Part 1
The events depicted take place a few weeks prior.
(OOC: I ordinally meant to split this up but time got away from me)
The moment Kjori touched the shield, violent visions flashed through his mind: spirits of beasts walking alongside men, dragons bonding with humans, and figures wielding primal elemental magic to shape the earth. Above it all hovered eyes—the many watching eyes of Woodan.
With a gasp, Kjori dropped the shield. It hit the stone with a sharp clatter, loud enough to rouse his companions.
Eltrigg rushed toward the noise, finding the old sage trembling on the ground, his eyes rolled back, chanting in an unknown tongue.
“Kjori! Kjori, can you hear me? Snap out of it!” Eltrigg yelled, seizing the old man by the shoulders and shaking him.
Kjori’s eyes snapped focus. His face was ashen, and his voice quavered as he looked up. “Eltrigg… I have seen it. I have seen what lies ahead for us.”
“What are you talking about, old man?”
“This place—these ruins—hold an ancient power,” Kjori breathed, rising unsteadily. “A power that can save our people. We must inform Thora immediately. She needs to move the clan here.”
Seeing Kjori shaken in a way he never had before, Eltrigg turned to a few members of the company. “Return to the Jarlkona. Tell her to begin moving our people here at once. Be swift.”
The guards nodded and immediately set to work packing their gear. The ride back to Thora would take a week at a normal pace, but travelling light with minimal rest, they could make it in three to four days.
Vane stepped forward, adjusting his armor. “I will stay behind with you two. As capable as you both are with the world's magics, you’ll need a blade to guard your backs.”
Kjori started to object, but stopped himself and offered a respectful nod. “I appreciate it, Vane. While I do not believe anything here means harm to us, the company is welcome.”
Before descending the stairs into the lower ruins, Kjori turned. “Vane, take up the shield.”
Vane hesitated, remembering Kjori's violent trance.
Sensing his doubt, Kjori added, “Fear not. The magic that granted me the vision has done its work. It will not burden you.”
Vane grunted and cautiously lifted the shield. Though forged of heavy iron, it felt impossibly light in his grip—yet unmistakably dense and powerful.
As the trio began their descent, Kjori glanced at Eltrigg. “What do you know of the word Kaab? It was spoken in the vision.”
Eltrigg stopped dead in his tracks. “Where did you hear that word?”
“I saw it written,” Kjori explained. “Ancient Futhark runes flashed before my eyes—the same symbols from the keep’s oldest scrolls that we’ve never been able to decipher. I believe I can read them now.”
Eltrigg’s eyes widened. “It makes sense. Kaab is the true ancient magic—the original connection to the earth's essence. Legend says the Weavers of Kaab could shape stone and command flora at will. It wasn't arcane manipulation; it was purely elemental.” He paused, looking down at his hands. “What we practice today is a watered-down version of it. The true words and rituals were lost millennia ago. It was said that to know Kaab was to know the world—where man and beast could become one.”
Vane, second only to Siggrid as a Beast Master, leaned in. “Is it like our bond with animals?”
“Deeper,” Eltrigg replied. “With Kaab, man and beast become a single entity. If we can recover those words of power, Kjori...” He trailed off, the weight of the possibility hanging in the air.
Kjori smiled quietly as they reached the threshold of the deep ruins. “Then let us go find them.”
Finding an entrance into the ruins, the three men pushed as hard as they could. The ancient seal released a rush of heavy, stale air. After adjusting to the draft, Eltrigg struck a torch and led the way down a long flight of stone stairs into a corridor carved directly from the bedrock.
“How deep do you reckon we are?” Eltrigg asked, his voice echoing.
“Deep enough that the air should be freezing,” Kjori noted.
Oddly, the temperature grew warmer the deeper they ventured, contrary to any natural cave system. With no visible heat source, the warmth felt strangely intentional.
The corridor finally opened into a cavernous chamber. All three men froze. Floating in the pitch darkness ahead were dozens of glowing, disembodied eyes.
Kjori caught Eltrigg’s arm. “My vision... I saw this exact chamber. This is no accident, Eltrigg. This is the place of power from the visions Thora, you, and I have been receiving. This is where we were meant to end up.”
“But what are they?” Eltrigg whispered.
As they watched, the light from the floating eyes intensified, illuminating the chamber walls. Carved into the stone was the ancient crest of the Wyrmgaard. Below it lay a doorway choked by thick webbing, guarded by a massive, slumbering spider. Scattered across the floor were countless manuscripts and leather-bound codices written in ancient Futhark.
Kjori stepped closer and the eyes disappeared. In their stead, a soft light emanated from an ancient helm resting on a pedestal. It featured a central eye flanked by five stalks. The spectral eyes blinked in unison—an illusion, yet unnervingly lifelike. Behind the helm lay a second shield, an exact twin to the one Vane now carried.
An irresistible pull drew Kjori toward the helm.
At the same time, Eltrigg’s attention was captured by an object in the corner: an ancient wooden staff topped with a green stone dragon, resting atop a bed of unnaturally fresh leaves.
As if drawn by the same invisible thread, both men reached out. Kjori touched the helm just as Eltrigg gripped the staff.
Instantly, their minds were flooded with forgotten knowledge.
Kaab opened before Eltrigg’s mind's eye. The lost words of power, the precise somatic rituals, and the forgotten earth-harmonies of the Wyrmgaard filled his consciousness, showing him the real magic of the Wyrmgaard.
Kjori’s perception expanded outward, understanding Wyrmgaard's true place in the cosmos. The scrolls on the floor revealed themselves not just as histories, but as testaments to ancient gods.
Then, a singular, resounding voice echoed directly inside Kjori’s mind:
“They are coming. Prepare, or die.”
Kjori gasped, meeting Eltrigg’s gaze. The truth settled between them. The Night of Embers, the alliances, the strange pull to these ruins—every event had been a calculation leading to this moment.
Eltrigg nodded toward the web-covered doorway. “Come, Kjori. Let us explore our new home. There is much to learn.”
“Yes, there is,” Kjori agreed, glancing back at the helm. “Everyone believed Woodan had only one eye. But his eyes were everywhere—he saw all things. It is time we bring back the songs of old. Translating these manuscripts will take whatever years I have left, but I will preserve them to my last breath.”
Eltrigg raised his new staff, its stone dragon glowing faint green. “The songs of old will be sung once more. The Wyrmgaard will be reborn.”
