When His Magick Exploded ✓

6: "She's a Rauvuren?"

Cypur pushed his way out the tent, passing legs or squishing between bodies. Out in the fresh air, he teleported himself in short bursts, unable to do it all at once. By the time he reached the Vrebrinfeld Lowlands, he was exhausted. Taking deep breaths, he calmed his beating heart.

It seemed 'Cypur the Softy Sorcerer' was here to stay. On one hand, he thought he would laugh about it. How deeply rooted was his softy side? It was almost to ridiculous degrees.

On the other hand, he was angry with himself. "Why can't I be like a normal Sorcerer? What is wrong with me?" He kicked at the ground and stomped up the foggy path in fury, eventually making it to village ruins that was the main part of the lowlands.

White and blue light from the moon illuminated the ruins and its' inhabitants of rats that scattered at the sight of him. Cypur took a deep breath of musky air and wandered into the wreckage as he cooled his anger. Wooden houses partially burnt with roofs torn off, doors on the ground half rotten, and everything covered in soot with piles of ashes inside or outside the houses.

It was said that centuries ago, the last anthropomorphic race of the world lived here in hiding. The blue anthropormorphic cats that were as tall as Humans, walked on two legs, and talked, nearly went extinct two years ago until the scepter's magick helped them repopulate their Ring.

"Kathula," Cypur whispered the name of the race. He had never seen one, but he knew Alsinda used to have two in her possession at one point until she was forced to give them up for the race's survival.

As he went deeper into the ruins, passing houses from an ancient time, he soon came upon the edge of the village. A clearing lay before him half-hidden in shadows, but a single path strangely lit in moonlight led to a massive wrought iron gate with one side smashed open and leaning against a stone wall. The wall behind it was half crumbled revealing the innards of the protected property. He stared up at the remaining gate that had vines and floral designs crisscrossing between the rods. A giant padlock sat broken in front of it. Only a hint of lock magick was left.

Cypur continued on without fear. He knew this led into the old Rauvuren castle, Rauvuren Trude. He had never been this deep into the once-well-known-to-be-forbidden Rauvuren territory.

Until two years ago, no Sorcerer could enter the gates. The lock magick had a defense mechanism, warding off any intruders or those too curious for their own good. It was rumored that some Sorcerers even died trying to get in and that was threat enough. Sorcerers didn't die easily.

He soon came upon a veil of fog. Beyond that he could make out the silhouette of a fallen castle. With a simple wind spell, he brushed away the fog like it was made of lace.

Whatever glory of Rauvuren Trude was a thing of the past. Two towers had lost their tops and one gargoyle lay crumbled on the ground. On the left of the main structure was a mound of rubble. On the right, a large, uprooted tree blocked a path to somewhere. The entire roof of the main structure had caved in, leaving a gaping hole. Where a tall wooden door had been, only part of it remained. The entrance was now mostly open, and moonlight illuminated the interior.

Something caught his eye by the uprooted tree, but it was too dark to make out anything. Shadows crowded there and left most of that side in darkness.

"I'launna," Cypur whispered a light spell and a soft glow formed in his hand. He set the glow over his head and sent it on its way to light his path. Gravel crunched underfoot as he crept towards the tree. In the distance somewhere, an owl hooted, but apart from that, it was almost eerily quiet. Even the air was still. The brooch warmed in his pocket, and he took it out, welcoming the calmness that washed over him in comfort. He had to get this to Wescherlie, but he almost didn't want to give it up when it made him feel at peace.