Gatha The book trembles in the lap of the creature, it senses something and the pictures stop forming. It is time to move, the creature decides to itself, time to evade the wandering sensory that gazes from above. The robes around the creature tighten as the wings are absorbed into its back, the cracking of bones accompanies this action as the wings are compacted within the beings back. If the gazing eye above could sens magic or even see it a small dot of black would be the glimpse it got.
The dot is not a creature, nor is it living. It would be the trace of an aura, and dark aura that seems small and insignificant to those of unwarry gaze or magic sense. And so it would seem to those whom observance could be regarded as unrivalled.
Soon after its appearance the black dot, or trace of it, is gone. No sign of what might have been there, no trace of whatever radiated that insignificant little dot of magic.
* * *
The trees seem to be getting taller and more obscured in the mists of this strange land. His eyes are clouded by the constant fog and mist, his lips are wet from the moisture of the surrounding jungle. This adventurer would need no drink for some time, if this forest continues on like this. His name is Chainer, his class is Battlemage. He wears soft leather armours and leggings, which are getting more damp by the minute the longer he stays in this forest.
"By the shadows of Dominaria's swamps. This place is more humid the a freshly rotted graveyard." His voice is crisp and controlled, his hand constantly rests upon the hilt of a black steel blade. There is no telling what could jump out of the fog at this well facial haired fellow and his lonely self. He scratches the black haired beard on his face before continuing his journey through the desloate jungle, unaware of anyone nearby. If indeed he is not alone.
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