The Rising Tide

“It’s here somewhere. I know it.” 

Gula poured through his tomes, plucking a new parchment from his tan canvas pack, glancing over it for a moment and then tossing it aside. His frail form sat in the grass, illuminated by the wavering light from the campfire nearby. A single parchment threatening, as it wavered in the breeze, to make contact with the fire and burn. Each parchment and tome was filled with dark incantations and mystical knowledge written in many different languages, some of which considered long dead.

As Gula had created a mess of paperwork around him, with him at the center like the eye of a storm. His constellation, The Wand, had been overshadowed by the dark gray clouds as they crawled along the sky, conjoining with the thick rising smoke from the fire. Nearby, the moon’s light shimmered along the small waves of the massive lake where Gula had made his encampment for the evening.

Gula’s had traveled in search of the ancient relic known as Grimspoke. His roaming had lead him here, to this lake. And now, he had misplaced the map. 

He had found remnants of the civilization all around the lake. Grand statues of the old gods, adorned with golden headpieces and symbolism of their ancient beliefs. All of which were buried beneath centuries of shifting soil and rock. The parts of the ancient statuary that still rose above the ground were covered in moss and crawling plant life. Gula cursed the ravages of time, but he knew that what he had found indicated that he had found the location he had been seeking. 

And as Gula sat amongst his pile of books and papers, illuminated by the flickering orange glow of his fire, something massive rose from the waters in complete silence,  its empty eye-sockets watched the Wand Fated, waiting.

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