[center][h2]Part Two:[/h2][/center] [center][h3][i]Fog[/i][/h3][/center] Andrey, and that was the boy’s name, dragged the Runecrafter back to the village that morning. Just in time to stop the search party that’d been assembling to go look for the young man and the mad fool he’d been chasing. The welcome hadn’t been smooth, but Andrey was safe. More than that, the Runecrafter had proved the boy’s testimony, and Wizardry was not something an isolated village scoffed at. In fact, it was something they’d never even seen. By the nature of his trade the Runecrafter hadn’t been able to conjure more than he’d prepared, but that had been enough. In the span of a morning he’d gone from nearly being strung up, to eating fresh stew beside the village chieftain, Andrey’s father. He was a large man, calloused and scarred beyond what might have been expected from someone in his position. was friendly, even kind. “So, my new Wizard friend, was it you who brought the birds? The holy mans been ranting about omens, but he hasn’t stopped doing that ever since the last time the rain was [i]warm[/i]. I’d be glad to put his superstition to bed.” The Runecrafter put his wooden spoon aside, reluctantly, and coughed before speaking, “No. They brought me here, but not because I made them. Don’t dismiss your holy man, Chieftain, I don’t know how much news you get from afar, but the gods are stirring. They were stirring before I was forced from the great city.” The big man frowned, and lowered his voice, “Andrey told me you’d come from Ketrefa. You should know there isn’t much love for the city out here Wizard. The last travelers that came this way were on their way to join some fool marching on the walls, Kamolon, they call him.” “It has been tried before,” The Runecrafter paused to take another spoonful of stew, savoring the taste of [i]seasoned[/i] food. He looked to the Chieftain seriously and continued, “More times than even I know. The walls were raised by Tekret as proof against the first Trolls, men cannot bring them down.” “Hrm,” The Chieftain grumbled, “Well, they’ll try. Just be careful about who you tell your history to. You were lucky the birds brought you here. That Andrey found you. The city doesn’t send men into the woods, not this deep. Most here only know the stories.” The Runecrafter nodded and added between spoonfuls, “I’ll keep it in mind.” The simple thatch house they spoke in afforded the two some privacy, but every so often they heard the commotion outside. The gossip, shock, and Andrey’s occasional boasts that the Wizard had promised to teach him. One particularly loud declaration from outside focused the boy's father, who finally asked, “Will you? Teach Andrey? If he’s gotten the wrong impression I understand, but I wouldn’t be opposed to you staying. No, I want you to. We could use you here, and I’ve always wanted more for my son.” The question froze the Runecrafter. The man hadn’t been considering more than the stew, and the conversation. The future was a foreign topic to him now. Still, he’d made a promise to Andrey. With some certainty he answered, “I will. Andrey and anyone else that wishes to learn, anyone who has time. I can’t go back to the city, and I won’t return to the woods. I’m not the practitioner that I was, though. I fear I’ll make a poor teacher.” With a big grin the Chieftain brought a hand down on the Runecrafter’s shoulder and joked, “Andrey was the first in my family to witness magic in generations, you can’t be a worse teacher than the air my friend! Well, assuming you can get the lad to pay atten-” A harsh rapping on the door cut the Chieftain short, and with some annoyance he excused himself and stomped over to the entrance. When he pulled the door aside his eyes widened, and she shouted before the woman sent to warn him could, “Wizard! Have you sent this fog!” The Runecrafter looked up in alarm, and saw what lay beyond the door. A thick white grey fog had shrouded the village, even the woman at the doorway was nearly invisible as it began to roll into the house. He stepped forward and spoke with some trepidation, “No.” A look of supreme concern passed over the Chieftain’s face before he steeled himself and nodded, “Then perhaps the holy man wasn’t such a fool. Come, whatever this is, it’s for you Wizard. The birds brought you here, not us.” The Runecrafter’s eyes widened, but he knew there was nothing for it. He stepped towards the door as the Chieftain ushered the messenger into the house, and with a look from the big man walked out into the fog. The first thing he noticed was that, whatever he stood in, it wasn’t fog. As the Chieftain joined him the Runecrafter could tell he knew it too. The air was dry, and unnaturally still. There was no wind, and more disconcertingly, no sound. As soon as the Runecrafter stepped out into the pall everything went quiet. He couldn’t even hear