The githzerai’s consciousness hovered over a field. In one direction, he saw many tracks spanning a great distance. In the other direction, the same. The first set of tracks lead to the city of Alhaster, the second to New Doraka – the location that was once occupied by the Shining City.
Curious, Wiliken thought, and the word echoed all around him. At first he was frightened, but then he realized that he was not truly hovering above the land. He was merely encapsulating the world within his mind. He cleared his thoughts and continued.
It was disturbing to look down upon himself, sitting cross-legged in the middle of an open field, guarded by people who had, not too long ago, assisted in his imprisonment. Those who had known Jenkins for some time had explained that his teleportation circles were never pin-point in their accuracy, and that was why his consciousness was climbing, climbing. He had a subtle feeling for the portal that they were looking for. It struck him like a dull pain in his head. Unfortunately, he could neither see it nor find where it was.
Wiliken rotated the landscape in his mind. Perhaps a different perspective on the matter would afford him a clearer vision. The githzerai was surprised at how easy it was to manipulate this universe with his newly found abilities. He was disturbed at the possibilities. Everything was much simpler when he was merely an archer. Wiliken could not remember much about that time, but it couldn’t have been more challenging than the last few months of his life.
As Wiliken reflected on the recent loss of his wife at the hands of his own son, his hold on the universe in his head weakened. What he had once rotated and phased through with relative ease had begun to spin out of control. In a world of thought, metaphors become literal fact, a truth that the githzerai had learned the hard way. As he crashed to the astral earth, he found that the world had darkened. Disoriented, the githzerai looked to the sky. His gaze was met by two flaming celestial eyes. Not a pair of eyes, but rather two distinct eyes from two distinct individuals.
What could this mean? The thought thundered about him, and he immediately knew the answer. Someone is scrying us, scrying us, scrying us, the words pounded down. Two separate parties. Two different purposes. The words hurt his ears, or rather his mind. Wiliken began to run in a feeble attempt to escape the purview of these other minds. As he did, a wind began to pick up, and before long it was pushing upon him, directing him, sweeping him – EAST, it was pushing him EAST. EAST, toward the portal!
Wiliken opened his eyes, certain of the location of the portal. When the party arrived, the object of their quest looked like little more than a knife wound, but a knife wound in reality was nothing to scoff at.
“This is where the creature came from,” Jean-Baptiste said as he pondered the gash.
“Then that is where we are going,” said Ugarth the Orc King of Nothing.
There was a crackling energy about the gash. Fearing nothing save perhaps his memories, Ugarth was the first to step through the portal. Grace followed, and Jean-Baptiste. Finally, Wiliken stepped through the slimy plasm between worlds and found himself in a formless void, standing on a pebbled oddity, with no clue as to what he would find.
Campaign Stories continues in Wiliken 22.