Resting just to the East of Monolith is a small village by the name of Borhut, nestled in a group of rolling hills. Though not amazingly small, it is a tight-knit community. The village is self-sufficient, and rather xenophobic, settling matters on their own merit. It is in this small village of friends resides one man in particular who stands out- especially on this day.
Alone in his manor, Lyssina'ar sat at his organ, a haunting tune flying out from beneath his fingers. In a masterfully crafted amphitheater, the sound rang out through the entire village, a delight to the ears of those sitting out on benches, simply enjoying the mild weather. But today, another listened to his song.
Just outside the valley, there was a disturbance. Thunder rolled across the sky, bringing with it the telltale clouds, grayer than granite. But with this storm, no lighting came. Simply the thundering noise, and the oppressive clouds, slowly tightening their grasp upon the sky. As though the gods themselves were reaching down, the clouds stretched downwards, embracing the earth in an impossibly thick fog. In the few minutes it had taken the events to transpire, it ended. A flash of brilliant light radiated down from the sky, as the fog and clouds vanished into the faint blue of the sky, leaving the sun to shine his light unobscured.
Unfortunately for this town, the storm was not gone before it left its unholy taint. Showing himself as a churning mix of light, a new Keeper was born unto the land. 'The Master' had no need to search his surroundings, or speak with those nearby. His imposing presence did the talking for him, and he already knew what he was destined to do.
The music resounding through the Keeper struck him- chilling him deep to his metaphorical bones. He moved along swiftly, bobbing with the tune. As the lights danced along towards the source of the music, he began to hum- emulating the tune, adding his own strings of music to it. In all honesty, the Keeper had no idea what he was doing. What these noises were, and why he was so compelled to join along with it. All he knew was that this was a beautiful thing, and that he needed to seek out more of it.
It was almost dark, by the time Lyssina'ar realized something was wrong, it was already upon him. Having put the organ to rest some time ago, he had picked up his violin, carved from mahogany, and still keeping the same scent of freshness it had the day he crafted it. This song was less mournful- more upbeat. The sort of tune one might dance a jig to. Lyssina'ar only realized something was wrong when he found that his music had an eerie echo, ringing out from just behind him. Almost dropping his instrument, Lyssina'ar whirled angrily to find the source of the echo, only to be confronted by the dazzling lights of the Keeper. Lyssina'ar reeled backwards, before slamming into a wall. Spawned into this world, the new Keeper had very little power of any sort and any such power was quickly expended in a quick maneuver. A magical hand reached out to grip Lyssina'ar's mind. With a direct channel to the mind, The Keeper was able to commune with the mortal directly. The golden voice of the Keeper was not what one might expect- rather than a clear, loud voice directing him, the voice came to Lyssina'ar as something far more subtle. Much like the other voices in ones head, this voice goaded Lyssina'ar to sit, and calm his rapidly pulsing heart.
Despite his initial panic, Lyssina'ar couldn't help but obey his own thoughts, sitting back in his high-backed chair. As he fell limp onto the cushion, a thousand motes of dust flew up, caught in the shining light of the Keeper. Inquiries filled the mind of Lyssina'ar, most of which were not his own. Having just been born into the world, The Keeper required knowledge, and this mortal would be the one to give it to him. Standing abruptly, Lyssina'ar moved with a purposeful swiftness, entering his mansion. Though a series of twisting halls he walked swiftly, the dim lighting giving the house a warm glow. When he arrived in a room filled with bookshelves, a warm feeling bloomed in his mind, momentarily making him lose his vision. It was now that The Keeper spoke out loud, rather than forcing his will upon the human. Despite the agony of Lyssina'ar's headache, it was very little in comparison to the pain felt by The Keeper- Mind control was no easy task, especially at such low levels of power.
"Very good, my child. This will do perfectly. Bring me that which I need to know." He spoke simply, his light slowly stretching to fill the room. Though Lyssina'ar opened his mouth to speak, he quickly thought better of it, and went to grab the books. He returned quickly, tomes of knowledge stacked on his arms. It had been some time since these books had been opened, and their yellowing pages were rich with a scent that could only be described as dusty. They were dropped onto a large mahogany table, unsettling the fine layer of dust that had come to reside there, after months of disuse. Lyssina'ar tried to escape the reality of his situation, and devise some way out of this hellish service, but the more he thought, the harder it became. The music that resounded from the Keeper had a strange quality to it- it crept deep into his mind, disturbing the darkest corners and removing any thought past obedience.
Hours were spent in that library, pages rustling softly as the spirit learned. The sun was rising once again by the time that the Keeper spoke.
"My child, today your life has ended.
Your limited existence now comes to a crescendo.
You have become a part of something much bigger than yourself.
You are now a part of The Masterpiece."
Dungeon- None
Minions- Lyssina'ar, The Priodigy
Location- Borhut, exactly in between the Town and Castle to the East of Monolith
Compendium-The Master-
Simply referred to as 'The Master', this Keeper presents himself as a dancing array of lights- Warm colors mostly, with deep passionate reds mingling with soft streaks of yellow, a misty mauve all about. This light is strangely entrancing, and has a calming illusion about it. He has no corporeal form, and cannot mingle with the real world itself- yet. Until he can build his power, he speaks directly to the mind, a melodious voice, described only by a chorus of angels. With this voice, he uses a mild magic, something of a poison to lower the inhibitions of others, allowing him to spread his word unhindered. A spirit obsessed with perfection, he seeks out to remedy the harsh noises of battle, replace them with his beautiful symphonies. With his music comes peace. With peace comes conquest. From this conquest, perfection shall be born.
