Location – The Eastern Miasm Wilds in the land of Awel,
Earth Year 2113
A creature, by all appearances a man, hunched through the
thick undergrowth. Heavily booted
feet squelched through damp, insect-ridden undergrowth. Song birds chirped, but otherwise the
heavy fog of the swamp-forest silent of the sounds of animals. Nothing furry scurried, no birds of
prey circled. The man, certainly a
man, ran gloved hands across thick walls of vines. Fruit, heavy and healthy, dropped to the earth with each
probing effort. He tore with
effort, favoring a shoulder, and the vines were thick and coiling with
life. A plump tomato, heavy with
juice, dropped to the ground and popped against a fragment of brick. The juice spread, finding a pale human
finger, pooling into the palm of an ancient, dead hand.
The man dug, breathing in huffs and puffs, revealing a
corpse. Vines pierced up through
the mummified, earthy flesh. Leaves
and buds and fruiting bodies spread across the leathered skin in patches and
bunches. The man’s curiosity satiated, he moved on.
The man searched on, until the day shadowed and darkness
loomed like a threat. Beneath the
halls of a once grand and royal municipal building, the man discovered the door
he had been looking for. There
in the dark, the cloaked, hunched figure entered a great and terrible
room. A vault truly, made from
raw, black iron. It looked like a
gigantic oven, but was in fact a freezer, of sorts. The door was blanketed in thick slabs of ice, and it was
some time before the cloaked figure was able to reach the door.
Some days passed in the shadow of the door, while the
figure, camped snuggly, gathered the strength to open it. Finally he stood, and uttered powerful
words, proving himself a sorcerer.
Invisible bonds loosened, sigils unraveled, and quantum locks unfolded,
the man entered the dark mouth beyond the door.
The light was dim, but the sorcerer could see banks of large
alcoves lining the walls from floor to ceiling. The interior of the room was quite shallow, the walls taking
up the size of the place with their thickness. The darkly clad sorcerer moved toward one of the alcoves,
wiping a metal identification plate with his sleeve to clear it of ice. Wrong number, and he moved on.
Finally, sleeve crusted with ice, the sorcerer found one of the right numbers. The sorcerer reached into the alcove,
found a thick iron handle, burning to the touch with the frigid cold and
hostile magic. He pulled hard on
the handle, sliding out a slab of metal.
On the slab was a great block of blue ice, a magical substance made to
preserve flesh, adapted from a weapon of war. The sorcerer peered into the dark frozen block.
A finger, pink and vulnerable, was visible beneath the dark
and swimming facets of the block.
Kneeling, the sorcerer searched though his heavy belts and pouches thick
with herbs and baubles, until finding a small leather pouch, unusually heavy in
his hand. The sorcerer drew from
the pouch a small copper coin, placing it gently atop the center of the block
of ice. He began to mutter then,
first slowly, and then with
increasing speed as the block began to melt.
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