The thirty-fifth day of spring, 515 AV
His eyes stared blankly into space, auras flickering at the corners of his focus, though the one he sought either so incredibly illusive he could not latch on to it or, as he had suspected, it did not exist. The breeze, the companion that had seemed to join him for reasons beyond his comprehension, was as invisible to his enhanced senses as it was to the naked eye. It gave him pause, even as he slowly retracted the magic, to think that the breeze was, in fact, not an entity. If that were the case, it was possible that the wind itself was merely a figment of his own imagination, a potentiality he wasn't fond of per say, but one he could not discount. There was also the possibility that the breeze was only discernible due to his god given mark, which made the breezes and storms themselves an extension of that god, allowing them to operate under rules beyond those of the physical realm.
At any rate, it seemed the breeze had grown impatient with Keene's inert posture, pulling and tugging at his boots. Having no reason to refuse it, Keene allowed the wind to guide his path down from the cavern's face, careful to keep his footing with knowing steps, avoiding crumbling stone or sharp slopes. With motion once more returned to his limbs, he could sense the breeze's pleasure. There was little urgency in the way it ran past him, only to hover before darting off once more, which gave Keene the impression that a quest like that of a few days prior was not to be repeated that day. Stroll or not, Keene kept himself vigilant. Creatures, whether native or magically induced within the many laboratories housed under the citadels stony floors, were never to be underestimated, even when the winds seemed to calm. Air was not quite flesh and blood, and not every dangerous beast was enough to agitate the mostly impassive weather. Should anything do so, however, Keene had learned that it was a good indicator that life-threatening danger was nearby.
Fortunately, no such event transpired, and Keene followed the breeze without trouble. He walked for about a bell's time, but when they reached the destination, he did not need the playful tousle of his hair or gentle tug on his loose fitting shirt to alert him that they had arrived. Where there had been trees gathered in as much of a forest as there was about the mountain's base, there was only smooth, dark stone, a reflection of the obsidian cavern. In the center of the expansive radius stood what was, more or less, a stone statue. Carefully, Keene slid down the glossy edge of the crater, the breeze snaking its way down ahead of him to settle at the base of the glassy, black structure. Taking his time, he picked his way across what he imagined to be a battleground of sorts, one who's creator he had a feeling he was acquainted with.
When he did arrive to join the breeze at the statue's base, he found it to be only a few inches taller than himself. The features were mostly obscured, the general shape of human body was there, but the details were mostly masked by the quality of the obsidian, which Keene assumed was in part due to the force in which the magic was cast. There was no question that he stood in the crater of some vast spell, nor was there much deliberation spent on who might have cast it. Still, there was the question of who, as "why" was typically the same with all magic that the Wardens employed.
His eyes stared blankly into space, auras flickering at the corners of his focus, though the one he sought either so incredibly illusive he could not latch on to it or, as he had suspected, it did not exist. The breeze, the companion that had seemed to join him for reasons beyond his comprehension, was as invisible to his enhanced senses as it was to the naked eye. It gave him pause, even as he slowly retracted the magic, to think that the breeze was, in fact, not an entity. If that were the case, it was possible that the wind itself was merely a figment of his own imagination, a potentiality he wasn't fond of per say, but one he could not discount. There was also the possibility that the breeze was only discernible due to his god given mark, which made the breezes and storms themselves an extension of that god, allowing them to operate under rules beyond those of the physical realm.
At any rate, it seemed the breeze had grown impatient with Keene's inert posture, pulling and tugging at his boots. Having no reason to refuse it, Keene allowed the wind to guide his path down from the cavern's face, careful to keep his footing with knowing steps, avoiding crumbling stone or sharp slopes. With motion once more returned to his limbs, he could sense the breeze's pleasure. There was little urgency in the way it ran past him, only to hover before darting off once more, which gave Keene the impression that a quest like that of a few days prior was not to be repeated that day. Stroll or not, Keene kept himself vigilant. Creatures, whether native or magically induced within the many laboratories housed under the citadels stony floors, were never to be underestimated, even when the winds seemed to calm. Air was not quite flesh and blood, and not every dangerous beast was enough to agitate the mostly impassive weather. Should anything do so, however, Keene had learned that it was a good indicator that life-threatening danger was nearby.
Fortunately, no such event transpired, and Keene followed the breeze without trouble. He walked for about a bell's time, but when they reached the destination, he did not need the playful tousle of his hair or gentle tug on his loose fitting shirt to alert him that they had arrived. Where there had been trees gathered in as much of a forest as there was about the mountain's base, there was only smooth, dark stone, a reflection of the obsidian cavern. In the center of the expansive radius stood what was, more or less, a stone statue. Carefully, Keene slid down the glossy edge of the crater, the breeze snaking its way down ahead of him to settle at the base of the glassy, black structure. Taking his time, he picked his way across what he imagined to be a battleground of sorts, one who's creator he had a feeling he was acquainted with.
When he did arrive to join the breeze at the statue's base, he found it to be only a few inches taller than himself. The features were mostly obscured, the general shape of human body was there, but the details were mostly masked by the quality of the obsidian, which Keene assumed was in part due to the force in which the magic was cast. There was no question that he stood in the crater of some vast spell, nor was there much deliberation spent on who might have cast it. Still, there was the question of who, as "why" was typically the same with all magic that the Wardens employed.
