“Gods there noisy.”
This was the first thing Tharos thought as he watched the camp of the treasure hunters, from up above the city battlements. With His hair and tatted cloak fluttering quietly in the winter night breeze. They were so noisy that half the city could hear them, and with the massive fires they lit throughout the camp they would be seen for miles too. It was like they were announcing their presence, as an open challenge. Challenging to all those who would dare deny them their prize, and like a fool Tharos had taken the bait, hook, line and sinker. However regardless of the number of enemies he faced, regardless of how long it would take, and regardless of all the blood that would be split. He wouldn’t give in or let them get there way. He had to do this, otherwise the whole world would be put in danger, and he couldn’t allow that. Even if he himself didn’t have the power to re seal the creature or even kill it. He had to try even if the best he could do was slow it down.
“Am I just slowing down the inevitable?“
As he watched the camp his amber coloured eyes scanning the camp, like a hawk examining his pray. Keeping track of how many people going in and out of the camp, the small flickers of torch light and the ever-enticing smell of alcohol, meat and vegetables that where unknown to him. His nose would twitch ever so slightly and his mouth would start to water as the aroma of the camp would waft up to his perch on the battlements. His rather expressionless face would turn into a slight warm smile, a stark change from the rather silent indifference he would project upon the world. The smell awoken hungers in him that he hadn’t felt in centuries, it was an experience that he wasn’t used too, or to be more precise it was an experience he had forgotten. As he continued watching the camp he couldn’t help but find their boisterous conduct rather infectious and it felt strangely homely to him. It was somewhat relieving to him. That despite the passage of time some things never change. It reminded him of several Dwarven diplomatic functions he had attend. Well, they were more akin to casual drinking parties rather than a formal diplomatic functions or serious talks behind closed doors, those would come afterwards. After Tharos or his compatriots would finish throwing up in finely crafted wicker baskets or on the cold stone floors of dwarven holds. As fun as they were, the binge drinking, the merry making and sharing and telling of deeds over a warm heath and fire. However, Tharos never felt truly comfortable with such things, even towards the Elfen Diplomatic functions he also had to attend which were more to his liking. while he was open to the occasional gathering. He much preferred to be in his study reading books or engaging in philosophical debates discussing the finer points of ethics and morality. Maybe it was because of his phlegmatic temperament that he felt such a way or perhaps it was the way the was raised. A life that was guided by esoteric pinnacles, a life that was in tune with and in harmony with the natural forces of the universe. However, one could argue that such a life was just a life of slavery, even if the chains in question where more of a metaphorical nature. A life without the freedom of choice. Was such a life worth living? That was a question that he and many others must have asked themselves at some point in their lives. Even though Tharos had long forgotten this fact, and if he had remembered this fact, he would either laughed or given into despair at the Irony of it all. Because There was no better word to describe it. It was quite ironic that the first ever real choice he had in life, was also the one choice that costed him everything. One whose consequences still echoed out throughout the centuries. A lingering remainder of his greatest triumph, but also his greatest failure. But wasn’t that the true power of choice. For good or for ill one had to stand by their choices, there convictions, to the bitter end no matter how pleasant or painful. And Tharos did exactly that, as the power of choice and the will to carry it out was the greatest power that an individual could have. It was sharper than any blade you could wield, it was more resistant than any Armor you could wear and was more powerful than any spell you could cast. However very few if ever really knew or understood the power they wielded.
As he started to reminisce about those times, he sensed something. He felt the strong presence of magical energy, however from what he could tell this wasn’t from a spell or a powerful magic item. It was from a living creature.
“Curses they have a mage with them. but a rather weak one at that.”
