The Ruins Of Skull Mountain

[Galaphile]

Standing outside of the ruins of Skull Mountain, some weeks after his meeting with the Shade of Tay Trefenwyd, Galaphle was spooked. And that never happened. Not ever. Inside was the Scrying pool he sought, used by the Warlock Lord himself in the battle that ultimately destroyed him. It was the only way he could get the information he needed in time. He still hoped he could be wrong, and yet, in his herat, he knew he was not wrong. Before he went back to Paranor a total failure he had to talk to the spirist that lurke here, hidden in the shadows. He just hoped what he learned here didn't cost him anything like what it cost him at the Gardens of Life. He wished he could remeber all of what happened. After he was hit from behind; after watching the creature talk like a creature obsessed with destruction and posessed by insanity, it was...blank.

[Galaphile]

As Galaphile entered what was left of teh structure he was beset upon by evil in a very subductive way. *The Ildatch could be here* he suddenly thought * it never was destroyed.* As he made his way deeper into the keep he soon realised finding the Scrying pool might take a lot longer than he originally thought it would; most of the passageways on the map he had were either too ruined to walk, or destroyed all together. Finally after searching for an incromprehensible length of time, he found it. In the only room left untouched, lied the Scrying Pool, and on its' rim laid the Ildatch. Galaphile quickly crossed the cavern and knocked the book into the waters. He knew it wouldn't destroy the book, but it made him feel all the more better about being here. Taking up the lotus position at the edge of the water he said the incantation needed to summon what he must. And he said the incantation again, and again, and again. Still nothing was happening, finally on the thrirteenth round, just as he was ready to call a failure, it happened. The torches lining the walls sprung to life; a warm breeze swept trough the cavern-sweeping away all of the dirt and leaving it a warm space in its' wake. Suddenly, form out of nowhere was a hideous, ear-splitting noise rose up *Banshees* thought Galaphile as he summoned protection to keep his sanity. He began to Scry then, slowly at first, but quickly picking up speed as he found what he was looking for and learned to track what he wanted. Finally, after about seven hours he saw it, he saw what he was looking for, he saw where it was. What he saw made his blood run cold, colder than anything in this realm had any right to be; colder even than the hand upon his shoulder. He looked up from the pool, already knowing what he would see if he continued to Scry. The first thing he saw was the Ildatch, no longer in the water where he left it, but instead on a pedestal on the other side of the pool. Slowly he turned around, and as he did he saw it, right behind him, right where he knew it would be. It was now or never, the fate of the Fourlands rested on what happened in the next month.....