//------------------------------// // Dreamwalking // Story: Alistair the Hierophant // by LoosePartyCannon //------------------------------// "Raven's gaze! My Lord, get up already!" The robe covered, irritated Unicorn yelled at Alistair with spite, who groaned as he rolled out of his fluffy bed which begged him to return to it. The afternoon sunlight graced the messy, regal room and caused the Hierophant to groan and grimace. "Morning Dawn..." He mumbled his greeting, a dumb smirk on his tired face. His azure eyes covered in sleep, his silver and brown hair covering his pale face and his robe missing; to Dawnstar he looked less like a wise Hierophant, the bearer of Human magic, and more an unwashed buffoon. "It's the early Afternoon, my Lord." She responded with a roll of her glowing purple eyes. As her cracked, seemingly useless horn sputtered to life with a purple glow from beneath her thick, black robe she shoved a cleaned and pressed blue robe into his scarred chest. "I suppose late night study sessions aren't exactly smart." He joked with a chuckle, walking towards his bathroom, as he patted her on the head. She grumbled softly, irked by his constant optimism. "Or it could be the constant and unnecessary times you stay up for an entire week." She stated with a chastising tone as she looked past her shoulder towards his private study. The burnt table was littered with strange papers with writing that ranged from eloquent and clear to what could either be insane scribbling or an arcane language; she also groaned as she spotted the pile of used bowls and mugs that softly reeked of food scraps and coffee. "All in the name of research and to understand the Gods." He waved off as he strutted with an odd cheer towards his spacious bathroom. Dawnstar watched her liege waltz off into the bathroom with a well rehearsed half smile and sigh of annoyance. The clustered, lived in library turned bedroom was covered with discarded or destroyed relics and personal effects in equal amounts and at some point his servant couldn't differentiate the two groups. "Wait...Did you shave?" She asked, stunned she didn't notice the lack of his normal, thick beard. "Oh...Yeah, I guess?" He answered obliviously, somehow never noticing he'd lost it. "Well, at least Lord Aurora will be happy." His assistance spun the confusion into a positive with a dismissive wave of her gauntlet covered hoof. Alistair almost seemed lost in thought before he opened the simple wooden door leading to his bathroom. As he walked into the massive, gleaming bathroom he locked the door behind him and dropped his facade. "I forgot dreams can be this real." He announced aloud, his cheerful demeanour vanishing in an instant, as he glanced at the details giving the dreamworld some verisimilitude. His usual faint scowl and tired eyes returned and he slouched over as if he carried a great burden on his back. Feeling the bald spot under his mouth and chin as he got to look at himself in a mirror, he felt naked without his glorious, long beard. He did a cursory scan of the bathroom and found everything to be in order. Blue tiles symmetrically laid out on the floor, white marble walls with a few torches for magical mood light, an over sized and elegant bathtub and a similarly scaled shower as well. It looked almost identical to the real world equivalent. "Well, no harm in going along with it." Alistair mumbled with slight enthusiasm, hoping he could use the time spent in the illusion to read some lost literature; as long as his mind didn't play tricks on him, most of the books should be complete and not empty or full of nonsense. Removing the last segment of clothing he had on him, he stepped into his shower and let the water pour over him. Although it was fake and didn't compare to the genuine feeling of warm, invigorating water rushing down his body, it was still nice all the same. Resting his head against the soft stone wall, his wet hair sticking to the back or falling down past his face, he let out a pent up, sorrow filled sigh. At least he felt alone once more and he didn't feel the need to fake a smile. As he began his usual routine, he pondered over many things. He tried to figure out what that thing was and its connection to Dawnstar and what remained of his people, he wondered if any of this was connected to Celestia, he wondered if there was anyone else out there in the real world who could, or would, help him aside from Chrysalis. He tried to figure out what he should even be doing. As his skin started to wrinkle and his thoughts stayed scattered, he realised he was getting nowhere fast; turning off the blast of blessed water, he stepped out and toweled off with a dark purple towel and fixed his hair so it resembled its usual, messy look. Donning his dark blue robe, he put on a fake grin and walked back into his lavish library and spotted Dawnstar disintegrating his garbage and tidying his loose notes. "If you're finally ready to face the day my Lord, you have several diplomatic matters to