The wind whipped and howled around the three figures, standing in the glow cast by the purple orb that hung from the walls of the roofless chamber. The chamber was Octagonal, and scrawled all along the floor were lines upon lines of intersecting runes, runes within runes, and runes connecting to other runes to make a patchwork of eerily glowing lines of script. “Are you sure Brother!?!” A stout man in a green robe called out over the cacophony of the storm above.
“If this fails all that we know may be lost!” The green-robed man bent down to examine the runic script scrawled on the floor, comparing them to his notes that he kept in a small, bound notebook. A man meditating in the corner looked up, his blue robes looking almost black in the current lighting.
“Aye, and if we do not try all we know will assuredly be lost, we have tried everything else, this is the only solution left to us.” A third man stepped into the room, A knight as evidenced by his shining plate.
“But this is only temporary, it will not last forever.” The new arrival stated, the two warlocks were unfazed, clearly expecting the newcomer.
“Then we must hope that the future is better prepared than we were,” The red robed man said, gesturing to the newcomer, “and a big part of that lies with you Arthur, you must use your ample resources to spread word of what happened here; as legend, as bedtime story, as truth, or as prophecy, it is up to you, but make it known.” The blue-robed man said as he rose from his meditative pose.
“Brother is it ready?”
“Yes; the runes are in alignment, no mistakes to be seen. The storm has us in it’s epicenter, and the equinox is at its peak. It’s now or never Brother.” Replied the stout man in green.
The man robed in blue walked confidently to the center of the runic array, the meager light glinting off of the golden stars and moons adorning his blue robes and hat.
“perhaps we should step back.” The knight, Arthur, suggested; and the two men walked a hundred feet away from the array as the Blue robed man started chanting in an old forgotten language.
As the warlock chanted the storm seemed to react to it, swelling and growing louder, the wind picked up and the Stout warlock had to hold onto his hat to keep it from blowing away. The wind sounded like an inhuman scream as the chanting reached a crescendo and with the shout of a final word, the blue-robed warlock slammed his staff down on the ground. The screaming wind grew louder and the runic array flashed in a blinding white light.
Then, all was silent, the light died to reveal that Merlin, the blue-robed warlock, was gone, all that remained was his hat, blown away by the wind.