicted, of whose existence he had no slightest idea until the course of recent happenings. Being one of the few men in Empire responsible for its overall security, the visits of the overseas guests were a source of non-ending worries. He pictured happy faces of his land’s inhabitants as they would make their first steps on the distant land; as they would hold out the tokens of friendship and good will; as they would sign a treaty of military and commercial accordance. Other images were trying to penetrate his head, to knock out the happy ones, those of war and disaster, of destruction and death… It cost him an effort to drive them away.
The Warlord’s eyes accidentally met with those of Hermit. Kalirosh guessed that he had been observed by the ageless guest, but hardly did he manage to suppose what the emotions drawn on his face might have told to the latter, Hermit stood up and made his way to him, snapping him from his reflections. “Why sho down Kalirosh?”
The veteran warrior looked at the strange man before him, feigning a weak smile. “It’s nothing. My mind is elsewhere, and on days to come.”
“Dayzh to come, or dayzh that have pashed? You sheem consherned about shomething.”
“Well, if it must be known, I was thinking of the unusual object found in the depths of Ridge of Hope – the green sphere, about its strange appearance, and moreso, its powers and what they might mean.”
“Ah, the shphere, the shphere, I’m hearing a lot about it in the short period I’ve shpent in your lovely landzh. If it really izh shuch a burden to you I could take a look at it.”
Kalirosh looked at him skeptically. The Druid parried with a sly glance, then attempting to dignify himself, declared: “I have shome methodzh to offer this shubstanshe an uncompromizhed unveiling of itsh shecretsh.”
“I will certainly consider bringing the option up with the Council if you wish.” Kalirosh was trying to get rid of the Hermit without being rude about it, “but there are still some large matters which I must weigh concerning the days to come.” | “Well there’zh your problem, you're too shtubborn.” Not taking the hint, Hermit sat down next to the Warlord, letting his staff lean against the table. He stretched his legs lazily, contemplating the spectacular ceiling of the Chriselleum. “It sheems to me, each day hazh enough trouble of itsh own.”
Kalirosh let a natural smile escape as he digested the stranger’s words, and even stranger way of speaking. “You might be right Hermit, but we don’t all have the luxury of dealing with one day at a time.”
The druidic figure moved in closer, balancing on the edge of his chair. A grave expression now appeared on his face as he studied the Warlord. “You might want to focush on thish particular one.”
Kalirosh straightened in his chair, feeling a sense of alarm. This Hermit didn’t seem a terrifying thing now, but his demonstration of power before told the councilman that the druid was more than he appeared to be. He wondered now, was Hermit’s statement a threat or just friendly advice? “You have a knowledge that you are hesitating to share with me. If anyone at all, I’m the first person to be discussed matters of our Empire’s security.”
Kalirosh could swear the Nature servant’s eyes shone for a brief moment, that frolic a look was given to him. “I wazh looking for the right pershon to talk to, Kalirosh. There’zh shomething you should know.” Hermit looked from side to side, as if expecting others to be eavesdropping, then gave Warlord Kalirosh that same intense stare as before. “There izh a great trouble deshending upon the Empire, I can feel it jusht azh you would feel the wind upon your cheek.”
Kalirosh sat dumbfounded, but at last managed to speak. “And how is it that you – a stranger to these lands – know of the welfare of our nation?”
“It izh Nature calling out to me - warning me of ill happeningzh.” Hermit’s tone become hushed and desperate, his words fast and more intense as they flew from his lips. “A Voice in the Easht, calling on thozhe of weak will, bending them to Itsh own dezhiresh.”
“The East?” Kalirosh questioned. “You mean the …”
“Yesh. Within the caverns of the Ridge of Hope izh where the voice of the Mastermind shpringsh. All creature, be mammal or reptile, upright or crawling, shivilizhed or wild, bendzh to itsh will if itsh own izh too weak to put up againsht thish Call.”
Kalirosh grew quiet, swirling the dark liquid in his glass and staring into the face of the strange foreigner. At last he answered, “I will look into this, and will alert those stationed there to be wary of this "Mastermind" that you speak of.”
Pleased with himself, Hermit sat back into his chair tapping the floor heavily with his staff. “Very good. Very good! Whatever precautionzh you can take would be besht.”
