The night sky was left unclouded after two vicious storms ripped through the southland. It wasn't common in the summer to see such nasty weather, but it wouldn't be the end to the roaring thunder and sheets of rain. The forces of a dark magic presented itself once again. A time long awaited by Nim and the few bloodlines that stood against the hands of evil.
They spent decades running and hiding from the east coast to west, and with each passing year Nim’s paranoia worsened. Each dark spell would course through the mana that was his blood — making taps in the depths of his mind. Ever since the fall of Delsis even the smallest of forces he felt were noted in his list, but rarely would he feel those of great power; those that would send ripples through his veins and stand his hairs straight. Although rarity was no reason they go unmentioned, it was obvious there was an unchecked magic deep within the forests to the West.
Nim sat on a thick tree branch with a pipe at his mouth. Small clouds of smoke would billow from the canopy as he thought to himself. The wind was calm this night leaving his forest awkwardly silent. The creatures awoke when the night was full, creeping and lurking for their prey. Even Nim was no exception to their diet, having to fight them off plenty in his time. Yet even the creatures were silent, no scratches of bark or the slight flap of wings — where were they?
He paused and widened his eyes, dropping the pipe from his mouth. Quickly he caught it on the top of his foot and flipped it back up to his right hand. Reaching beneath his robes he revealed a small scroll buckled with a leather strap. He left the pipe to his lips before he spread the scroll with his hands and held it tight. As he took a deep breath two symbols etched into the wooden shaft of his pipe shined with a sky blue light.
“Ahn Lim Dran.”
His words escaped with a cloud of smoke that rolled toward the scroll in his hands. Brushing up against its parchment surface the smoke held it still in the air — unmoved by the wind like a weightless stone. He reached above him with his left hand and yanked a handful of leaves from the branches. Quickly balling them in his fist he spoke to himself once more.
“Onos Yus Manas Theas Aer.”
His closed hand flashed with the same green light before he opened it. A small ink puddle remained at the center of his palm. He lightly whistled twice before a white owl fluttered down to his shoulder. Grabbing a loose feather from the air he dipped it into his palm.