PROLOGUE
The howling winds picked up and battered themselves onto the sage. He sat away from the cover of the trees on the flat of a rather large boulder. The blue-green trees of the mellow forest resonated with an old, learned aura, much like the sage himself. He looked at the lazily drifting mountain ranges, never quite sitting still. The cold started to get to him. He shivered and pulled his cloak closer to his lean, wrinkly body. Looking up at the sky, the sage noticed the shallow grey clouds beginning to part. The sage looked at the withered, red-brown staff by his side. He looked at it longingly. Just a bit more, he thought.
He looked up at the pale, grey clouds and chuckled to himself the way old people naturally do. “Oh look Petunia, it has begun.” The sage whispered to the furry, cat-like creature wrapping its’ body around the sage’s forearm. It yawned and went back to sleep. The sage smiled to himself. “You really do hate rainy days, don’t you Petunia?” The sage asked. This time, Petunia stayed silent. Very well, the sage thought, looks like it’s going to be a fun trip.
The sage wondered what it would look like this time. As if to answer his question, the sky tore apart and unveiled purple flames to rain down on the ground. A flash of blue light, followed by a solitary pulse of light from under a floating mountain pushed through the Tear and begun its’ journey to the realm of the common man. Although most would deem it a sight to be viewed with awe, the sage was quite disappointed. Last time a dragon popped through. Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers, he thought.
He popped his arm though the cloak and picked up the withered staff. Using it to help himself pick himself up, he stood up, making Petunia to yelp. “We’re going, Petunia. To someplace warm I hope.” The sage said. He then chanted Araknia and brought the staff down to the rock. He then vanished in a ball of flames, leaving no trace of his existence but for some flattened grass and a slightly scorched snail.
