~Dark Citadel~ (Private)

[Etar]

((Location: Unknown))

A shadow falls upon Crosshaven. Dark towers appear silently in the sky, giving all below a eerie sense of foreboding. Thick mists obscure the main structure, and all one can see from the ground is a massive facade of earth and rock--with dirt sprinkling like pebbled rain upon those it passes over.

All who sense magic and the arcane should feel a chill in the air, the very space itself tightening like a pulled wire. This structure should not be here, nor does it belong in this world. It belongs in a dark place, in a dimension where chaos rules and even the light is tainted by blood.

The elements within Crosshaven are jarred a bit, as if knocked askew by the appearance of this strange tower. The wind blows unnaturally hard and cold, the earth shivers as the shadow travels overhead. Fire flares suddenly bright, whereas the waters of the lakes and rivers grow oddly still.

This is something that cannot be ignored, or made to leave. Something has began to hollow out a new home here--a niche to be carved and exploited. Whether the citizens of Crosshaven wish it or not.

A lone figure dressed entirely in black stands ontop of highest apex, looking down upon Crosshaven with reserved irritation. He does not like what he sees. Magic weakened, common humans mingling with the gifted. It disgusts him. However, the only outward show of annoyance is a slight scowl, deepened by silver eyebrows knitting into a frown. His blood red eyes scan for anything of interest--a stray source of magic perhaps...so much like his own. He needs to find her. It has been too long since they last laid eyes upon one another. Though, he will never admit to frivolous emotions like longing, or desire. He was above such trifle sediments. He rid himself of those long ago.

Still frowning, he fingers the ruby pendant upon his breast, thinking of the shard he gave to his daughter when she became a full fledged mage. He wonders if she still wears it, and if she has ever unleashed its full poetential.

It would be nice to know not all of his teachings were ignored...  

[Etar]

((Location, Crosshaven labs))

The man leans over the rails, peering down at the odd building below him. He can see a few halfbreeds wandering about, nothing that bore interest personally. He taps his gloved fingers lightly upon the black metal of the rail, trying to sense the woman he was seeking. She was here some time ago, but her aura was faint, almost faded completely. He also senses something else, something...odd. he frowns a little, not recognizing the signature of power. It was old, its energy saturating the walls, lingering in the cracks and forgotten corners.
A essance that was...familiar.

Suddenly intrigued, the man mouths a few curt words, the language strange and fluent. A ball of energy forms in his palm, blue and vibrant, with tendrils flowing on the outskirts. He bends forward and blows it gently from his hand, the form changing shape into a lovely butterfly. It flutters with the wind a moment, before decending towards its target destination.

"Beauty is always received with open arms, may you gather all that I need."

his voice is cultured, rich, laced with a tone of easy arrogance. He smiles and returns to lean upon the railing, watching below with ruby eyes.  

[Etar]

((Location, on route to Church of all Saints))

Leaving the spy to do its work, the man decides to move along in the direction of the vast power he just sensed. The citadel groans in complaint as it obeys his magic, and he chuckles in response, patting the dark stone fondly.

"Hush now old girl, you have traveled further than this. Stop your moaning!" He continues to chuckle lowly, his crimson gaze rivited to the ground below. He watches as the towns people are oblivious to his fortress, most just giving perplexed glances upward, and making annoyed faces as the dirt rains down. He shakes his head and tries to keep from outright laughing, finding amusement in these creatures as a child would with cage full of field mice.

He could see why she would linger here, these people were certainly entertaining...

He drummed his fingers once more upon the rail, noting a tall steeple in the distance. A familar sight to this old mage.

"A church? Hmmmm, I remember that place the last time I was here. So it still stands...how quaint. Shall I pay a visit?"  

[Etar]

((Location, hovering over Church of All Saints.))

Silver hair flutters in the breeze, the fragrance of the wind made crisper by the height of his perch. His jaw works back and forth thoughtfully, reminicing about the past, and all the battles fought in this place. He remembers one individual, a gifted man who drove away the pure bloods long ago.

Fury burned within for a moment, but he pushed it aside. That was the past, and he had learned from his mistakes. Though, he wonders how the inner chambers appear now, if they are as well kept as they were back when the structure was first built. Perhaps the humans tore them down, as they destory anything that is different or they don't understand.

He feels a burning desire to see for himself, to see where the ancestors had walked and lived as gods. To recall just for a moment, the glory of pure magic--magic untainted by lesser creatures, or the weak willed.

He climbs on the railing, red cloak billowing behind. He looks down with a sharp smile, sensing the gifts of all within. They burn like dull candle flames, but a few show promise of becoming something greater--a promise that he might indulge if he felt so inclined.

He gives a small grunt in amusement, and steps off the rail.