#madamescissors

Xerath drifted slowly through the craggy, jagged terrain. This place lay a bit beyond the lands that were officially considered his territory, but that mattered not; all lands belonged to him, or would, in time... But that was not his concern right now. He was here searching for something amiss; an ancient, wretched thing that had no place in the world he was trying to make. This was not the Void or even the undead, but something else...

The Magus continued onward, following a trail only he could perceive. The magics of the area were distorted, meaning he was on the right track. However, as Xerath continued onward, he noticed another strange presence upon ahead: a lone figure, with an unusual magical presence all her own. Xerath stopped and stared at the stranger. This was not the one he sought, but her presence surely could not be coincidence... "Who are you? State your purpose."

curiosity and creativity of mortals was always a fascinating thing, what a mind would conceive with the right dedication and passionate. admirable, midst the chaos and confusion, that such wondrous things could occur. it was one of the things that she enjoyed most about existing on this realm, that there were truly no limitations in what people were capable of - for better or worse. it had been so narrow-minded in the time that they had naively believed otherwise. she is easily decided in where she believes this falls. awe shapes their golden hues as they peer at gwen, beholding her with transparent reverence. she was something magnificent.

IT’S  ALL  ABOUT  THE  YEARNING 

The blonde sentinel looked at the… doll? human? Half and half? It was the first time she came face to face to such craftmanship. A "heretic possession" as her old tribe elders would have called her. Now, apparently, their ally in the fight against the Ruined King. She was still suspicious of her, like she was with everybody, nothing personal.

An answer sticks in her throat , thickened by the guilt she still struggles to swallow . Gaze falls to the floor , flicking 'round before rising to meet the portrait of mother . An answer she cannot speak .

Though the wound of mother's loss is no longer fresh , it has not fully mended . Today , as the rain falls 'gainst the window she had cracked open , her heart weighs heavy .

' I suppose it's ... difficult , on days like today . Easier to remember how quickly everything changed , how the rain fell just like this , after ... '

Nasus strode threw the dead land, the wisps of the lost flickering about. His ear twitched as he stopped, looking about this land of death with a hint of sadness but mostly resignation. This was not his land, not the land of his Emperor, but as a divinity tied to the realm of death like he felt drawn here.

Keeping his war staff close he held out his right hand, letting what loose spirits drift close and coil around his fingers. "You may not be of my home... but no one should be forced to linger like this," he mused softly as let the wisps dance around his fingers.

Should he do something for them? He was drawn here but it was not his land even if it was within one of his domains. He could not send them to whatever afterlife they had been held from before... would they enjoy his Shuriman paradise he had crafted? Would they prefer to wander his library for a time, a chance to remember something away from this... tortured land. These spirits had barely any sentience left, but he longed to give them piece.

The Shadow Isles: a place few living beings dared to tread. Xerath understood why: he had seen manifestations of the Black Mist, these 'Harrowings,' a few times since his release. From the texts he'd read and the encounter he'd heard, it seemed like the result of a foolish mortal performing a ritual he barely understood some few hundred years ago.

The Magus had thought he might need to deal with this folly eventually, but never so soon. However, word had reached him that these cursed isles contained vaults filled with relics of great arcane power. While not normally one to put stock in such rumors, well... Xerath had some faith in his sources.

Thus, through no small deal of trial and error, Xerath had created an arcane gateway that would take him to the Shadow Isles shores. The air rippled and parted as a portal formed on the damned beach, sustained through letters that hovered in place. Xerath drifted through the opening and looked around. Immediately, the sheer intensity of necromantic energies was almost stifling... But Xerath pushed forward. He would just have to find these vaults as quickly as he could, and destroy any undead that tried to stand in his way.