attend to. Princess Celestia wishes to-" "Cancel all of it." He cut in with alacrity, smiling as he strut towards his doors with a raised, magic shrouded hand. "What? What should I tell Princess Cel-" "Tell her to go hang herself, I don't care." He informed, causing the usually disdainful and quiet Dark Mage to sputter, wide eyed and scrambling to think, as the door opened. "You can't just not do your duties my Lord!" She cried out, chasing after him with a black scroll listing his duties for the day. "Sure I can, watch me." He simply said with a chuckle at the dream keeping up with him before he walked away brazenly, leaving his dumbfounded assistant behind to deal with the pigsty of a bedroom. He knew it didn't matter whether or not he went along with whatever the dream had in store, he'd long since became master of his own mind. He noticed the strange, perfect imperfections littered all over the place. The ancient stone and metal walls were all symmetrical and void of damage or weathering, the metal and robe covered knights and spellswords mechanically walking back and forward in their set patrols, the panel glass murals were barren of flaws. Even the magical, vibrant crystals which burst forth from the walls and ceilings were almost methodical and structured in their placement. The Bibliotheca radiated perfection. Mulling over his surroundings, he wondered if imperfect perfection would be a more appropriate phrasing. "Hmph, perhaps my dreams are mocking me." He stated with spite as he grimaced at the set of perfectly aligned murals which depicted various scenes of his and his old friends rise to power. The image of him standing atop a pile of undead heathens betwixt Celestia and Luna caused his blood to boil. Refusing to think of the pair in what should've been a present dream, he placed a palm against the wall it was mounted onto and caused a pulse of magic to burst forth. Although he didn't aim to collapse the wall, he gained the same results. Before he continued towards wherever he deemed fit to go, glad to be temporarily rid of the offending memories, he was stunned into stillness as the wall gave way to the landscape bordering the Archive. He wondered if he simply took it all for granted. The towering, mystic, beautiful yet terrifying woods that expanded as far as he could survey, only held back by the great walls that protected his people, the new walls he erected a tribute to his sincerity in his duty. The cloudy Spring skies were alive with swirling Pegasi, Griffins and Dragons either guarding the top layer of the city, the spiraling towers and divine archives brushing against the clouds. The colossal walls which stood steadfast in defiance against not only the magical forest and Alistair's rivals but time itself, the runes refusing to allow the surface to weather from the rough seasons and hellfire they were battered by. The streets of Drachen-Tor were alive with the raucous sounds of life and love, vendors declaring what they deemed worth selling, swarming crowds milling about joyously and the clashing, magnificent sounds of street music ranging from tribal to contemporary. From the sounds, to the people, to the aromas and even the clashing and complementary colours and structures the city exuded a strange sense of community unlike anywhere else Alistair had seen. Even the gardens far below his newly built veranda was a mix of training grounds preparing the next generation of guards and combat Mages, a stone garden of statues and effigies and a garden that was as organic and alive as it was crystalline and magical. From the sweet sounds of flowers both natural and mutated or the sounds of beasts who're either the product of evolution or magical interfering it created the sight, scents and sounds of home. Somehow, Alistair had almost forgotten all of this. He'd almost forgot what he called home. Even in the dream he resided in, the illusionary world that felt too perfect to be real, he felt a bittersweet feeling of joy and sorrow in his nonexistent heart. He'd sworn to protect this land he called home, he'd sworn to look after the youth of his nation like he had looked over their ancestors long before. He'd sworn to protect them from anything that dared gaze upon the Archive with disdain. And yet, he failed all of them. He'd let them all die and burn away into nothingness. Because of her actions, and his inaction. With the fire reignited deep inside him, he turned away from the city that once was. He'd gain nothing lingering on memories, instead, he looked to the future and gained a new sense of purpose. He'd failed his people one, and he dared fate to try and test him once more. He silently vowed to protect his new followers, blind that they may be, and build something new on top of the ashes of his homeland. He refused to live in the past, he refused to linger on his failure. He refused to remain a passive observer, content to let the other Immortals act while he lingered in obscurity. He'd refused to play a role before and it led