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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Old One" data-source="post: 2391682" data-attributes="member: 83">Session 27 (Part Three)The Green, Green Fog of Home – Interlude IILight.  Life-force.  Hope.  Sorrow.  Death.  Prophecy.  Tangents.  Consequence.  Circumstance.  Chance.  Fate.  Success.  Failure.Thoughts and possibilities, reflected as tiny motes of nearly invisible light, swirled around the crystalline roof, fueled by gentle starlight.  Portents of doom, faceless and soul-less, danced around the periphery, cackling soundlessly. His mind expanded, reaching out to touch the trinkets of ten lifetimes of labor…to listen to their memories…both distant and immediate.  Experiences, great and mundane, were cataloged with practiced ease and then scattered and re-assembled for different perspective and aspect.Plans of five lifetimes were thwarted, slain and revived and then combined and recombined with other paths and contingencies.  Proven truths were shattered and proven lies made fact.  Barriers were constructed, deconstructed and constructed anew, like shifting walls of a sentient maze.Thunderheads of imminent doom grew, lashing out with lightening tongues of despair.  A profound grief threatened to overwhelm his purpose, but he stilled his doubt with a fleeting command…a spear of steel that raced through his mind in one one-hundredth of one one-thousandth of a grain.  A self-deprecating flash of irony followed close on the heels of the spear.‘Once more into the breach.’Decisions – irrevocable with unintended and unforeseen tangential repercussions – were made with finality.His respiration rate slowly increased as his whirling mind slowed.  A sheen of perspiration wet his flawless brow.  He departed the chamber with purpose, allowing the cool night air to dry the sweat.A quarter turn of the hourglass later, he stood in the center of his Arcaneum…a wiggling worm of self-doubt staying his hand.  Before him loomed an ornate green taper etched with runes and symbols of gold filigree.  The taper pulsed with latent potency.  The face of his mentor flashed before him, framed by the Greenwood of Chrysilium, calmed his shaking hand.  He squared his childish shoulders and lit the taper.A thousand leagues away, in a basalt tomb amidst fetishes and wards of immense power, something twitched in response to altered possibilities.  The vast machinery of ancient prophecy – dusty, rusty and long forgotten – shuddered and groaned.  Wheels within wheels within wheels.The invisible shadow smiled.To Be Continued…Next: The Green, Green Fog of Home – Interlude III~ OO</blockquote>

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