The Lore of Mystic Angus of the Plains

It wasn’t easy being a bear. You need to eat, alot. Fish was good, but that meant open rivers, and open rivers meant hunters. It wasn’t always like this, there was a time before men spread through the world claiming all of it as their own. There was a time when nature ruled.

Angus took another drag of his pipe, the hazy smoke drifting lazily through the small wooden cabin up to the patchwork leaf roof, escaping through the multitude of cracks within. The old shapeshifter spent far too long in his human form these days, mainly out of necessity. It was a dangerous world for a bear, especially one as abnormally large as him.

A small fire burned in the centre of the single room, a pot casually hung above it bubbling, he couldn’t remember whether it was filled with food or tea, the greydawn leaf he was smoking made his mind wander. The old wizard took another drag from his pipe and felt his mind drift further from this world and into the next.

Spirit walking was a skill not all possessed, Angus loved the freedom it gave him. Chronomancers may be able to affect time itself, but Angus could walk amongst the aeons from the comfort of his favourite chair. Roaming the ancient lands was his favourite pastime, but he’d often stop by to see old friends.

Usually the paths Angus needed to walk were obvious to him, but it seemed as though his feet were following a road of their own. The feeling was disconcerting but a curiosity to a wizard is like the fabled moth and flame. Rather than steering the dream he let the dream guide him. Walking the spirit realm like this can be dangerous, many have got lost in other peoples experiences and world, unable to find their way home, Angus always kept the bubble of the pot in his mind, the anchor to his home.

He recognised the tower, somewhere he had not been for centuries, not since he had been summoned. Magic flowed freely here, chaos ruled. There was a light from a lower window, a shimmering orange flow, fire.

Curiosity would have led him into that room, but he had no choice, he was been dragged into it. A slight panic rose in Angus’ throat, he gripped the sound of the bubbling pot and held it close. The warmth of the fire, the smell of smoke, the ribbit from his familiar. Escape was still possible, even though he wasn’t in control.

Through the window he went, a solitary woman, her blonde hair glimmering in the light of the flames. He could sense another presence in the room with him, the malevolent air radiating in the chamber. Only now did he notice the flame, it wasn’t ordinary fire, this was magical, sacred. Knowledge raced back to him, something long forgotten, the flame that would summon souls to the aid of Bringer of the End Times.

The witch and her familiar began walking toward the flame, a voice urging them on, enticing them to join the flames, “become more powerful than ever before”. It was liquid temptation in Angus’ ears, almost impossible to resist, the woman could not. He screamed and grabbed at her helplessly, unable to stop her in the waking world.

She disappeared into the flames screaming in anguish, her body, mind and soul torn asunder. Out stepped a spectre. The evil dripping out of every pore, this spirit had drawn the witch into the flame and taken her place in the world of the living. Angus stared and the soul stared back, it smiled from its featureless face.

Escape. The room around him was familiar, the pot, the fire, the familiar, but it felt somewhat colder than it should have.

Entered by: 0x8705…39F0 and preserved on chain (see transaction)