to devastation. No longer would he remain quiet. When the time came, he'd never make the same mistakes. With a confident smile and a sense of purpose, he moved onward towards his sanctuary leaving the cityscape behind. Luna was tired. Ever since she'd returned from her exile it seemed disaster was always around the corner, whether it was something simple or inane like a prudish noble acting out of line in her court or Chrysalis attacking Equestria. In between defending the country from threats within and outside its borders, tending to her people's dreams and the strange sense of dread hanging over herself and Celestia she was exhausted and sick of constant upsets to the country. She was tired of constantly worrying, working and adapting to the new world. Luna was tired, and she couldn't simply crush her foes or create some spell to deal with the asinine demands of the nobles. With a built up, agitated sigh, she walked out of yet another scared foal's nightmare and smiled slightly. For all her lamenting, she still gained a sense of satisfaction from helping assuage the helpless. The world between dreams was something akin to a barren field of magic with doors, portals and tears in the peaceful vista that lead to dreams and nightmares of countless people. There was no wind in the blank space between dreams yet her spectral mane and tail and dark blue coat still somehow gracefully waved and swayed, giving her a sense of power and beauty. Analytically gazing across the void, her cerulean eyes found nothing but pleasant dreams and more salacious ones, she breathed a sigh of relief and flew into the air, trying to find yet another person in crisis. After several minutes spent in tranquil silence, nothing moving nor making a sound aside from her lengthy wings and the occasional, soft hum. The ground was littered with nothing but pleasant dreams and the rare lucid dream, just as she began to wonder if she had lucked out, or struck out, and was about to get an early rest of her own she spotted something...Odd. Amidst the swarm of colourful, bizarre and outlandish entrances to her people's dreams there rested a singular, colossal door made of steel and stone. With a raised brow and a murmur of confusion, she softly landed before it. "What manner of magic is this?" She mused as she brushed a hoof against the doorway. Magic radiated forth like all dreams, but the sheer amount was staggering; whoever was dreaming within was a being of sheer power. Yet, the power that it exuded was familiar and almost welcoming. The magic was like a warm embrace, beckoning her to wander through the doorway and step into the world within. "This feeling...Who is this?" She pondered rhetorically, baffled at the sense of belonging she felt as if she was meant to be within the dream itself more than the real world. Hesitantly she pushed open the ancient door, causing an explosion of light to envelop her, and after adjusting to the new surroundings she felt her breath catch in her throat. "W-What..." She stammered, reeling from the world she found herself in. The towering stone and metal walls with the occasional guarded doorways, the panel glass windows and murals, the sparkling stone floor immaculately cleaned. The bipedal, obscured guards clad in long lost arms and armour, the dark robes and armour of the Raven's Scholars and the star covered ceilings. Somehow, she was inside the Archive of Valetoria, a castle she helped expand, a castle she trained at, a castle she watched be razed into the ground. A million thoughts ran through her mind as a strange sense of displacement warped her thoughts, though it always came back to 'why?'. "Ah, Lord Luna, how wonderful it is to see you." She heard a quiet, flat voice sarcastically drawl from behind her, a voice she'd last heard thousands of years ago. "How may I assist you?" Turning around, she came face to face with a ghost. "Dawnstar?" She continued to question, her eyes wide and horn pointed down defensively, half expecting the imaginary being to attempt to attack her. "Yes?...My Lord." The replica of her old 'friend' responded, eyes glaring at her as if she was insane or simply trying to test her patience. Her black, feather covered robe and form hugging obsidian armour shifted slightly as she begrudgingly bowed before the Princess, seemingly given even more contempt than she would for...Him. "It's...Nothing...You're dismissed Dawnstar..." She commanded half halfheartedly, still struggling to come to grips with the sudden rush of nostalgia and melancholy as she meandered away from the Dark Mage who passively watched her walk away, wondering if she even knew where she was. "Hmph, as you say...You're just as bad as Al...What's with everyone today?" Her words cut into Luna, her progress halting as she processed what she'd just said. Somewhere in this bizarre reimagining of the Archive was Alastair...Her blood ran cold and a sense of urgency overtook her. Turning around in a snap she looked to where the disdainful mare only to find nothing