The Seer returns once more to the home that took him in. A pitiful, haunted thing of paradoxes and wild imaginings struggling to stay afloat in the World beneath the Skin. He rests now after a time of great angst and worry, unsure of the change that now ripples across the land. He holds close to the one who lifted him out from the worst of his troubles; his friend, his partner, his lover, his anchor. This son of great wizards past rests his head against her and dares once more to close his eyes, preparing for yet another journey to the northern bank of the swamp, for every day since his mission he has known no other dreams.
The twin moons gaze down on him. The dust of stars ancient and unfathomable drifts through the cottage. The change arrives, softly and with great quietude, yet thundering in upon the mind like an earthquake. The ritual is not the only vision he gleans tonight. The waves of the Dream Sea rise higher and higher, dredging up minds and the threads of fate in equal measure. The thing that is Az’Tur could had only begun to tread the proverbial waters of this nothing-space, yet now the moment of trial had come: to sink, or to swim. The great wave was coming, barreling forward without heed for any it caught in its path, threatening to drown the mageling for good in its passage.
It was in the moments between the battering of the waves and the dashing upon the rocks of fate that the VVytch Kyng had existed, and learned the ways of Life, the secrets of his curse, the forging of his Refuge from a time simply unheard of. With the stars and the twin moons in their alignment now, with this great wisdom coming to bear fruit and the passage of strange aeons, the being would rise to meet the great wave, to swim up from below to reach its crest, and ride its vast form down with the blow of a hammer striking the anvil, forging something new out of the mess that was his mind’s eye.
Out of this crucible and away now from the cold in his chest, Az’Tur awoke to find a new sense of clarity. He had become part of the sea, not merely flailing about or treading the dreams of the realm. Where once visions and energy rushed in like a broken dam, taxing his brain and buffeting him across the Nocturne, they now passed through him as would a current through a stream. The intensity did not cease, only getting more brilliant and lucid, more vibrant and even comprehensible. Yet his mind was ready now, molded like clay to absorb the prophecies of the realm below, his very magic heightening in power and the spells he once knew shifting to their present forms.
The Walljack would come to meditate upon this for quite some time, resting with his back against the board, still in bed. Something within the Nocturne called him forth again, his true patron, and he would heed the summons one day to pledge his service to the cyclopean being that was Khammedol.
Through her, he would find his truth. He would be free to live life to his fullest. He would discover at last the final secrets of his refuge, uncover the history of the shrines, and go on to become the VVytch Kyng he was destined to be…