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The Mozgul stomped back into the glade. The stars were bright above him and the sky massive and dark.
The druids and animals of the grove went about their business, the smell of a campfire in the rangers den above set the comfortable tone of the evening.
Mozgul was not comfortable though, he stood with rotted blood and puss dripping from his hands and mouth. The taste made him ill.
His sadness he had unleased on the undead of the necropolis that night. Two new friends had praised his efforts. The fight only distracted him from his depression for a short time though.
The shaman washed his hands and face in the lake and breathed a sigh of relief, looking down at the reflection of his goddess in the waters before him. He stroked his bald head feeling the ripples of tense muscles at the rear of his skull.
He must focus his mind, this was no way to deal with things.
His pack and belongings he left lying on the floor and made his way to a small camp fire. Cross legged he sat before it staring into the flames. For a moment he imagined the tiefling's face as he crawled through the fires of some hellish plane.
Mozgul placed onto the fire a stick of applewood and another of sandalwood, then atop he sprinkled a handful of scuttlebrush leaves.
The leaves broke up and rose in a sparkle of blue light. The woods smoked up warm scented smoke that rose into Mozgul's face and glided up over his cranium.
He inhaled deeply and sat back up straight. The smoke throbbed in his lungs.
The sky above began to hurtle by, clouds danced and stars turned, the sun rose and fell and Selune burned her way through the darkness once more. Lightening erupted and then another morning stained the sky red. Mozgul's eyes remained closed, the smoke passing slowly up infront of him.
Seconds lasted days and days filled his seconds.
He thought of the times he had spent with Nocte and Arawen by the Exigo. He remembered how he had pushed the teifling to the limits of his patience whilst trying to amuse Arawen. Moments that were had in fun now seemed serious and precious in his memory, fragile, because there would be no more.
Memories flashed like pictures through his mind as the smoke rose, still slowly, up infront of him. The sky raced past, day and night over and over.
Fey magics of the grove drew him away from the living, making him invisible to the druids. Dryads pushed their faces from the trees and watched as his mind entered their world. Fey buzzed past him and danced around his giant form, sprinkling their faery dust trails behind them.
Mozguls face bent in pain, he was sad and it was alright to admit it. A tear rolled down his face and glided slowly towards the ground never making it's arrival, the echo of a single heartbeat drummed in his chest.
His head throbbed, the days burned past, rain lashed down but never touched him.
Lathander began to rise and fall more slowly as the pace of day and night returned and Selune rose again one final time gliding nearly to a halt at the end of her nightly journey.
Her cold light cast onto him as the rain stopped and filled his mind with concern for a mother and her unborn child.
He leaned forwards and sank his fingers slowly into the mud, opening his eyes for the first time and finally exhaling the breath he was holding into the embers of the fire. Time met itself again and the glade released him back into his own phase of the prime.
It was a warm sunny day with everything to live for.
The druids and animals of the grove went about their business, the smell of a campfire in the rangers den above set the comfortable tone of the evening.
Mozgul was not comfortable though, he stood with rotted blood and puss dripping from his hands and mouth. The taste made him ill.
His sadness he had unleased on the undead of the necropolis that night. Two new friends had praised his efforts. The fight only distracted him from his depression for a short time though.
The shaman washed his hands and face in the lake and breathed a sigh of relief, looking down at the reflection of his goddess in the waters before him. He stroked his bald head feeling the ripples of tense muscles at the rear of his skull.
He must focus his mind, this was no way to deal with things.
His pack and belongings he left lying on the floor and made his way to a small camp fire. Cross legged he sat before it staring into the flames. For a moment he imagined the tiefling's face as he crawled through the fires of some hellish plane.
Mozgul placed onto the fire a stick of applewood and another of sandalwood, then atop he sprinkled a handful of scuttlebrush leaves.
The leaves broke up and rose in a sparkle of blue light. The woods smoked up warm scented smoke that rose into Mozgul's face and glided up over his cranium.
He inhaled deeply and sat back up straight. The smoke throbbed in his lungs.
The sky above began to hurtle by, clouds danced and stars turned, the sun rose and fell and Selune burned her way through the darkness once more. Lightening erupted and then another morning stained the sky red. Mozgul's eyes remained closed, the smoke passing slowly up infront of him.
Seconds lasted days and days filled his seconds.
He thought of the times he had spent with Nocte and Arawen by the Exigo. He remembered how he had pushed the teifling to the limits of his patience whilst trying to amuse Arawen. Moments that were had in fun now seemed serious and precious in his memory, fragile, because there would be no more.
Memories flashed like pictures through his mind as the smoke rose, still slowly, up infront of him. The sky raced past, day and night over and over.
Fey magics of the grove drew him away from the living, making him invisible to the druids. Dryads pushed their faces from the trees and watched as his mind entered their world. Fey buzzed past him and danced around his giant form, sprinkling their faery dust trails behind them.
Mozguls face bent in pain, he was sad and it was alright to admit it. A tear rolled down his face and glided slowly towards the ground never making it's arrival, the echo of a single heartbeat drummed in his chest.
His head throbbed, the days burned past, rain lashed down but never touched him.
Lathander began to rise and fall more slowly as the pace of day and night returned and Selune rose again one final time gliding nearly to a halt at the end of her nightly journey.
Her cold light cast onto him as the rain stopped and filled his mind with concern for a mother and her unborn child.
He leaned forwards and sank his fingers slowly into the mud, opening his eyes for the first time and finally exhaling the breath he was holding into the embers of the fire. Time met itself again and the glade released him back into his own phase of the prime.
It was a warm sunny day with everything to live for.