Thirty-leagues inland from the shores on the borders of Cracatowa—a Province of the Empire—stands a rising hill. Not tall enough to be called a mountain, but not low enough to be considered a dirt-mound; a jagged stone-tooth sprouting unnaturally from the flat grasslands as the people called it. It had become a common landmark for travelers moving from south towards the northern-shores. From its top a winding dirt road could be seen coming to it, winding around, and going away from it. A small river ran to its left side, and to the right si at the base of the hill was a tall line of pine trees; shielding a marshland hiding behind it.
‘The Gulag’, as the common traveler called it; for once anyone enters they are never heard from again and those that do return have lost all of their common-sense. For this reason travelers would take the winding road around the hill to get back on road.
One certain winter when the hill was covered in snow and the river ran under a frozen pavement. A mysterious figure arrived at the foot of the trees bordering the Gulag. The horse on which it rode flinched and cried under the growing shadows of the still trees.
“Whoa, Blueshadow, calm. There is no need to be afraid. We are here to meet an old friends.” With a pull of the rains the horse calmed down just enough for the figure to look more closely at his surroundings.
“A friend of mine, but I hope I am his.” Jumping down from the horse his black cloak fell backwards and it revealed an old man’s face hiding under it. In his hand a crocked-wooden staff adorned with a flame-red crystal; it supported his bent stature. His blue eyes looked around as if trying to recall something.
“Now if I remember correctly,” he walked around the base of the trees looking for something, “Ah here it is,” he came to a tree covered in green moss. Under the green moss were strange symbols.
“Gr De me La magma.” He tapped his staff on the tree with each word. For a moment nothing happened and all laid still. But then a crackling noise merged from deep within the marshlands. The noise came tumbling towards the old man as he griped his staff.
“I hate this part.” He spoke and the trees jumped to the sides and great vines lunged towards the old man and the horse; wrapping around them and carrying them deep into the marshlands. As soon they were carried away the trees jumped back into static form and all laid still as if nothing had happened.
Deep in the heart of the marshlands near a stagnant pool of green water was a wooden dwelling. A light grey fog loomed around the swamp and all routes of escape were blocked off by walls of trees. A soft light emerged from the window of the house.
“After all these years.” He grabbed his shaken horse by his reins as he moved towards the house. The water had such a strong stench that no frog, water beetle or any such creatures could be found anywhere near it. The house was near the pool with a small dock coming out to the water and a small boat was tied to one of its wooden post.
“Greados! It is I, Gallendor. I have come as a friend.” He knocked on the door, but no one answered his call. “I said it is…” A loud chuckle echoed from within the house.
“Ha-ha. A friend? The last time we meet, I remember you breaking my staff and throwing me down the cliff into the treacherous black-sea.” A giant emerged from within the house. Green moss-rags covered his body and a broken tree branch supported it. His hands covered in green algae, and his head decorated with mushrooms. His eyes glowing green as he eyed the old man down.
“Yes, I remember that you raised an army of the dead to overthrow the Province of Midlandel. But I am not here to reminisce.” Digging his staff into the ground the old man stared into the giants eyes.
“I know of what you seek, but all I offer are answers.” He backed off and entered his house. The old man followed behind him.
“Answers are more than enough.” He spoke while his eyes looked around and his hands waving around the wooden post supporting the house.
“You wish to know of the Rupture? You wouldn’t be the first and certainly not the last to come knocking on my door seeking to uncover its truths.” He placed a metal pot with clear water on the fireplace. Then he broke a few leafs from one of the many plant pots decorating the mantel piece above it and threw them into the boiling water.
“So it is true than, the Rupture is upon us?” He asked with a sigh.
“Yes. And the ones who wants it to happen are already turning the gears of war.” He poured hot tea into a wooden cup and offered it to the old man.
After a few hours of questioning and answering Gallendor stood up and walked out of the house. But before he could leave the Giant grabbed him by his shoulders.
“If that boy dies. Your hopes to spare this world of utter despair will die along with him.”
Shrugging off his hand the wizard jumped back on his horse. He charged towards the trees as they flew apart; making way for him to pass through.
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