Prologue: The end.
They say all good stories should start at the beginning. Well, isn't the beginning of one thing really then end of another as well? This story begins with an end. The end of the reign of earth, water, fire and air. The end of the elementals.
The four stood gathered around a small pool of water. The sun had long since concluded it's journey across the skies, and all stood in pale, moonlit darkness. Beams of light flickered through the tree tops, causing shadows to dance across the leaf-strewn floor of the cool forest.
The tall figures were clad in robes. Hoods cast the faces of the four in darkness. No hint of age nor figure could be determined.
The first, wearing robes of pale purple, spoke. The voice was timeless, not of this world. It whispered through the minds like the wind whispered through the boughs of the tall oaks and chestnuts. "The time has come."
To the right, a figure in flowing azure robes nodded in agreement. The words rose and fell like a swell in the ocean. "We can not remain in this realm for much longer."
A third raised their arms, black gloves covering the hands that peeked out of forest green robes. "The elementals shall return again for the final battle between darkness and light."
The final one spoke, the prophecy being burned into the very depths of the magik laced night. "Shrouded in shadow we are, made neither of light nor dark. The fate of this world is not yet decided." The blood red hood shook slowly as the speaker continued. "There is nothing more we can do now."
The four began to chant. Voices blending together in words never heard by mortal man. The pool in the center began to stir. Swirling faster and faster as the voices grew louder and louder, Power leaked from the figures. Ribbons of fire laces with currents of water. Vines of leaves danced to the chaotic rhythm of the winds.
The water in the pool rose into a column, the raw power of the four intertwining in the crystal pillar. Thunder roared and lightening crackled. The wind tore at the trees and the very ground trembled. The noise grew at a frantic pace, reaching a terrifying crescendo.
Then it stopped. The wooden glen was a gain silent. The pool again still. The night was calm, serene, if not a bit chilly. Nothing remained of what had taken place there. No evidence of the majik that had permeated the air. Nothing but a voice, soft and hard. Young and old. Weak and strong. A voice of the ages. A voice of the night.
"Goddess, give them strength."
They say all good stories should start at the beginning. Well, isn't the beginning of one thing really then end of another as well? This story begins with an end. The end of the reign of earth, water, fire and air. The end of the elementals.
The four stood gathered around a small pool of water. The sun had long since concluded it's journey across the skies, and all stood in pale, moonlit darkness. Beams of light flickered through the tree tops, causing shadows to dance across the leaf-strewn floor of the cool forest.
The tall figures were clad in robes. Hoods cast the faces of the four in darkness. No hint of age nor figure could be determined.
The first, wearing robes of pale purple, spoke. The voice was timeless, not of this world. It whispered through the minds like the wind whispered through the boughs of the tall oaks and chestnuts. "The time has come."
To the right, a figure in flowing azure robes nodded in agreement. The words rose and fell like a swell in the ocean. "We can not remain in this realm for much longer."
A third raised their arms, black gloves covering the hands that peeked out of forest green robes. "The elementals shall return again for the final battle between darkness and light."
The final one spoke, the prophecy being burned into the very depths of the magik laced night. "Shrouded in shadow we are, made neither of light nor dark. The fate of this world is not yet decided." The blood red hood shook slowly as the speaker continued. "There is nothing more we can do now."
The four began to chant. Voices blending together in words never heard by mortal man. The pool in the center began to stir. Swirling faster and faster as the voices grew louder and louder, Power leaked from the figures. Ribbons of fire laces with currents of water. Vines of leaves danced to the chaotic rhythm of the winds.
The water in the pool rose into a column, the raw power of the four intertwining in the crystal pillar. Thunder roared and lightening crackled. The wind tore at the trees and the very ground trembled. The noise grew at a frantic pace, reaching a terrifying crescendo.
Then it stopped. The wooden glen was a gain silent. The pool again still. The night was calm, serene, if not a bit chilly. Nothing remained of what had taken place there. No evidence of the majik that had permeated the air. Nothing but a voice, soft and hard. Young and old. Weak and strong. A voice of the ages. A voice of the night.
"Goddess, give them strength."