It occurred in a flash. A shared tug against the ground itself, like dragging an anchor. The blinding, deafening scream. Both Vand and Doggrave lost themselves for a moment in a haze of red and black and pain at the joints in the fingers.
…but then, that familiar chill; that frigid hug of Mother Eretejva. Wrapped in her arms, She of Three Voices sang Vand a lullaby by way of witch-chorus – human, beast…
…and inbetween.
A crone had arrived, howling madly, naked as a jaybird (save for some skins, not so much tanned as torn from the animal and draped, bloody, on her form). Her saggy old tits swung from her chest without shame, and she had appeared to have torn out clumps of her own hair. Her posture barely resembled anything anymore.
Still, Great Grandmother was revered by her sisters…and after beholding her power, it was obvious why.
The portal stone no longer found purchase on Eretejva – the keepers of the natural order has eroded the runic etchings from the rockface already, and the whole device began to sink as though it was being eaten by the earth. Like a birth in reverse.
The portal to the ascended realm beyond had closed to all, both to and fro, as the magic was ground out and dispersed into the planet itself.
And by the time the song has rang out its final verse-that-wasn’t-a-verse, all that remained in the circle was a patch of freshly grown grass and a small collection of bodies– the unconscious Luna Slateforge, the exhausted Doggrave, the bewildered and laughing Vand…
…and the skeletal remains of Azget of the Seventh, bungled in chains.
The portal stone to Eretejva Tundra had been prevented; the most easy mode of transport to the arctic continent, destroyed.
Vand pushed to his feet, dusting himself off.
In has hand remained the glowing purple gem. He stared at it blankly, as if waiting for it to tell him what it actually was...
...and wondered idly about the consequences of this adventure.