where she once resided. "Who's dream is this?!" She harshly whispered, mind racing to try and determine the source of the dream. Few remembered the Archive, fewer knew Dawnstar and only four people called him Al and three of them were dead. As she ran through a list of potential people, an incredibly small and ludicrously implausible list, she sensed the presence of the dreamer. Whoever they were, they were lucid and seemed to be able to form a large, highly detailed dream if the entirety of the entrance hall could be sensed when they were so far away and above. With little else to do aside from worrying, she ascended the marble stairs towards the higher levels, passing dead silent guards and students in a hypnotic state of reading, casting or walking, seemingly oblivious to the world. The Archive was almost a complete recreation, from the crystalline chandeliers, the delicate threads and plates of the patrolling paladins, the ever expanding halls and classrooms and the gardens far below it all seemed to be a reflection of the lost city. Even Dragon's Gate far below and over the Archive wall seemed lively and functioning. Yet there were off sights and sounds wherever she looked close enough. The Pyromancer's robes were charred black but were almost always dark red, the Clerics were being trained in libraries and lecture halls, not in the Hallowed Wing or Divine Spire and the swords the Guards were armed with were outdated by at least two years prior to the Archive's fall. Perhaps this was a lapse in memory on part of the dreamer, or perhaps things degraded in quality and continuity the further the land was from them; regardless, she pressed onward and refused to look at the long dead students and knights who trailed her with their eyes. After climbing several stairways, forcing her way through crowds who bowed before her, wandering down several hallways and blowing down a wall out of sheer frustration and a sense of urgency, she stood before a set of old wooden doors she hadn't seen in years. Between the living stone, glass and metal of the Archive resided a small, delicately carved set of earthy brown doors with stone handles wrapped in moss and veins. It contrasted heavily against the steel golems that stood guard, their blank faces staring down at her but never moving nor acting against her. As the sun shined upon the door, the rays painted blue and green because of the tinted glass behind her, allowing the faint silver inlays to shimmer. Hesitantly, still at a loss over who it could be who'd dare reside in Alistair's old sanctuary, she pushed the eons old door open, its creaking hinges alerting whoever waited for her. His sanctuary was something almost separate from the Archive, another world entirely. The sweet and earthy scent of gilla fruit and dark wood from the Northern Province of Valetoria wafted in the air along with the sounds of a crackling fire that never seemed to dissipate or fade away. The shelves burst forth from ancient trees that burst from the ground yet they were neither carved nor looked forced out in anyway; all the trees, shelves and small workspaces caked in fine powder and thick tomes led into the center of the old personal haven. Further in, surrounded by trees and shelves rested where he used to read and work primarily, his massive stone slab of a table decorated with personal effects, photos of family and friends, dolls and toys made for him and a well kept and treasured calligrapher set; the scent of fresh ink and parchment was his third favourite smell in the world he'd often remark while he wrote a memoir or some such thought. In a circle surrounding a stone fire pit were several chairs ranging from archaic and treasured wooden chairs to soft carpets for laying upon. And there, under the effigy of the Old Raven sat Alistair. Her breath hitched in her throat and her thoughts ground to a halt as she saw the back of his head and the ends of his robes resting on the floor. His calm, melodic voice sang an old lullaby that shook her to the core. Alistair was dead, she knew it to be a fact, and yet he was apparently dreaming and cognitive enough to remember almost everything about his home and city. Blinking to keep the tears back and steeling herself, she spoke. "...Alistair?" She said, her voice calm and quiet but composure wavering. She felt it in the very air, gone was the sense of cozy comfort and hospitality, in its place resided a thick aura of despair and loathing. She felt a chill run down her spin and she wondered if she should've simply turned back, but she needed answers. "...Hello Luna." Alistair greeted with a flat, empty but polite tone. He continued to read from whatever book rested in his palms, still looking away from her. "I...We thought you were dead." Luna stammered, at a loss over what to ask first. For whatever reason, he found her obvious sentence mirthful and he chuckled with a dry, humourless laugh. "Regrettably, you thought wrong." He said aloud, closing the old tome he was busy perusing