He then made a move to rise but the Warlord began to speak again. “Indeed I will. But there is still one thing that’s bothering me, Hermit.” | “Ahhhhm…” The elder druid stammered. His face scrunched up, giving him an expression of uncertainty.
“My guess, and tell me if you think I’m wrong, is that your display of magic at the Central Square, that little pyro show of yours could have somehow awoken or reached the ears of these ‘weak-willed creatures’.”
Hermit’s face smoothed up, he stared back at the veteran with what seemed to be a challenging look, then pronounced slowly, trying to input all the seriousness he was apt for into his next words.
“Thish ritual wazh taught to me by no living creature, Kalirosh. Nature itshelf beshtowed me with knowledge consherning thezhe shpellsh. Balanshe izh absholute within the Nature, Life coeghishtsh with Death, Light with Darknesh, Matter with Magic. I shwear on It’sh grashe that on that day all I appealed to wazh Life, Light and Magic.
Kalirosh’s smirk showed the Druid that he didn’t believe him. Hermit frowned, but showed no sadness in his eyes. Instead, he signalized the veteran to follow him. They left the Chriselleum and found themselves on a broad alley illuminated with torches.
Hermit turned around and gave an intent gaze to the old councilman, then stretched his arms aside with his palms directed upwards. Only then did Kalirosh notice that Hermit had left his staff in the dome. His “Your accuzhationsh, Kalirosh.” astonished the veteran, but the latter repeated his suspicions aloud. Hermit shut his eyes, slowly drew his arms forward, his hands still open, as if trying to prove his complete uninvolvement in what was about to happen, and whispered: “You have heeded. Judge” | A beam of moonlight befell the Druid. Kalirosh looked up at the sky but saw not a single cloud around the Moon. The beam blinked twice, and two images of Hermit appeared between them. The left image was bright, almost as white as the stallion image Hermit had summoned recently. It stood in the same shape as its material twin, with hands drawn forward but eyes open, looking somewhere far more distant than even the borders of those picturesque lands. Meekness and conciliation were written on its face.
The image on the right was quite opposite. All shady and somber, it stood still but not immobile, making abrupt movements with its head and torso. Avarice and corruption would be the exact description of its face, a sinister grin and insanely wide-open eyes was giving the final stroke to the picture of evilness.
The moonlight beam blinked once again. The left image remained still, but the right one winced, let out a terrorizing shriek that sent shivers own the old Warlord’s spine, and began to shrink until it totally disappeared out of sight.
Any anger directed at the druid was lost. Kalirosh stood perplexed, with his mouth gaping open, and his eyes wide with surprise. Hermit gave what would have seemed to be a parental look to Kalirosh, if the latter wouldn’t look twice as old, as if everything had been answered.
The councilman cleared his throat, agitated now that other Lords were beginning to stare after the incident. “I believe you. But this doesn’t put us any closer to understanding what the origin of this Call might be.”
Hermit only doubled his effort to seem amazed at his own brilliance. At last the tension grew too great and the words poured forth from his wide open mouth. “Don’t you shee dear Counshilman? The problem wazhn’t about my ritual, not at all. But what if it wazh about this green-shphere?” | TL;DR version.
Events: Hermit and his delegation will be leaving shortly, so there is a farewell party held in a grotesque dome at night. Hermit and warlord Kalirosh get driven into a conversation, where Hermit makes it clear that he knows something and wants something in return. After a few minutes of outsmarting games Hermit communicates that he senses a torrent of energy in the surrounding, a powerful Mastermind call that makes creatures of weak will obey its owner.
Hermit also exhibits interest in researching the ore piece found earlier in the caves, because he supposes it might be the cause if not the origin of this Voice, but only results in generating suspicions of the old veteran about his true intentions. Kalirosh accuses Hermit of having caused these happenings by his New year ritual, willingly or not. Hermit emanates absolute certitude and invites himself to be judged by some supernatural power in front of the warlord. The latter believes him now and promises to let him run his specific tests on the substance.
Updates: None.
Interesting facts: The judgment ritual description is partially borrowed from "The well of the Unicorn" by Fletcher Pratt. Both good and evil essences of one person get evaluated by Nature itself to determine the one that affected the land where the judged person is standing in greater way. | | "Troublesome sensations" news block is to be continued. |
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