With the lumbering clod named Ragnar dead (and decapitated), cedar was momentarily overcome with a deluge of mixed feelings.

He had not actually wanted to kill the man; he had just wanted to completely incapacitate him, render him harmless, take him out of the fight without actually killing him-- it was the way his dad had taught him. The way he knew. The way that seemed most right.

Seeing the man, headless, surrounded by a pool of dark blood in the grass, completely covered in oozing wounds, with a leg discarded clumsily nearby, a different and blood curdling kind of painful, bitter and cold hatred bloomed inside him.

Not at the pathetic wreck of a man, who's remains decorated the ground, but for the flying bastard way overhead.  The bastard raining green filth from the sky, and calling unnatural abominations to protect him while he did his wickedness. The man who had used up, then just discarded the dumb brute he had been forced to help kill, like he was just so much trash.

The man who's minions had set the town on fire.  The town, who's peoples screams clawed in his ears, and ripped at his heart. The man who was so deeply involved in this plot that threatened war in 3 kingdoms,  and who engaged in that enterprise so smugly and cavalier...

The hot anger he had been feeling solidified.  Hardened.  Became ice in his stomach. Will in his soul. Ice in his heart. There would be no mercy for this man, and his wicked deeds.

Vague memories of when he was 2 floated through his head. He had been so curious about the tumbling ruins of what was clearly once a mighty tower, that he asked his dad about it as they passed by it on the way to town. His dad had coldly stated that it was the inevitable fate of every wizard that embraced hubris, and the shape of the legacy that mentality embraced-- total ruin, that mars the earth for years after.

He had been singularly afraid of the dark tone his dad had taken then. Thankfully, his dad was not a viscous sort, and had smiled after, scooped him up and played with him and his twin brother in the grass, telling them both what good boys they were...

Looking at the now vine-encrusted keep, and looking up at the tiny glimmer of brightness that represented the arrogant and twisted wizard, flying high above, his thoughts returned to the ruin of that tower. 

This tower too, would fall to ruin. A testament to the willful hubris of a single man, and a lasting scar upon the face of the earth.

He imagined that once, long ago, it was a loving home. A place of refuge and prosperity. The crown set upon the hill the town was nestled around.

All because of one man.

Green filth descended like a ghostly spectre from above the rampart, burning and choking his vines as it d3scended.

Fire raged further up, a hallmark of the battle being fought, and lost high above.

Momentarily, he realized he was deep in a grotesque snarl, teeth barred, ears back, and for one tiny moment, he felt bad for being filled with such cold outrage over this man, before it was replaced with dark conviction.

The sun suddenly began to lose its brilliance, and the sky seemed to darken. Danger seared through his instincts as if a forest fire was coming. His ears planted down hard and he snarled through his barred teeth.

"YOU WANNA DARKEN THE SKY TOO ASSHOLE?" He bellowed, as memories that were shameful to him floated to prominence.

He had been reading the books in Florence's library, looking for new ways to help his dad. Flo was such a nice, and accommodating woman, but with a stern and strict countenance.  'Magic is not a thing to take lightly, like my fool brother!' She would scold when he would ask silly questions about it. That day, it was a hot summer afternoon. It had not rained in weeks, and the forest was suffering in the dry heat. The woodcutters were taking advantage of the opportunity, and were cutting in places they shouldnt again. His dad had said there wasnt much he could do, the plants needed water to grow, even with magic... so, he was looking for ways to make it rain.

Flo had found him a very curious book about the traditional folk magics of a distant island people, and a dance for the wind and rain was recorded-- in the dry and disdainful tones of a college educated researcher, who catalogued the entire ritual and preceeding feast in excruciating technical detail.  It was a difficult thing to read: dry and lifeless, like a mummy of something meant to be alive and full of vitality, wrapped, pressed, and preserved in the pages, with diagrams and illustrations of the dancers and their dance.

He had taken it in eagerly, niave and hopeful to help his dad, and help protect his home. The farmers' crops were suffering in the dry heat as well, and a little rain would do so many so much good. He was filled with that vision, that purpose, and completely disregarded flo's very sage advice about respecting magic.


Young and excited, the dance became burned into him as best he could understand the lifeless drawings and cold descriptions, and he rushed to the old forest glade between where he and his dad lived, and the town of mystville...

He had done the dance, exactly as recorded, filling himself with the happiness and power of his native home...

It had been a disaster.

Rain, and not just any rain either. Rain that fell in drowning bucketfulls. Rain like he had never seen before. Rain saturated with wild magic that didnt belong and couldnt be stopped drenched and flooded, and caused so much harm.

The memory of that dance filled him with shame, and he never took magic for granted ever again...

"FINE! IYULL DARKEN YA FUCKIN' SKY FER YAH, YA FLYING FAT FUCK! IF'N I GOTTA DANCE FER YA TOO, SO FUCKIN BE IT YA PRICK!" He raged at the roof overhead, before quickly mending his shoulder enough to do the deed he had set himself to.

He had revisited that book after the storm had ended, trying to find what had gone wrong-- but nothing had been wrong. The spell was powered by, and incorporated the emotions and feelings of the caster, and his feelings had been very strong when he had 'danced for the earth and sky' that day....

And he felt VERY strongly right now. More strongly and full of cold and murderous rage as he could ever remember feeling. That man wanted to play silly games up in the sky, kike it was a bastion of perfect safety? Heh. That madman had it coming, what would surely be unleashed.


He stormed to the front gate of the keep, ripped the standard bearing pole from its mooring, then tore the heraldic banner from it, then walked with purpose back to the copse of roses, raised the 'staff' high, and began a silly, but whimsical and sweeping dance across the lawn as the sky darkened... bushes and grass swaying around him as he moved, tugged and pushed as if by some invisible force, with only the sound of agonized wind screeching to testify to the cause, as his robes billowed and puffed out from the gale starting to coalesce around him.

He was aware if Yvonne and Reinhold watching him. He could feel their incredulous stares, but nothing would deter him from dancing this horrible, terrible, vengeful and deadly dance, as he fed it every ounce of his power and rage, directing it diffusely into the sky above, and the air surrounding the keep, and for miles above and around it-- that arrogant wizard, the sole focus of the spell's fury...

The sky grew darker, cold, and bitter.

His breath became hot puffs lost in the tumult of the wind whipping and whirling along with him as he gracefully cut across the green, arms extended above, rod held aloft...

"Children burn, and fathers die-- widows weep from the mage up high--- dance to turn; hearts awry-- FEEL THE WRATH OF EARTH AND SKY!  SUCK ON THIS MOTHERFUCKER!"

He roared, pointing the shaft of the standard pole directly at where he could feel Asevor's magic centered far overhead, as all pandemonium broke loose.

Ensnared by the magic he had let loose, a loud and terrible stream of the most heated cursing and rebuke the bear's heart could muster erupted from his lips as he continued to dance, now with it being questionable which was dancing to what... him to the sky, or the sky along with him, carried in an endless whirling orbit about the keep..,