@righcuthach
The wind carried an acrid stench, an unpleasant mixture of battlefield and wild beast. The feeling was worse than a dangerous premonition written in ash after a ritual. There was a difference; the druid’s divination had never worried him. Not like this.
Caster turned immediately, his eyes narrowed as he understood. It wasn’t the wind, it was a dark presence, twisted beyond any heroic spirit and disturbingly familiar.
Could it be?
His grip tightened around the staff and quietly treaded into the forest. Nature was unsettled, sickened by that mana radiating like a black sun.
The bushes shifted gently as Caster appeared between them, the tip of the staff planted on the cold earth, the firm poise of a guide and sage. Even if he was not.
“The trees are screamin’ your name. I knew this day would come” his gaze then fell, narrowed under the shadow of the hood. Could his soul ever become so ugly? No, monstrous, covered in thorns and scales.
“A body so painfully engraved with curses.”