[i]Without mana, we are nothing.[/i]

The words, sprayed on the side of an abandoned warehouse, echoed thoughts which had ran through the man’s mind over and over for years. For almost two decades now he had wandered the overgrown wastes of civilisation, seldom interacting with his own kind in the small desperate communities that had dotted up over Felenr. Often he looked out over the sea when his travels took him to the edge of the continent and wondered if any of the far-off islanders suffered better or worse than mainland Felenr when the Departure came. What was once a number of allied and co-operative countries had broken down through repeated war and anarchist revolution into the petty states and lone outposts he was accustomed to for going on ten years. For the first few years of war he had fought, of course, though now he could barely remember what he was even fighting for. His friends and allies had gone mad from Corruption long ago, he had been forced to kill some of them himself. The Order was a ruin, fitting for what Felenr itself had become. 

Standing there surrounded by overgrown vines and weeds amongst the ruins he looked a strange sight, this lone survivor, perhaps the only living Torm in miles. Though buildings for their part still stood, they had been abandoned for fear of war and the violence some men had taken into themselves to replace what was lost. It was a dangerous time to be alive, and those not tough enough rarely stayed that way for long, one way or another. Luckily, the man had a history of violence that set him apart from the average man, even before the Departure his skills had been feared by many, now they were almost legend. One could almost be fooled though by his appearance, a pale, thin, wiry man of a solid above average height, with rusty coloured hair tied into a warrior’s tail and a short similarly coloured beard. He scratched his beard now, looking up at the building in front of him, the slight chill in the early morning air hardly permeating the green holey woollen jumper he wore, nor the tough brown trousers and black boots adorning his lower body. If it had just been those clothes visible he would have looked the very definition of average and unassuming, but the vest over the top of his jumper was quite clearly enforcer issue, stab-proof to a knowledgeable eye. 

The armour would probably send warning signs to the average bandit on a first glance, but even then they may have tried their luck against such a man if they were armed well enough. Firearms were rare of course, with the Departure seeing many common weapons rendered useless, which is why a more thorough observation of the man’s equipment would find the eyes drawn to the belt at his waist, filled with strange objects, the backpack which could have been filled with any number of valuables, and the knife sheathed across his chest and holster at his hip, which marked him out as a man who could kill. The holster was the real threat, with a Fire-Type 2’s unique loading mechanism sticking out the back. It was an antique pistol, but deadly in a world where anything more recent was almost completely useless. 

Still, the man was oblivious to his own appearance as he stood before the building rubbing his own beard. He recognised the building of course, it had been some time since he’d been stationed in the military outpost and he’d never really taken to the discipline, but he still recalled the old facility. The warehouse was a storage site for munitions, likely looted by now as the fence surrounding the base had been little of an obstacle in its worn down state, it would be even less of one to determined looters. As he scratched, his eyes caught the site of his black fingertips in his own periphery and he lowered his hand suddenly, his angular, almost gaunt, face forming into a frown. There wasn’t any particularly reason he had come to the site, other than old memories stirring at the surface guiding his steps as he wandered the continent. His actual destination was about twenty kilometres south of the installation, a fact he was now sure of after discovering such a familiar milestone. However, his work had been ongoing for nigh on twelve years now, what harm was one day off taking a trip down memory lane?

Aimless wandering eventually brought the lone man to a bunker which seemed to be melting into the ground around it. Nestled into solid rock on the far side of the installation, the building had hardly stood out in the overgrown compound. However, it was that very fact that eventually drew the curiosity of the inquisitive interloper. He sauntered over to it, finding the entrance with some difficulty as he cut through particularly thick and bushy plant-life. The steel door was locked shut surprisingly, and a brief walk around the perimeter told him the building had not been breached in any other fashion. It was bizarre, finding an un-looted building in Felenr was like finding a bag of sweets uneaten at a children’s party. Curiosity firmly aroused the man returned to the steel door, looking for some form of opening mechanism. He definitely hadn’t been told about the building when he was at the installation, but since leaving he’d earned far higher clearance so if he’d returned he was sure there wouldn’t have been any mystery for him to unravel here. After a few minutes of intense inspection he found the mechanism he was expecting to find, hand height on the right side of the steel door. Knowing it was pointless he reached out for it, pressing his palm up against the discoloured metal. It sparked, like static electricity, and he pulled his hand away from it with a yelp of surprise. 

