[X] Dreams
***
You walk down the path to the boat pens. You are almost of age and time to receive Seryn's Blessing. While she grants her blessing to all women who come of age, your cousin has offered to make an extra special effort for you and has even offered to make you one of her Chosen if you are willingly.
You are still undecided about that. On the one hand, the power that comes with such a blessing is nice. On the other hand, you are not planning to get into any fights and you do not need such power. Plus you are already a Chosen of Dad and you are unsure of taking anymore unearned power.
You also do not need any extra power. While still young, you are easily lining up to be the second greatest mage after Myrlin himself. Oh sure, you are no where near his level quite yet, but he is twice your age. Sort. His body is twice your age, but he was only born a few years before you.
Either way, Myrlin is easily your superior when it comes to wielding magic. You are not bothered by that as Myrlin is everyone's superior when it comes to magic. Even Dad cannot match his skill and knowledge. Honestly, the only part of magic that Myrlin is not the best at is when it comes to his spiritual energy reserves and how much he can channel at once.
That is actually one of the few areas where you have Myrlin beat. While Myrlin has the spiritual energy reserves and channelling ability of an average human, your own are closer to those of a spirit.
Coming to a stop, you look around, surprised at how foggy it is. It does not usually get foggy just like this.
Nonetheless, it is not a problem. You can still see well enough and you know Eva Isle like the back of your hand so getting to the boat pens will not be a problem. And if things get too bad, you can just wield a bit of magic to light up the world around you.
You continue to make your way down to the boat pens so you can…what were you doing again? You think that you are planning to go to Avawyr. Or were you going to seek power.
Unsure of what exactly you are planning to do, you cannot help, but give a quick shiver. As it has become rather foggy all of a sudden, it has also become chilly as the air has dropped in temperature. Something itches at the back of your mind, but you cannot place what it is trying to tell you.
Deciding to ignore the cold and the fog, you continue to make your way down the path to the boat pens. You need to find more power…no, you are going to Avawyr right? But Avawyr is not cold enough for you. Yet if you desire power, you can just return to the village and go to the shrine of the Mighty One to accept your cousin's offer of becoming one of her Chosen.
Now confused at what exactly you are doing, you come to a halt. Trying to clear your mind of conflicting thoughts, you idly note that the fog has increased. You can barely see anything in any direction with only the dirt path and the vague shape of trees beyond the path. Maybe now you should light things up with your light magic, clearly away the lack of vision caused by the fog.
But something stays your hand even through you really ought to call upon your light magic. It is cold, but you do not feel cold even as your body shivers. The cold feels enticing as if it holds the power that you seek.
But you do not seek power?
You shake your head of such silly thoughts. Of course you seek power. Why would you not seek power? Everybody knows that more strength is better.
Struggling to think as the fog begins to seep into your mind, you barely notice that you cannot see anything beyond the path in front and behind you. Yet some sections of your mind remain untouched as the fog does not approach your connection to Dad nor your ability to access magic.
You hear something, a sound that you cannot identify and you look to your side to see a figure off of the path. You stand there, gazing as the man barely visible in the fog approaches you.