his heartbeat. He brought a hand to his chest, just to feel the evidence he was alive. The Chieftain said something, but the words were stolen from his mouth. The Runecrafter’s blood ran cold. There were things beyond his understanding of magic, things that were the province of gods and witches alone. He didn’t know which one was worse. He only knew it was something he couldn’t fight, and so as the Chieftain lofted a club he’d retrieved from the house, the Runecrafter motioned for him to drop it. Once the man did so, a distant laughter echoed from all around them. It was followed by a disembodied voice, [color=7070db]“I see you followed my little hint! And here I was, worried you’d run from it Dyros. Or should I call you Runecrafter?”[/color] A figure materialized in the fog, a woman whose features were nothing but the shifting of mist. She floated through the fog towards him, and the Runecrafter was paralyzed as she ran an ethereal finger along his cheek. She smiled at him, and the slack jawed Chieftain, [color=7070db]“You’ve finally found your way home. Or to a home. Mm, semantics, what matters is that you’re here, and that your long struggle wasn’t in vain!”[/color] The Runecrafter opened his mouth, but against his words were stolen from his throat. The misty figure only chuckled at his effort, but not too unkindly. She wrapped her arms around him and spoke in his ear, to him alone, [color=7070db]“There’s no need for a reply. You toiled, and you’ll be rewarded. Questions just make these things harder.”[/color] Her figure drifted away from him, and suddenly the entire village was around the Runecrafter and the Chieftain, the mists having thinned just enough for them to be visible. The Chieftain tried to shout from them to go back to their houses, but he didn’t make a sound. The Runecrafter knew they hadn’t chosen to leave them, anyway. The village’s guest wanted an audience, and as she swirled in the remaining mists between them all there were a number of silent gasps and screams. [color=7070db]“You’ve chosen to teach these folk your magic, Runecrafter. So I’ll reward them too. For ten years you wandered the world alone, and so for ten years I’ll grant you the sight. Them too, if they take on the same challenge. This world is filled with magic, of a sort beyond what is known in Ketrefa and Acadia. It was hidden from you, and perhaps the Lord of Magic hasn’t deemed you ready for it, but consider it revealed.”[/color] A glowing, acrid smelling thing began to blaze at the center of the village, but only the Runecrafter saw it. A spell hidden in plain fight. The illusory woman snapped her fingers, and for the barest moment the whole village saw it. She went on, [color=7070db]“Magic. You can see it now, smell it, hear it, it will be as real to you as the dirt you tread on. For every moment you spend alone, for every day lost to the wilds, I grant you and this village that."[/color] With a little smile the woman began to fade away, but before the mists retreated she snapped her fake fingers and added, [color=7070db]“Oh, but one last thing. If you must teach those without the sight, or without the will to gain it, use this.”[/color] Without a sound, or even a feeling, the Runecrafter found himself holding a thin black book. The woman in the mist explained, [color=7070db]“Once you’ve found a spell, transcribe it to this to capture it. Any can read the book's pages, if you let them. Now then, I think I’ve overstayed my welcome! Ta-ta!”[/color] Without a warning the mists evaporated, and the village was left in silence. Well, all but the Runecrafter. He still saw the spell at the village’s center, and heard its faint ringing. Ten years, and he already felt the time passing. At least, until the holy man fainted and the village erupted into chaos. [hider=Summary] The Runecrafter goes to the boys village, and learns his name is Andrey. He spends some time talking to Andrey’s father, but before long the village is engulfed in a supernatural mist. A woman appears in the mist and grants the Runecrafter and the villagers the power of the sight, but only for as long as they’ve spent in isolation. Oh, and she leaves them with a spellbook to record the spells they see.[/hider] [hider=MP Summary] 1 MP - Consecrate the Runecrafter and village with the Sight. The Sight allows them to see, smell, and hear god forged spells. However, it only works for as long as they’ve spent in isolation. 2 MP - Create the Black Book. The Black Book is a spellbook that absorbs God Forged spells transcribed in it. However, rather than storing them the Book actually sucks them into the Patron’s realm. Anyone using the Black Book can see the essence of any god forged spell stored in the Patron’s realm. Notably the danger of understanding the spells remains the same. The book is more durable than the flesh in the case of an accident.[/hider]