"The flow of Mana is commonly referred to as Magical Leylines. They span the entire Continent, but where does the Mana itself come from?" -Ozohr
The Iridescent Peak.
Ozohr hurries up the mountain, inching closer to the screaming Cosmic Sky.
What was once a breeze is now a howling torrent of stardust. Exposed crystal geodes litter the rocky face as Ozohr approaches the peak.
Shooting pain pierces Ozohr's covered eyes and he falls to his knees. Shards of arcane language and color set his mind ablaze.
"Finally."
Ozohr holds a colorless Orb away from his body, letting the energies of the crashing Leylines seep into the crystalline sphere.
"The Color has been taken. My commission is complete."
The Orb pulses with energy while Ozohr moves to the rendezvous.
Entered by: 0xB2c0ā¦2438 and preserved on chain (see transaction)
"Magic, in a sense... is the embodiment of the Will of the World itself." -Ozohr
The Rendezvous Point.
The Marble Pillars surround Ozohr as if holding up the night, shielding him from the Leyline conflux outside its circle of protection.
An odd tranquility washes over Ozohr as he ponders the Orb in his fingertips. Tendrils of Iridescent Blue Mana swirl around an impossible point of light in its center.
Before Ozohr can think, a velvet glove with an iron grip appears on his shoulder, accompanied by a whisper in his ear from behind.
"š·šš'š ššš ššš ššš ššššššš šššš ššš. šššš šššš ššš šš ššššš ššš š®ššššš, ššš ššššššš šš šš."
Ozohr dared not turn his face towards the messenger of the Colorless Patron, only giving a slight nod.
"š²ššš, šššššššš ššššš šššššššš. šššš ššššššš šš šššš."
Without another word, the messenger disappears, leaving only a Crimson Envelope in Ozohr's shaking hands, exhaling a sigh of relief.
Entered by: 0xB2c0ā¦2438 and preserved on chain (see transaction)
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