"R̸̛̦̖̞̰̩͚̙͔͉̒̈̅́̉͛̐͌̎̀e̸͇̫̮͈̞͓̒͛̽̑̽̏͛̿̐ț̸͕͉͔̌̆̈́̋̄̏̍͌̄̚͠u̶̢͍͓͓͕͇̻͖͊͛̈̈̅̓̊̑̋̌͆̕͘͝͠r̷͓̹̼̤̟͒̔̍n̷̨̛̰̰͕͙̙͉͗ ̵̛̜͎̗̞̤̤̎̃̀̓̿̄̚͘ẗ̶̟̩̮́̚o̶̢̨̖͚̟̟̘̹̠͇͔̳͉̙̅̀͌̌̈́̋ͅ ̴̨̬͋̅̉̂m̸̥̤̭̦̳̮̪͚͚͓͕͚͎̺͑͆̄ȩ̴̛̟̜̼̟̿̀͠ ̶̨͎̗̟͚̪̳͕͕̣̲̮̗͛̊̃̎̋͗͂́͗̐̕͝ċ̶̨̺̳̗͍͐̑̉̀͛̍͗̋̆͑͋͂͘ȟ̴̛̺̞̦̘̝̜̣̻̫͑͂̍̽̆̋͐̇̕̚͜͝ỉ̸̟̱͚̤̥̟̰̺͑̈́̊͗̀͐̄́͗̚l̶͖̭̳̥̤̞̋d̷̢̡͙͎͇̤̭͙̣̪́̅̇̿̓̈́̏̔̂̚͠," whispers the man in a baritone voice that vibrates with raw power, "Ğ̸̜̀͛͂̈́͊́̋̐̉̚r̴̢̨͎͖͉͇͎̮̟̪̗̦͋͌̒͛̽̍̈͊͂̊̈́̈́͠͠ͅa̵̛̘̜̤̻͍̖̾͊̎͒̿́͗̈̀̾̿̎͠͝n̵̪̜̜͙̏̏͒ͅt̴̲͍͍̭́̓͐͌ ̵̧̤̮͉̱̈̇͊̄̌̌́̀̉̇̍́̚͘͝ṁ̴̟̰͙̺̟̣͖͖̾͋͒̂́͗͂̀͘ȩ̴̗̲͙͓͕̮͓͎̦͒͂͘͝ ̸̨̗̗̺̠̗̺̈́̒̈̌̐̔̓̉̎̄͊̾̕͝ý̷̨̗̪̥̓͒̉̌̑̑̈́͜͠ō̵̡͉̹̘̣̱͙̻͎̩͊̌̊̊̃̈́̽̒͘̚͜ư̵̡̡̝͚̘͚̱̓̆̃̈́́́̀̅͆͜r̶̟͎̺̘̾ ̶̡̱̯̠̦͕̫͊͌͒́̂̑̔͂̏̂̏̋̕̕͝s̷̢͇͕̤̦̺̞̪̹̭̹͆͌t̵̹̞̐͜r̵͕̫̻̈́͑̀̿͐̄͘͠e̵̫̺̠͈̱̣̥̎́̐̀̈́̽̃̈́̈̓̕͠͝ņ̸̩͚͇̗̫̯̱͓̻̹̘̓̑̓̉̊͋̊͂͘͝ģ̵̗̣̜̻͓͓͌͜t̷̝̪̲͕̗͎̜̤̯̠̘̻̮̂͑̏̃̒̀h̵̨̢̰̱͎̱̺̹͕̱̯̎̏̓̈́̀͂͛̒́́́͂͐͜͜͝ͅ.̶͉͎̣͕̞̒͗̆͐̒̐̽͠͠ ̶̧̛̠͙̯͈̬̞̞͖͕̰̼̗͕̉̔̈́̋̂̽͐͒̐͌̏̚͘J̵̡̮͕̮̣͎̻͍͕̣̈͂̒̊ǫ̶̱͍̤̠̱̤̠̩̰͈̬̪̭̫̀̎̈̏͂͊͋̊̑͊̋͘į̶͙̰̘͎̹̗̏̋̔ͅñ̶̢̧̛͓̼̤͔͉̺̭͗̈̀ ̴̛͙̻̣̟̜̰̮̲̑͐͛́͌̑̓̈́̇̋̓̈́͘ͅm̴̨̢̧͚͖̺̗̖̫̺͖̩̥̯͈͛̆̅̐̊̆̉͐̚e̷̺̦͔͖̟͉͉̞̮̣̫͔͆͋͊̿̄́̌͑̄̓͠͠.̷̢̧̡̛͇͔̼͕̘̭̯͖̜͕͍̈̈́̈́̄̐͋͊̊͜ ̸̟̈́̈́̌L̶̨̡͎͕̔̃̂̌̎͌̉͑̊ę̶̱̥͕̖̲̣͉̭̱̪̉̂͐ͅȃ̷̢͉̝̘̤̮͚̭̬̊͆̏̋̋̉̈́͘v̷̨̨̧̧̳̣̳͈͖͎̖͈̟̺̹͊͂̓͑̃̑̾̆ȇ̵̘̜̟̈́̔̐͌͠ ̴̡͚̞̩͎̐̔̈̈́͋̐̈́̆́̽̚̕͠t̵̨̡͎̣̰̩̬̞̯͎̙͉͕̝́̊̇̄̌̊̆́̂̕͝ḩ̵͉̲̰̞̮͍̲̬͍̽̒̇̓̉̀̂̃̎̌̀́͠i̶̢̻͚͉̣̟̓͗̏̅͌́̈͒͗̉̊̾̒̂̒s̸̛̛̝͓̊̄̈̍̋̽̾̚ ̶̧̛͚̳̤̝͎͔͉͇̤͉̘͕̮͇̅̏̿̏̌́p̶̪̏̊͐̈́̈̔̋͐͐͐̏̚̕͠͝ą̵͖̫͎̦̤̭͎̘̱͈͔̤͈̈́́̐̅̅́̒́̎̐͘ţ̶̛̝̺̬͚͕̿͆̉̄̋̈́̿͆͘͘͠͝h̵̺̪̘̬̪͙̼͓̩̗͔͚̱̣́͊͑̐̃͠͝ ̶̡̧̧̲͉̯̤̬̟͖̖̳̬͑̀͐͌̔̂̿͊́̈́̏̊͘̚͜͝ͅa̴̜̻̰̭̝̙̓n̴̛̛͈̭̏͒͑͗́d̶̬̮͖̿͗̊ ̴̧̡͇̙͕̣͎̬͔̰̪̗͖͗̔̅̀̓̆́͆͒̾̕é̵̬̘̯͍̯̻̰̩̣̿̇̀̓͒̊̍̏͠ͅͅm̷̢̼̙̻̤̖̫̅͜ͅͅb̶͇͆̄̈r̷̨̩̱͕̩̯͓͓̻̅̇̈͋̇̋͘̚ạ̶̢̜̩͉̹̈́̆̓̓͑̇̀̋̐͒̈́̈́̎̚͘ç̶̣̱̹̒̈͋̒̽͘ę̶̞̠̟̰̟͓̪̙̽́̓͋̎̀͐͐̚̚͝ ̸̛͇͍̰͗̽̓̿̐́̽́̑̆̓̽m̷̫̌̕͜y̴̳͙̫͇̮̞͉̭̜͚̖͉͈̒͛̈́̽̈́̇̈́̉͆ ̷̡̡͓̼̲̥̰̲͔̻͌s̷͓̹̮͔͈̝̱͇͚̦̓͒͐ͅt̷̲̮̘͍̗̝̥̾͋͒́̇̊̏̋̈́͜͜͝͠ͅr̵̛͚̖̦͕̳̖̈ę̶̡̡̹̙͉̯͎̳̜̰̲͙͔͌̈̀̄̎̿̄̎̓̀̆͝ṇ̴́̆̍̂̾́͊̐͊̾́̽g̴̡̗͇͉̱̘̥͈̥̱̙̹̠͂ţ̶̦̦̣̹̰̈́͛̈́̒̈̒̇͛̋̍͜͝h̸̭̱͈͈̲̭̲͙̟̑̌̔͘̚͜.̷̡̡̜͇̲̪̠̞̺̦̈́̓͗̆̚͜͝"
He holds out a hand, a limb wreathed in fog and you almost accept it, your own limb moving to embrace his almost of its own accord as you absentmindedly make a step forwards to leave the path.
You freeze as your connection to Dad flares up as Dad sends a ton of power into you. Light of Man and Civilisation fills your mind, driving back the fog and cold as Unyielding Walls of Forged Metal spring up in your mind.
Regaining control of your senses and will, you quick a hold of your light magic as quickly as possible, you flare up with as much light as you can as you remain on the crude dirt path, a vein of civilisation. The light drives back the fog that has almost fully consume you and removes the coldness in the air that somehow has not frozen you to death.
Getting a proper look at the figure which you almost embrace, you wake screaming.
[] Evatine the Noble One
[] Gwarlon the Great One