Time Passes… the World is New Again

Hope… Hope is what the people need now, most. The years past have been the most cruel that Phenkorn has ever had to weather. After a couple of lazy generations of peace and plenty, seems that the citizens grew soft. The ruling class is gone, but that’s been true for a while now. Turns out, no one likes to follow a blind fool into an early grave. Their times came fast, well before most others’. What’s still here to keep the peace… that’s just everybody trying to keep living. We still keep together in groups… but would be a crime to call them towns or cities. Most just call it a haven, but it’s kind of more than that now. It’s kind of just Haven, now. We get by as best we can, and we look out for our own in the same way. The only commodities we have are what we can plant, dig up, or build. Trading with the neighbor folk is not exactly an option.

Let’s bring it back around to that hope I was talking about earlier… What’ve we got here? Scraping by, no one even knows how long it’s been since things went south. It’s a long time passing between travelers to come to our Haven, and longer still between the ones we fancy talking with. More often than not, they tell their stories and we listen, knowing most of it’s rambling… no one in their right mind’s walking out of a haven these days. Yep, these travelers are rare sights, but never much worry or bother to any of us… until the last one.

This one we almost let die out in the Wastes. He wasn’t much to enjoy looking at, nor to listen to, but it had been so long since we heard anything, I had to let him in. His story was same as most, but more scary, like. Had a lot of details that you don’t get from your average wanderer. Talk of the races separating again, gathering in numbers, building cities. It made a few of our elves and dwarves uncomfortable, not to mention the half-breeds that’ve been popping up more and more regular. I was just about to send him off when he talked about the Schism. He says magic woke up, and woke up angry.

This made some of the more religious folk right angry. They’ve been saying the return of Magic would be glorious, and everyone’d be happy and no one’d be scared anymore. Most’ve been holding on to that as what’s ready to pull us out of this mess. I took him from the main campfire for his own safety, was going to give him advice on where to go next, and when to shut his mouth. In my tent he kept on to tell of how something woke up the Magic. It was old, dark, fanged, beautiful, flying, and fierce. Of course it was. What else could it be. He was full on in his tirade. Right about when I had had enough, he grabbed my arm, and I saw. I Saw.

Words can’t really tell what my eyes were seeing. Religious folk are telling me it’s mind magic, and not to be believed, but by their own words that’s some real believing I should be doing. I saw power beyond what the master mages had been able to do after years of studying. I saw creatures long dead. I saw rituals, academies… worst of all, I saw fervor in the eyes of the people.

When the stranger let go my arm, he collapsed in a heap. Healers say he died, magic users say he’s still in there. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to keep hearing from him, but I found that I’d be seeing more than I had a taste to.

I dream now. I dream of my visions, changed by time, like everything else. I’m called, don’t know how else to put it. Called to the Wastes. Maybe I had some Magic in me, maybe not, but I set out to planning my journey soon as the visions started. Some of the younger ones want to come, and who can tell them not to. I don’t think they’ve seen beyond the walls since the Schism, but I don’t think anyone has.

It’s about time to go… one pipes on up, “What’re we looking for?”
I freeze, never really had to put it to words. “Just follow me, I’ll tell you on the way.”

I give them the evening to say goodbye to everybody. It’s a tight group, after all.

Shifting Sands