“How is that possible?” He spoke aloud, his shock significant enough that he voiced his thoughts for no real purpose. “It still has power?” He was excited now, reaching for the metal with an uneasy eagerness, crouching a little to get closer to it. It pulsed in his hand, like something alive, and with a certain clarity he knew what was required even before it made its request.

“State name and clearance.” The mechanical voice that emanated from the device was tinny with age and abandonment, but it was still audible. It was also the first voice he had heard in half a year.

“Metzalaatla Akalikalat, Magi Second Class.” His voice croaked over the familiar words, said hundreds of times in the long gone past. The metal shook, and amazingly the door opened, buffeting him with dust and stale air. He waited a moment… and then stepped inside.

He wasn’t sure how long it took him to reach the bottom of that long metallic staircase, though he was fairly certain he was deep underground by the quality of the air and the almost complete darkness. Somehow the power was still working for a few flickering lights to illuminate the path, or he would have been forced to take more drastic measures, something he would have greatly lamented. Eventually however he stepped onto level ground, with no small amount of relief, and found himself in a large open area with a single flickering matrix and some discarded chairs and equipment. The rest of the building seemed to be taken up by some form of large generator system and other strange machinery he assumed may be used to store information on the matrix. Realising his time was probably short, with the power running out with every second, he quickly hastened to the machine and accessed the most recent files. His eyes widened in amazement as he found what he had expected, the last records made in this place in regards to military scientists and magi’s research into the departure. This wasn’t the first time he had discovered some notes or research of this kind, but it was the first that provided some semblance of an answer. His eyes dragged across the screen with urgency as lights around him began to flicker.

[i]‘Note, as per parallel 4.1 there is sufficient evidence to suggest the Mana Depletionary Event was as a result of sinkage, the drainage point has been identified as an unexplained signature in south Rekan on mainland Felenr. As of yet solutions to the drainage are inconclusive, preliminary reports suggest the drainage point is a source location of possible unknown physical quality, closing this drainage point may allow some restoration of natural Mana Reserves, though levels will still remain permanently depleted.

Team sent to site on 14th 1244, Auran, feedback on drainage point, referred as Alpha site, still awaiting approval. Alpha site is located at 40.2334° S, 22.0339° E, possible identifications for Alpha site are as followed’[/i]

As his eyes widened with each revelation, the screen suddenly shut down and the lights around him died. He stood there in the dark, shaking, the answer to a problem he had researched for nearly fifteen years sitting right there in front of him, with no realistic way for him to access it. He slammed his hands down on the desk the monitor sat upon, dropping his head in anger.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He remained there in the dark for at least five minutes, his mind struggling through the question at hand, desperately looking for the answer. “This isn’t fair!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the metallic bunker, reverberating his whining enough so that his own teeth set on edge.

“Alpha site… maybe I can find the answers I’m looking for at the site itself, if I can find the damn place.” He racked his brain for the co-ordinates he had just read, matching it up with a map of South Rekan. “Got you.”

[u][b]Two weeks later[/b][/u]

The journey had not been easy, but it had been surprisingly quick. Haggard and tired, with a few extra bumps and grazes as well, the man who called himself Metz found himself at the nodescript rocky mountainside just outside of the town of Okan in the region once known as Rekan. He’d ended up caught in a two day struggle with some locals of the town, but eventually they’d shown him the way to this place after some of his trademarked ‘negotiating’. 

“You’ve done enough Akllat.” He said to the scraggly young man leading him, pointing back down the mountainside the way they’d come. “I’ll be back in a day or two if all goes well, so get your sorry self back down the mountain and tell your mother to be kinder to strangers in future.” He frowned at the boy, and then to take the edge off his remarks he threw him some dried beef in a pouch and winked. The boy caught it gratefully and with a wave started climbing back down the rocky hillside towards town. Metz watched him go, surprising himself with his own emotions. 

