The distant roar of thunder echoed through the small grotto he took solace in, for outside these gnarled roots a great tempest swirled. A heavy sigh pressed through tense lips, even the gods would seem to be against him in this plight. Even his thick layers of clothing did not save him from this sudden torrential downpour, he was soaked to the bone. He had stripped some layers and placed them near a small fire to dry. As dangerous as the smoke column might be he hoped it would be lost in the gray sky of the storm. Even the bandages that covered his left arm had been drenched, splendid.
Aster Rowan cast a wary glance outside through the thick veil of rain and wind it could be seen; that looming forlorn citadel atop the cliff overlooking this overgrown valley. Within this keep was said to be an immeasurable power just waiting for whoever was bold and strong enough to take it. There was a bit of a caveat, however, a sinister beast lurked in the shadows of those dark halls. Waiting to swallow up whatever unprepared "stalwart" adventurer that misjudged the daunting nature of this task.
His grasp tightened around the haft of his maul, turning his knuckles white from the strain. That power would be his at all costs. That beast would fall, as would any other horrors that allied themselves with the forgotten and decrepit halls of that manor.
Suddenly, a silhouette from outside of his haven caught his eye and he tensed, his breath catching in his throat. The Londorian pushed his cloak aside as sparks flitted towards his fingertips, incinerating the bandage on his arm as he readied himself to hurl lightning at this intruder.
