The second time around, the fountain lies silent. The slim creatures risen from the strange seeds have vanished, much like the one that turned into thin dust around his fingers. Their presence could still be sensed, though, as well as the freshness and strength of the waters. Only his god would be sure what might become of those who drank from such a pure, potent spring, but the druid remains confident that it can only be for the best. Virtue survival desire ascension
As the companions gather around the woman, they sense a strange familiarity. The déjá vu lasts for a second at most, but it is enough to bring a trembling sensation to them.
SHAYURI
"Mayhap, I do hold an advantage on you. But mayhap it is you that holds me hostage, Shayuri." - the voice halts for a moment, and even in silence it seems to increase in strength, becoming more defined. "Besides, I fear anything beyond the most imperative words..." - as the voice gains body, it grows as if from a damsel's mouth - "...would be a waste. I am Athene, placed here as the enduring memory of heroism and desire, resilience and awareness." - beyond her words, Shayuri can sense a deep sadness, a feeling that stings and stains her monologue. "Your ancestors forged me to remember and recognize their offspring in Gaelia, even long after they left. Only their blood could awaken me... As you have." - images swirl Shayuri's mind, flashing against the blackness of closing eyes. She sees the highest mountains of Gaelia, where a covenant of serpentine, towering winged figures gathered. Their number is impressive, and Shayuri fears the entire landmass will shatter under the sheer power of their words. Seven fly to the top of a peak, where dolmens have been carefully arranged around a stone slab. Upon it, a solitary serpentine beast of translucid aspect materializes and molds ether itself, as if it was clay, right before breathing a cloud of fulgurant steam over it. The mold agitates itself, rising with curious features, so faint and delicate, to face the world for the first time. Athene was born, forged by the hands of a telluric dragon, no less, and having beasts of respectable age as testimonies.
The memory breaks up suddenly.
"Now, you know who I am, as much as I know who you are. And you have me at a disadvantage, for I don't know you companions, even though your senses tell me they are around you."
MARIUS
For a second, the monk feels dizzy. The desert vanishes, and he walks the inner gardens of the Temple once more. He sees many faces, and although he recognizes no one, the students, monks and warriors he meets are quite familiar to him. As he moves, no one notices his presence, shadows probably protecting him from attention. For reasons he can't quite understand, he walks towards the meditation gardens, where he sees an old man, raking the sands in silence, meditating. His meager figure bears soft, pale skin and even paler long hair. His soft beard falls over a vigorous, although old, chest, nothing in his countenance showing exaustion. The old man keeps his pace, building focus and patience, until he rises his eyes, slowly. His gaze meets Marius', his eyes bearing familiar, unusual colors hidden among shadows. Suddenly, Marius realizes he glances at himself, as much as the old man glances at him. His older version seems surprised by the vision, as if he was suddenly touched by a greater truth. He smiles a faint smile, calculating words for a second or two, perhaps a bit confused, perhaps a bit happy.
"What would I say to my younger self, should I have the chance?" - he asks, as if expecting an answer from Marius.
MORGRYM
The druid stumbles a bit, water spilling over his naked hand as the shock reaches him. He seems to loose sight of the scene for a second, and as he gathers himself, the whole scene seems different. He stares at the very same situation - a girl seated while a man pins her down - but the girl is not Shayuri. In fact, it is the dwarven priestess sent by the captain towards west, hours ago. Morgrym listens to several steps behind him - the rangers they met approach the circle, while Hagadark and no less than twelve hunters watch, distrustful glances all around. Someone steps right by his side, a dwarven woman, dressed in brown robes, face covered, druidic sickle in hand. She throws her hood to her back, and Morgrym sees - to his surprise - his sister, hair tressed and decorated in sacred herbs, blue dust on her face, similar to the one that covered his fingers not a moment ago. She looks at him once, twice, and only then she notices him.
"Wha... The dead are rising, they are!" - her teary eyes stare at Morgrym intently. "Morgrym.." - she says in hushed tones. "You must'ave a part ta play in all this... And I wish tae see ye again before the end, I do..." - as the priestess opens her eyes, tension begins to rise. "Ask what ye need, Morgrym, we've precious little time, we do."
HAGADARK
The desert flickers once, twice... And faint dawn's light never returns. Only the fire pits shine, and Hagadark is somewhere new, somewhere he doesn't know - even though it feels so familiar. He climbs a huge set of stone stairs towards the top of a piramid, placed in the center of a subterranean cave. Carvings and bones preserve the glorious memories of the united clans he rose and bred through alliances and experiences. He reaches the top, only to see Klutha, ten years older than now, resting on a stone throne, an orc child seating beneath her. The child holds the promise for the stronger tribe he envisoned, one that his wildest dreams couldn't have conceived, and the horns upon the child's head were living proof of her legacy. He occupies the throne by her side - his face is covered in a long beard, his body adorned by ritual markings and unrecognizable, so much it changed under the weight of alchemy. Klutha bows her head. "I see it in your eyes... You pierced the veil, my husband, I can see, and maybe in the lands beyond our words will be of use. Ask, and I will reveal." - she says, solemnly. Around him, muffled cries hail him, calling him shaman, master... king.
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Shayuri
