The Rise of The Immortals

Chapter X: The Prophet

The setting sun had painted the snowy mountains in a bright red hue. The Ivory peaks seemed to be bleeding in the rays as the cloudless sky had started showing the impressions of the faraway stars. In the naked light and soft breeze walked a man clad completely in a black cloak. Golden eyes took in the scenery of the distant glacier, as he trudged through the dense snow. He walked on an experienced path headed towards his little cave, just below an overextended edge. The extreme temperature and scanty air did not bother him a bit as he used his stick to aid his old limbs in the journey. His stick was made with a special twisted wood with a glowing spherical Ruby, the size of a fist, fitted at the top.

There were very few trees at such a height and all that were present were dead and dry, covered with dusty snow. It had stormed a few days ago, but now it was very calm. The peak of the ranges visible in the distance slowly lost its glamour as darkness started to engulf the area. By the time the man reached his home, the sun was out of the horizon and the Ivory peaks glowed in the very ivory hue by the light emanated by the moon. He entered his humble abode and swung his stick in the air as the entrance disappeared.

The area inside the cave was small but cozy. He lit a fire at the place in the centre with a snap of his fingers, and sat down at the old yet sturdy bed. The rocky walls now lit with bright peach light, making the other 'furniture' more perceptible. His bed was at the corner, with a little wooden nightstand beside it. On the nightstand was a candle lit with bright blue flame. The candle was ever-glowing and was not reducing in length. It had been burning for years with the same intensity.

In the corner opposite to the bed, there were a lot of books kept very neatly in a pile. Beside the pile lay a granite stand, on which sat a crystal ball with a flattened base, glowing dimly in the same blue hue as the candle. There were a lot of symbols drawn on the walls facing the crystal ball. A book lay open beside the stand, a few lines underlined by red ink. A few ink vials lay beside. On the other side, there was a stack of fruits, berries and herbs. Beside these, a few stone utensils lay on the ground.

A carved door led to another chamber. This chamber had very decorative walls. Many finely drawn paintings were glowing brightly all around the chamber. At the centre, there was a well. The well gave a strong aura of warmth and comfort as the water was filled to the brim and glowed brightly. A few fireflies were hovering about. Behind a wall in this chamber was a small area meant for bathing and lavatory purposes.

The old man got rid of his cloak and jerked it slightly, turning it into a thick blanket and spread it on his bed. He then took a pot, filled it with water from the pool, filled it with a few herbs and berries and left it hovering over the fire, with no visible support.

As the water started to heat up, he headed over to the well and stood there looking solemnly at the calm water.

A few moments later, a little turbulence was noted on the water as a bird flew right from inside and sat on his shoulder, fluttering its wings. This bird was none other than a peculiar red-eyed crow, who has been with him as long as he can remember. As they looked at each other, the information was passed that the note was delivered and the little party was headed towards the capital.

He took a few grains from his pocket and fed the bird, who flew away into the well again to head towards his targets. The skinny old man then walked back to his bed and sat down considering his next move.

This man, once a great wizard of the Towers of the Ivory Peaks was now nothing but a homeless fellow, and the only one cursed with the knowledge of what lay ahead of them. He stroked his glistening white goatee as he pondered over the events of the past. Centuries ago he was banished from his own lands. He, who had given his heart and soul for the kingdom, was deemed a betrayer. He was one of the ancient warriors who had sealed the Dark Lords of the Cult of Chaos. Yet, he was misunderstood and abandoned. All his own people had forsaken him and put a curse on him such that he could never climb down from that very mountain that he now stood on.