(( Sorcerer starter. )) The forest trembled and swam with an abundance of iridescent colors that appeared more as a shimmering mirage rather than truly existing. A hooded figure now walked through these woods, the tips of his black leather boots that appeared from underneath his cloak brushing through the kaleidoscopic earth and leaving trails of frost in his path. The cloak itself appeared black initially, yet it simultaneously seemed to shimmer with individual swirls of polychromasia and magic. For a man of magic he was, as the traveling sorcerer lifted up his hood and pulled it back to reveal a head of silvery locks and eyes of amethyst stone. He lifted his head to squint at the sunlight dappling the colorful trees, observing the way it sparked a sense of beauty in the process of dying. One end of the scarf he currently wore round his neck, seemingly possessing a life of its own (literally), suddenly raised itself and picked off one dying leaf from a branch, holding it between the corners of the fabric, and handed it delicately to his masters elevated hand. The sorcerer held the fragile thing between his fingers, and watched as the frost produced from his fingertips invaded that dying leaf and turned it black and brittle. He let it drop to the ground. After examining the scenery around him once again, he huffed once, then spoke aloud, The world is already dying. I might as well make this process quicker in order to be capable of wielding my powers in its full strength. With that he bent low and drew a magic circle through the leaf-blanketed floor, muttered an incantation under his breath, and spread his arms out while calling, I evoke and conjure thee, O spirit of winter, to appear before me, and heed my every command until dismissed! With a surge of blue frost crackling across the forest floor and a biting breath of bitter cold air, a great bearded warrior of a man formed from within the circle. He sported silver hair like his master, though much more lustrous, garbed in ice-laden armor and carrying a massive war hammer. General Winter, was the spirits name. As the colossal entity gruffly bowed low to indicate his submission to his overseers every will, a wide, wolfish grin cracked across the sorcerers face. Ah, yes, the time was nigh. Let us begin, shall we?
Posted on: Sun, 19 Oct 2014 05:10:21 +0000