Ancient Site:
Tower of Tombs The room was glib and dim. The high vaulted ceilings of the great central hall were etched with distant runes too far to provide light. Moreover the large glass paned windows which told the story of this place, were blackened out by centuries of dust, and sediment. But that was not to say the room was entirely shrouded in darkness as an eerie light emanated from its central fixture: a body suspended in a confluence of earthly magic surrounded by runes burning with terrestrial radiance.
It was there that the man found what had drawn his interest from the surface. A child like figure was suspended with tethers invisible to a lesser man’s normal naked eyes. Though it was just barely invisible to the naked eye, its presence was palpable and its effect clear to see. Weapon wounds were sealing in the robes of the childlike figure as the weapons that made them were being corroded and consumed.
Even at this distance the man’s orb began to lose integrity. He squinted unhappily up at the figure, shielding his eyes as if he were trying to stare at the sun. To test a theory he moved the orb in his hand closer to the anomaly, and observed its light diminish further the nearer it drew; then brighten again when pulled away. He noted it react more to the runes, than to the child, as he waved it about.
“So, that’s how it works,” he murmured, his eyes still squinted as he stepped closer to the figure. This draw of energy had been what attracted his attention to begin with, the gorge he’d crossed earlier one of the many ley-lines that seemed to be funnelling directly into this place. Another step closer to the binding runes and the orb in his hand snarled; rattling softly as its light grew close to dying.
Without giving it a second thought he grabbed the sphere in both hands, twisted the two halves so that the light giving slits were shut, and in an awkward fashion reached behind himself with both hands to put the orb back in his bag. The etchings on the walls still gave off enough glow to penetrate the mire of darkness.
In the moments that the orb was stowed brilliant shafts of light burned out of every opening in the figure. They tightened and refined on the body as wounds closed and momentarily widened at the eyes and mouth as a scream reverberated outward echoing through the large chamber and through the whole of the spire. Then… nothing. No lights. No sounds. The body was unceremoniously dumped straight down onto the hard stone floor, and at the very center of the warded runic circle; whereupon the tide of magic stemmed to a trickle.
Curious to see what would happen, he began offering his magic to the crumpled figure but whatever it was could or would not accept it. It seemed to have stopped drawing in power, but hadn't released any either. Unhappy with the results the man twisted impatiently and marched over to where the cowled figure lie.
“Why do you need so much magic!?” he said and jabbed angrily with frustration evident underneath his wealth of facial hair. His eyes were almost closed at this point, trying to avoid looking directly at it on top of that.
He scowled and clapped his hands together, rubbing them into each other and twisting as a dim green began to emanate from between his clasped hands. As he did so his skin grew darker, his hair longer, and what appeared to be pine-cones began budding from the sides of his head. The glow now a wispy, fluid like substance that swirled between slightly apart palms, the man lifted the shapeless mass of energy and knelt down, shoving it towards this peculiar magic sponge. All that raw energy pent up in one place was a bad thing, and if left to stagnate it would only get worse. If this thing wasn't going to give up it's well of power on it's own, maybe it could be persuaded.
The warding circle flashed violently in reaction to the man’s magic and dispelled it from his hands as he thrust them through. His empty palms struck the figure, rousing it from its slumber, and what first appeared to be a child was noticed as decidedly not one. “Grand-papa, you came back! I’m sorry grand-papa…” the cloaked figure groggily mumbled as it rubbed his eyes, looking up as the man withdrew his hands to inspect the barrier. It hadn’t been the expected result, but after the initial shock faded the man was left with a smile. Slowly his appearance began to return to normal, and the few growths his hair had developed shed themselves onto the floor.
The child’s eyes opened, slowly at first, then widened with surprise when he noted the old man was not Grandfather. He scrambled backwards out of the circle, and backed against some debris. He thrust his right arm up between them, pointing it at the old man like a weapon, and stabilized it with his left. “Who are you!?” he shouted, “Where is Grandfather?”
The man didn’t flinch, observing the humanoid being passively while it recovered from whatever process it had just been through. “Not your Gran-pap, lad,” he chuckled, pushing off his bent knee to lift himself to stand. The wooden creature’s stress seemed to amuse the old man, though his attention had become divided as he’d started scanning the surrounding area thoughtfully.
It was in that moment that Jumper noticed the debris he was leaning against had not been there when his eyes last closed. He tried to remember what happened. He closed his eyes for a moment, his weapon arm still tracking the intruder not wearing the colors, while he pieced it together. He then immediately wish that he had not.
The magical runes in Tiberius’s citadel, however, were all tied together into two competing networks. For this one to go dark would mean that his revivification had drained the remaining arcane energies, or at the very least upset the balance they had had for so many years.
Jumper scrambled up to his feet and dashed at the door, and the man stepped out of the way to allow him passage while his attention was once again fully on the animate wooden boy.
The ley-lines were no longer flowing here because they had been released to resume their natural flow, and so the tower had nothing powering its immortal seals. It was for this reason that the boy ran. There was nothing to prevent the Great Old One’s magic from tearing this stone fortress asunder mote by mote. Indeed even before Jumper could get halfway to the door an ear-splitting crack ruptured the ceiling above and rubble rained from above.
“Well that’s not very good,” the man commented factually, staring up at the cascade of crumbling stonework as it was torn apart by the magics surging in the green glyphs and seals he had walked past earlier. He hadn’t budged though, and watched as the cowled figure dashed away towards the door. “Don’t let the earth swallow you yet, sapling!” he bellowed over the sound of fortress being turned to rubble, large sections of wall falling between him and Jumper causing both to lose sight of the other. Stone continued to pile into the chamber, and while there were no cries of pain or anguish, there was no sign of the man having escaped before being buried alive.
Jumper hurled himself into a full sprint and maintained the pace as he dodged and weaved through the corridors, sometimes skidding through turns, others jumping and kicking off falling debris to clear rifts and canyons that swallowed up the only home he had left. Though he could not explain it this tower had been his home for years and he knew it well. Well enough to escape at least.
As he ran, ancient carved runestone that made up the walls, floors, and ceilings cracked into cobble, before exploding into fine dust, as the ancient subterranean spire was erased from the world for good. He was nearly caught in the collapse, and drug down into the sinkhole that naturally followed, when he erupted forth with the cloud of dust that would serve as the structure’s death rattle.
The sound of thunder could be heard overhead, and though he couldn’t see through the thick smoke and fine dust that enveloped the air he could hear the slightest pitter-patter of rain as the first drops splashed off his cowl. The more it rained the more the particulates were washed out of the air, each mote captured in a droplet and drowned. Carried away back to whence it came, where the water and dust would mix into cement, before settling the ancient rivalry forever.
It was the last of the ancient druidic magic and, before storm’s end, there would be a lake here. Jumper cast his gaze about the massive depression left in the landscape that had yet to fill looking for some sign of the old man. With the conjured storm slowly drenching the forest floor the massive crater began to take on water, mud settling to quickly seal away the all but forgotten tower.
Finally free, and reasonably safe, Jumper collapsed to the ground in a panting heap. Though he looked it, as he imagined that’s what his grandfather would do, he wasn’t as exhausted as his panting and grasping form would suggest.
“So efficient how they planned all that out, eh?” a fairly familiar voice commented, sounding from somewhere seemingly just out of sight. Jumper rolled over and sat up in a single motion. Up on the balls of his feet as he looked around for the voice. “Don’t stay here and drown, sapling! Be safe!” the voice called again, now distant and from somewhere high above. Jumper glanced up to the skyline but saw naught but a leafy canopy backed by dire storm clouds.