“Well, better get to work.” The Magi said, turning on his heel and preparing himself for what he couldn’t have possibly known was going to be one of the strangest journeys of his life. 

Night drew in quick in winter, and with it a chill that bit at exposed skin. Metz rubbed his hands together for warmth as he huddled in a small cave, wondering how he was supposed to find something when he had no clue what it looked like. Giving up the fight for warmth he huddled in a quiet corner out of the wind and lowered his head. He slept then, and his dreams were vivid and bizarre, there was something wrong with the images but in his state there was no way to escape them. He awoke with the image of a strange skeletal face in his mind, and shook himself, looking down at the vial of black liquid in his belt and the blacks of his fingertips with a scowl.

As he left the cave however there was something different about the rocky expanse around him… it was like the colour was bleeding out of the ground itself. Everything was blurring to the point that Metz felt like he was losing his eyesight and started to panic. It was then that a familiar feeling began to suffuse through his body, and he followed that feeling like a starving dog searching for scraps. He wasn’t sure how long he ran for, at breakneck speed with little regard for his own safety, but when he regained control of himself he found that he was not tired at all. Such exertion causing him no physical discomfort only meant one thing, and he looked around with a fervent hope.

“Is it possible? Did I just catch the dregs of it as it drained, lost forever from this world?” Such a phenomenon was common when he neared a wellspring, as it escaped an area of high concentration and diffused… but that was not the case here, almost the opposite seemed to be true. He was in a narrow ravine, the rock towering on either side of him, an unusual place but not the place he would associate with the destruction of all Felenr. There, in front of him, the rock was ground and worn and the air distorted. He couldn’t comprehend what he was looking at, it was too much.

“There is a way for you to understand, maybe even to change things.” The voice seemed to emanate from the distortion, but how that was possible Metz did not know. It was at that moment that he became aware of a greater distortion in the air, between him and Alpha site. To say he was unprepared would be an understatement. 

[color=8493ca]“I am Skallagrim, and you are a skilled and worthy warrior, you are invited to attend the Nexus of Worlds Tournament. When you are ready merely call my name and I shall open the gate to the Nexus of Worlds.” [/color]

The skeletal figure sat upon its throne disappeared almost as soon as it had come, the image from his dream, the voice echoing along the walls around the Torm Magi. This could be no coincidence, a being from another world, another dimension even, inviting him to some form of tournament? Such a thing to happen all of a sudden almost overcome the mage, and he collapsed to his knees heedless of the rocks digging into his flesh. 

“Such power… a gate? A being such as that, could revive my Felenr.” He looked up at the sky far above, peaking out beneath the two walls of rock, images of all he had seen of his ruined land over nearly two decades flashed before his eyes.

“Skallagrim.” He stood and stepped through the gate.

He had not expected to be transported immediately through the gate, hell part of him believed he hadn’t woke up at all from that cave but had drifted off to a more permanent kind of rest. So his surprise was palpable as he arrived in the Halls of the Dreamers, reminiscent of some great Throne Room from Felenr’s ancient past. Still sat atop his throne, but somehow in a greater clarity than before, was the strange creature called Skallagrim. That same voice welcomed him, and to his astonishment a wide assortment of others like and unlike him that had arrived simultaneously, as he entered the hall, stepping forward in astonishment. 

At the beckoning of Skallagrim’s hand he observed his surroundings, finding his heart leapt as he saw the wild things around them, seemingly impossible in such a place. So used to the overgrown, almost too natural wilderness of Felenr, which could be found pretty much everywhere taking back what the Torm had stolen from it long ago, Metz was almost overwhelmed. With a significant effort he turned away from the wild things, his head turning slightly as he regarded all before him.

“This place is so strange, so much life in such an unnatural place, and to top it all off it’s overseen by a skeleton.” He shook his head in bemusement, stepping towards the strange skeletal figure imploringly.

“Please, Skallagrim, you must know of the plight of my world if you have this kind of power. What can you tell me of the Departure?”