What was once dormant inside humanity had finally emerged, becoming the way of the future. Now, 500 years after the discovery of magic, the era of wizards was well under way.
Still, a world with the potential of infinite creation is also a world of...
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"You feel that, Ken?" Asked one of the older men.
"Argh, I hear it enough, Herald. Almost caused my drink to spill." He stood up brushing his jacket of any crumbs that landed on him.
Murmurs began to fill the whole room followed by another great explosion, this time shaking the earth beneath their feet. A waitress stood next to them clenching her hand against her chest. "It's here." She said, shakily.
Ken pulled his cigar out of his mouth, "What's here?"
The woman's eyes glared fear and disdain. "It's the one that we owe."
"The one that you owe? Be more specific, woman." Herald retorted.
"Easy, Harold."
"It's the Ghastus, it has returned to reclaim it's debt." She started to tear up, losing the last bit of composure she had left.
"Damn with all the riddles, woman." Harold chuckled, agitated that his peaceful night was ruined. "Let's go, Ken."
"Ha, we may be in our sixties but we are still wizards, after all. We're not going to sit idly by while innocents are hurt." The two senior wizards stood up and headed for the door.