Though he didn’t know the full abilities of the mage in question, he could sense the amount of magical energy they brought to bear. While it wasn’t that impressive to say the least. However, the presence of a mage was a concerning prospect in of itself, regardless of their low magical capacity and output. although having a high magical capacity and output helped greatly in becoming a great mage, it wasn’t the end all to be all when it came to determining one’s talents and skills as a mage. And those mages who were not blessed with such high magical potential made up for it in other ways, such as possessing great cunning or having powerful magic items that enhances their capabilities. Tharos had to assume that this was the case for this mage and would have to plan accordingly, with his powers slowly coming back it was the one advantage he held, and one he would have to use if he was to overcome these treasure hunters. However, unless he knew what type of mage he was dealing with, any supposed advantage he had was only a hypothetical one, was the mage in question an alchemist, where they a elementalist, where they a necromancer or where they some new classification of mage that had come into existence during the intervening years. These where all questions that Tharos had to ask himself. As he began to focus his mind and direct his full attention towards the camp, he could sense a lot more things, there was an air of excitement in the camp. which was something he could figure out already, even without his most basic of abilities. However, it was hard to sense anything else. excitement, joy, happiness and wide assortment of other positive emotions. It was like trying to swim though the inky black deeps of the ocean as the feelings where rather overwhelming to the point that he felt it hard to focus his mind. Even if he had recently regained this ability. It was much weaker than it used to it, and the stress and strain it put on him was far greater than ever. Perhaps centuries of unuse had weaken his abilities substantially, however that was only just an educated guess. As he never understood the true nature and source of his powers, even the arch mage of the City Oteap couldn’t figure it out, the only thing he knew it wasn’t any magic he knew of nor was it any of the Chi arts that the tribes to the east and south practiced. While most of the things Tharos could do with his powers could be easily replicated or had equivalents in various chi arts or magic spells. It was the other things he could do that had no equal, the best people could do was make cheap imitations, pale reflections of a power they couldn’t comprehend or fathom. It was a power that brought him to great heights, soaring through the heavens above like a hawk in flight. but it was also this every same power that isolated from others, much like how a cow couldn’t understand a fish nor a fish could understand a bird. There was a fundamental gap, a difference between him and his people. Including those who would have been his equals. But wasn’t that the price of power, the price of being different, the price of being unique. Because despite popular opinion having these things didn’t always lead to happiness, in fact it was quite the opposite in fact. There was many a cautionary tale about heroes and villains alike having these traits and unfortunately leading to their either glorious or tragic end. The other commonality that these stories shared along with the popular sentiment. That power corrupts. Tharos always disagreed with the message that power corrupts. While there was some truth to it, however he felt it was an over oversimplification. In his experience it wasn’t power that corrupts people, it was that power allowed people to be their true selves. It just happens that most people’s true self where more akin to a wicked beast, rather than the Mask of civility they presented. Because very few people had the willingness and desire to truly explore the depths of the self, and those who did often didn’t have the ability to accept what they found. Because often what was found was quite disturbing. For the human heart was a heart full of contradictions. Contradictions that Tharos himself knew all too well.
As he finished his musings, Tharos felt a sharp pain in the back of head. As he grasps his head to nurse the pain. He notices at the edge of the camp a hooded and clocked figure walking into the camp. Which wasn’t exactly noteworthy, considering there was traffic going in and out of the camp on a regular basis. However, what was noteworthy and what stood out the most to Tharos was the way this person moved. It was rather unnatural looking, and while the way this person moved reminded him of the sleek grace that many Elves displayed. There was something not right, as he kept watching this new mysterious figure. Tharos noticed that he wasn’t the only one who noticed this mysterious figure as he watches a young adolescent man who he assumes is a slave, judging by the collar around his neck. Start to take notice of the mysterious figure and follows this mysterious figure deeper into the camp. Until Tharos loses sight of both of them.
“That kid is rather brave.“
After a few more minutes he sees the young adolescent come back into view and start to drift off back to sleep. With the mysterious figure nowhere in sight.
“It must have been nothing then. That’s a relief. Well, I have gathered all I can for now about these treasure hunters, now it’s time to play the waiting game.“
Tharos would then start to turn around, his cloak flowing in the breeze. However just before he leaves the battlements to head back home. he gets a sudden feeling; this wasn’t his powers he wasn’t sensing something. this was something different like a gut feeling. Call it his intuition. However, what he felt if he was to articulate it into words was this feeling. That this was only the beginning. The beginning of what, however, was the question.
