The advent of Mordremoth brought forth the obvious cataclysm it was so fabled to do. It was the free flowing arcane that was not anticipated. Wisps in universal lore have been widely known to attract travelers onto dangerous paths. When these two magicks collide, it is those who have the choice. Those who have already withered into the gray.
Dormant and engraved, an unawakened Sylvari lay embedded into a willow tree just near a river bank. The pod was broken and limp, just down the bend. The location was rather curious as it was no-where near the Grove. The land was marred with thorns and dark energy that had been strewn about by the dragon’s hellions.
The nearby wisps that gravitated toward this energy had become tainted. Their will was of Mordremoth. It was then that a bewitched will-o-wisp had flown into the unguarded Sylvari, crackling and shifting the willow tree that housed him. His eyes opened.
But he had not yet awakened.
The wisp willed his comatose body to pry itself from the tree, and begin a trek into the jungle at dusk. Lifeless, the Sylvari trudged without say or knowledge to a book nearby a nightmare court enclave. “She doesn’t have a say!” a voice echoed, its source unknown. He raised his hand in trance. The book opened. His name was being inscribed onto the pages without his fingers even touching their aged folds. “You need to listen to me! Open your eyes!” Caithe bellowed, attempting to awaken the Sylvari.
The writing stopped, his body twitched and convulsed. The awakening of his mind infused with the wisp that had haunted him. His eyes became pale and a porcelain white. His hands still outreached, he stared across and into the eyes of a Nightmare cultist. Cackling she lept with an odd acrobatic prowess from a bramble covered cave. It was as if an invisible demon assisted her every movement. This dark mage held a scepter topped with a rich purple gem. She flicked it and nodded, as if beckoning the Sylvari to look at the book.
Now aware of his body, he snapped his hand away, this of course was followed by even more laughter of the wicked courtier. “Go on!” she chortled whilst her eyes menaced. His gaze eventually drifted to the page before him, but he was resisting with every ounce of might in his being.
“Whick” she said aloud, synchronized with his glance. Her voice was spellbinding. Dark energy from the page erupted and flew into his body. It jolted Whick, stirring him and eventually passing out once more. Caithe looked into his lifeless pale gaze, shocked. The wisp’s flames that bewitched him flickered in his soul. “It’s you.” she whispered. “The one who houses the foe fire. An aid in our time of crisis against the dragons. The Whick of our candle.”
Whick was shocked, having felt prematurely awakened and his body housing powerful twisted magic. Looking at a nearby rock quarry, his body flourished and glided with a quiet but extremely quick ease. “The book.. You must be as the Dream states. You’re one of the dark mages… But you were strong enough not to be corrupted.”
“Corrupted?” Whick jolted, surprised at his ability and the vocabulary Caithe decided to use. “A Nightmare Courtier tried to bewitch you. It’s common with willow Sylvari, as their wisps have easy access to the outliers like you that awaken so far from the safety of The Grove.”
Caithe stared as Whick sparked black energy onto the rock in front of him. “You will need to learn how to control your darkness. You possess the same abilities as necromancers that have awakened properly. But you haven’t obtained the same way. I am still concerned for the power you possess at such an early stage. Even if it means help slaying Mordremoth, we need to be careful.”
The Dream shifted, Caithe disappearing and Whick awakening once more. Picking himself up off of the cold floor, he looked at his surroundings, and noticed a very important detail “I’m still not at The Grove.”
(edited by Teddie.8269)