The Gathering In The Fog


The Gathering In The Fog

A group of robed figures cuts through the dense fog that fills the corridors surrounding the library. At this hour the night air smells of fog and the harbor that cradles the immaculate white city. Another gray-clad shape emerges from the portal, silhouetted by its blue luminescence. The figure glides down the stairs and nods at a passing sentinel as he makes eye contact with him and smiles. He then quickly makes his way into the structure that stands before the portal. The carved marble sign mounted to the wall of the structure is legible in the faint blue light of the portal: “Temple of Divine Light.”

The robed group stops before the temple’s gold inlaid door and waits in silence. The fog and faint blue glow turn them into ghosts, waiting before the temple in the hope of some word of release. Release and salvation are thoughts that ride through the air tonight, but our figures are not thinking of themselves.

It isn’t long before this image is shattered by a burst of candlelight, as the temple door opens. The figures in the doorway bow quickly to each other and the gray robed individual steps back into the corridor. His eyes meet those that lie just below the cowls of the gray robes that stand before him.

“It is time for us to begin,” he says in a voice that is almost as featureless as his face and garb. “They have annotated the locations for me on the map. Our journey begins once the others are informed. All of you, be cautious but quick.”

The hooded apparitions nod in response in almost perfect unison. The speaker’s hands quickly articulate, calling into existence a small shimmering blue star. The star blinks and expands, becoming a sparkling ring framing what looks like a picture of another place. The figures step through the portal, their gray robes seeming out of place on the green grass of the picture they have become part of.

A brief blue glow is all that remains moments later, and it quickly fades. As a roaming sentinel walks around the corner as the air finally settles. She tilts her head in the hope of catching the noise again. She could have sworn by Prexus that she heard someone recite a phrase that will only carry meaning much later in her life…

“May the Name find a tongue and may the Balance be met…”


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