Narrator – OOG Evil 01

(One second, Darnesc Meer was extolling the virtues of longevity of life in the service of the Order of Surin. Now, the priest seems agitated. His eyes jut from one corner of the Temple Grotto to the next, as if in dire expectation. Tyvian feels a growing fear build in his gut.)

“Uncle…what is it?”

(Darnesc bolts across the hand hewn stone path to the edge of the towering thorn wall. With a blurred swipe of his staff through the air, the wall folds back into the earth. Vines of razor sharp thorns snap like deadly whips beings withdrawn into the flesh of the Visible Wyrld. Tyvian follows on the heels of his uncle.)

“Uncle! What is it!?”

“Tyvian. Can you not hear it!? Can you not hear the air break under its weight?”

(Tyvian closes both eyes for a few seconds. The veins bulging in his temples…a sign of the seriousness of the attempt.)

“No! (beat) Tell me, Darnesc! What weight? What is breaking the air?”

(The priest turns on his young nephew.)

“No…Tyvian, no! Not ACTUAL weight? The the the seriousness, of..um, it. Yes…you understand. Yes!”

(The man now walks a few feet, then doubles back a few more, then back again to repeat the chaotic pace. Tyvian is beginning to feel a greater anxiety. What could cause such an experienced and powerful cleric this much distress?)

“Darnesc. Uncle! What do you sense?”

(Darnesc stops abruptly, then slowly turns toward Tyvian. All tension apparently subsided.)

“Tyvian. Something is coming. The head of a terrible beast can be seen over the horizon. And it will bring in its wake a plague of death the likes not seen since ‘The Great Discord’. (beat) I am afraid that all we can do is wait here until the signs become things tangible.”

(And suddenly the man’s face appears to age twenty years in an instant. Across his face washes a look of utter terror and disbelief. His eyes are glass orbs awash in tears and despair, and all Tyvian can think of is four innocent babes in a land far across the sea. Darnesc opens his mouth to speak, but only a few strained words emerge.)

“It is here.”

(From off in the distance, in the direction of the Bregorian temple, a voice splits the calm of this autumn night.)

“To arms! To arms! We are under attack!”