[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/nlEuvAn.png[/img]
Years drifting in and out of consciousness, voices chattering, droning, chanting, and shifting as if out of focus around him. Energies came and went, waxed and waned, but it had no meaning to him. It was like this that Lyrsaeyn spent his last days, in a stupor where nothing could be processed, no true interaction made. He could speak, he could move, but none of it made any sense. He had no [i]reason[/i] and to those few who visited and looked after him there was no pattern to his actions.

So it was that when he passed his funeral was carried out quietly, his body buried at the edge of the heartlands just shy of the mountains at its southeastern border. His tomb, as such, was laid deep beneath the earth by those who might have been his family...his children and the magics which they held. To him it was all a blur, as time had lost meaning to him and many ideas crossed this way and that, creating nothing but an incoherent babble of information fed into the disjointed fragments of his mind.

It was maddening, but it did not last forever.

Upon his body's death, Lyrsaeyn's essence was fortified, recomposed and brought back into its own. The fog cleared from his mind and concepts which had before been tied in knots, relaxed and returned to their rightful places. There was release and finally, after a lifetime of loneliness, tragedy, and finally betrayal...there was peace.

For eons he watched the shifting energies of the Heavens, the Merkstave, and the realms of man. It was  to him as beautiful as an aurora, but with an endless assortment of textures and feelings to accompany the phenomenal colors and impressions that existed around him. Above him the gods resided, watching over and, at times, guiding those who lived in the realms below. In the Merkstave below there was only writhing void, something one saw at the corners of their vision, darting away as you focused only to return once you looked away.

Fleeting and ominous. He did not watch it often.

As time swept forth, Lyr found himself looking upon the energies which made up his own form and that every one in the plain of stars around him was just the same. Each a soul swept from its body by death and laid amongst the Heavens for all to see, some bright and others so dim as to be imperceptible to the naked eye—though they remained clear in his own.

Yet while it brought to him a sense of tranquility to watch he found himself haunted by a rather curious feeling: Worry. At first he thought nothing of it, but when, with the passing of eons it did not cease to recur he paid mind to it more often. [i]Soon[/i] he began to feel it more often and then it began to become panic as the beacons of light around him began to dim and vanish as if snuffed out by some unseen force.

With each disappearance the Seer grew ever more disturbed until it seemed so few remained that he ought to be the next. Yet still he could not find it, this mysterious adversary. Its presence was like the Merkstave and whatever dwelled therein. Fleeting and nigh impossible to pin down for more than a moment.

Still, the loneliness and worry which interrupted his once tranquil thoughts with each event, were dwarfed entirely by the stark terror that was the result of a sudden pull on his essence. The colors began to swirl and twist, rejoining together, but this time they were not the colors of new life, but instead the colors of his own soul blossoming anew. The strength that had touched his soul and called him was tremendous, but before he could even understand what had occurred, it was gone again.

To replace it he found only a vaguely familiar sensation of solidity. More strange was the narrowness of his vision, as while before it had been upon all things, now it was—to his mind—as if he could look only down a tunnel with all else barred from sight.

Then it struck him. He had only felt solidity once before and it had been in life. He glanced down, but what he saw was not the glowing nimbus of his soul in star form, but instead an encapsulated system of energies, circulating and pulsating in patterns all too familiar to the weary seer. In this moment it dawned on him that he was, once again, alive.

A frown crossed his features, eyebrows screwing up, lips turning down. He pushed his hands upwards where he found only the touch of cold stone. The same hard sensation was below him and the energies were mirrored in his surroundings as well. He was enclosed it seemed. Briefly panic set in and he pushed his hands and lower legs up against the ceiling of the stone capsule.

He would have screamed, but his lungs felt as if full of thousands of years of dust, and soon his limbs grew slack once more. He could not rely on his body to escape it seemed, so he would have to rely upon his mind.

At the thought, he shifted gears and the spiritual fibers of the world around him became clearer as he expanded his influence and focused his [i]sight[/i]. After several minutes of searching he found what he was looking for, errant spiritual energies, attached to somewhere nearby. Swiftly as he had begun to feel light headed from lack of air, he pulled the spirit to himself and bound it with energies he drew from his surroundings. Then, empowering the being, he had it infuse itself into the stone above him. Finally, with a grinding and a heavy thud, the casket was wrenched open by the spirit, its top deposited roughly upon the ground.

Immediately Lyrsaeyn sat up and took in several quick breaths, before he settled down and began to assess his situation.

He was alone in what appeared to be a remote location. Deep beneath the surface in some kind of tomb...but he was alive. Was this where he had been buried so long ago? How long had truly passed? Why was he back.

[i]Why was he back?[/i] His eyes narrowed and he expanded his Sight into the Heavens to find...nothing. Orthus would not answer his call for council, for guidance. He could feel the God's energy, but it was only the remainder of long gone presence. Wherever Orthus was, he had not been there for a very...very long time. Disturbed by his discovery, Lyrsaeyn turned his attention back to his body and his predicament. Using the spirit as hi guide, he picked he was through the labyrinth of caverns which had apparently been built to hide his tomb from thieves and grave robbers. It appeared that it had not worked as upon searching the place he had found none of his tools, but the one still upon his form: Raelia.

With one hand grasping  the pendant as it hung about his neck and the other out to stabilize him should he trip or lose his balance, Lyrsaeyn and his spirit guide eventually found their way to the surface. He was in need of sustenance at that point, but he knew he had none. Hopefully he could find some before he died again of hunger and thirst. After all, while he had no wish to dwell long in the realms of man it was clear to him that he had been resurrected for a reason. He would not kill himself for his own selfish wants, if only to honor the will of the God who had brought him back.

With this in mind, Lyrsaeyn set out, the sun overhead and a forest surrounding him, to find what he needed most.

Purpose.[/center]