[Preview] [Quest Pack] - The Origins of Mentor
Posted: August 19th, 2015, 10:01 pmWinterspell 23CB
Ragnar's heavy fist fell upon the mahogany door, intricately pannelled with bestial carvings and the sharp angles of eldritch runes.
The night air was icy and atop this mountain even the shelter of the forest glade did nothing to cut the chill. The baleful glare of the pale orange moon hanging low on the horizon like the eye of a slinking cunning dragon bathed their destination at the cottage in a sinister hue.
Footsteps were heard. Some brief incantations that Elbar the Wizard recognized as protective locks, and Ragnar as cursing and swearing for having to get up and answer to midnight callers, could be heard making its way toward the door. As the handle turned, instinct bade some of the Heroes to tighten their grip on their weapons and some to poise their fingers to loose spells. The door swung open. Mentor's face met them. Wizened, his beard had turned an ashen grey and his face, blackened with battle scars, lacked a smile. A smile they had been accustomed to being met with no matter the hardships he'd been charged to pass as duty over these long years and it filled them each with immediate disconcert for the reason, still unknown, Mentor had summoned them a Winter hence and to bring the items on the parchment in the envelope.
The Old Master lead them into the meagre warmth of his study with speed and purpose, the low firelight revealed walls arrayed with neat spines of tomes and piles of odd trinkets they knew without question had been carefully categorized for precision. Yet, the sight of one shelf in abject disarray, with books laid open and pages torn out as if there had been great haste to find something was disarming. As their eyes accustomed to the gloom Arwen the Elf signalled the location of the shelf to the Wizard. To Arwen's surprise Elbar's eyes flashed with fear, or perhaps recognition. In silence they stood waiting for their life-long mentor to speak.
Mentor's tone was heavy, there was no humour, no warmth, no joviality. When he spoke he said few words, but those he did, filled the Heroes with dread.
"My friends, I fear I have made a terrible mistake..."
TBC
Ragnar's heavy fist fell upon the mahogany door, intricately pannelled with bestial carvings and the sharp angles of eldritch runes.
The night air was icy and atop this mountain even the shelter of the forest glade did nothing to cut the chill. The baleful glare of the pale orange moon hanging low on the horizon like the eye of a slinking cunning dragon bathed their destination at the cottage in a sinister hue.
Footsteps were heard. Some brief incantations that Elbar the Wizard recognized as protective locks, and Ragnar as cursing and swearing for having to get up and answer to midnight callers, could be heard making its way toward the door. As the handle turned, instinct bade some of the Heroes to tighten their grip on their weapons and some to poise their fingers to loose spells. The door swung open. Mentor's face met them. Wizened, his beard had turned an ashen grey and his face, blackened with battle scars, lacked a smile. A smile they had been accustomed to being met with no matter the hardships he'd been charged to pass as duty over these long years and it filled them each with immediate disconcert for the reason, still unknown, Mentor had summoned them a Winter hence and to bring the items on the parchment in the envelope.
The Old Master lead them into the meagre warmth of his study with speed and purpose, the low firelight revealed walls arrayed with neat spines of tomes and piles of odd trinkets they knew without question had been carefully categorized for precision. Yet, the sight of one shelf in abject disarray, with books laid open and pages torn out as if there had been great haste to find something was disarming. As their eyes accustomed to the gloom Arwen the Elf signalled the location of the shelf to the Wizard. To Arwen's surprise Elbar's eyes flashed with fear, or perhaps recognition. In silence they stood waiting for their life-long mentor to speak.
Mentor's tone was heavy, there was no humour, no warmth, no joviality. When he spoke he said few words, but those he did, filled the Heroes with dread.
"My friends, I fear I have made a terrible mistake..."
TBC