with an audible thud; the metal effigies of twin Alicorns, a Lion, Raven and Changeling confirmed her suspicions yet it brought little comfort. "Why are you here?" He demanded, refusing to change his soft inflection. The lack of warmth and melodic mysticism in his words was unnerving, not since he was mortal had his voice lost its blissful, beautiful tone and sounded so eerily Human. "I found a peculiar dream...When I arrived in the entrance hall I needed to know who's dream this was...How? How did you survive? Celestia told me she delivered the final blow herself..." She informed, her voice equally questioning and morose, filled with dour. "Hah, Celestia certainly tried but as Chrysalis, Discord, Tirek, Sombra and I will assure you she tends to be rather inept at finishing what she started. Then again, wouldn't you count among that list? Shame Aurora and I couldn't be exiled, instead we faced the sharp end of our own swords." He jested with a hateful, malicious tone. His jab stung but she refused to resort to arguing...She knew she had to try. "Celestia didn't want to hurt you...She wanted an end to the war, while she was trying to broker peace your sister was executing Griffins and Ponies alike." She defended, trying to appeal to his sense of truth and objectivity. Instead, he laughed again and rose from his chair. He stood taller than her, his robe and plates obscuring almost all of his body. "You stand there and tell me about how my sister treated raiders and traitors when in the real world my entire country is nothing but rubble and bones? Celestia got her end of the war, and you stood next to her the whole time staying silent as she took all the glory and you resided where you always have, in her shadow like the leech you've always been." He mocked with a biting, scathing tone. She felt a dagger pierce her heart, she couldn't believe Alistair would have ever acted like this, not the Alistair she knew. Looking forward, he walked towards the wall and blasted it apart, leading into a classroom she knew wasn't meant to be there. "You know the Mad King's war was a mistake! Even you saw it for the fool's errand it was! Celestia never wanted any of this, none of us did! I wanted to see you stand aside us, saving Humanity from the threat you knew he was." She asserted, holding back her tears as she laid into him, tailing him slightly. The classroom seemed to be rapidly aging, the walls crumbling and wooden desks disintegrating into nothingness, all while he teachers, students and guards stared at them with a empty smile and barren gazes. "You truly believed I would stand against my people, my King, my country, my Gods, my sister if I was forced to, on the off chance your precious sister's tyrannical need to constantly intervene would've finally led to something positive? She is, and always will be, a warmonger dressed as a goddess. You were a fool to think I'd become a turncoat against my empire for a monster like her, or perhaps you thought you could manipulate me like she tried with Aurora." He chastised, her sheer ignorance causing bile to build within him as he stormed through the singed hall, the marks of countless spells burned into the ground, while Luna tried to ignore the gaze of the brain dead illusions. "I never wanted to manipulate you, I wanted you to see reason. What did the war grant aside from death and madness? You were one of the first to see it for what it was, you could've convinced Aurora to-" "Don't you dare say her name, you insolent shrew! Yes, the war was a harbinger of death and madness, the proof is all around us and amplified by the obscurity of my own people's history, but I did what I thought was right. Unless you're trying to aggravate me by questioning my decision to stand for my own people I'd recommend leaving." He suggested, full of scorn and detest for the mare he refused to gaze upon. With every wall be tore down to avoid the extra work needed to find the nearest door, the rooms continued to shift and morph as the dream world seemed to be trying to keep up with his destructive streak. Rooms began shifting and changing, creatures and people of various races popped into reality or disappeared when they stood in his path. Walls, windows, armour and flesh began deteriorating rapidly until they were stomping through sand and plant covered ruined halls lined with bones and rusted scrape. She faltered at the sight of the beautiful Archive she once knew suddenly tearing itself apart. "I didn't mean to harm or anger you, I wish to talk to you. You must have seen that with the Mad King in power, the Griffins arming themselves and the Minotaurs uniting, that the war would’ve only escalated and that Celestia and I wished to stop a catastrophe on a global scale!" She defended, voice hoarse as she yelled out her retort, running to catch up with the sprinting Human who weaved through a sea of detritus. "Instead she saw fit to aid in the downfall of my people? The destruction of my family and bloodline? My home?! How can you stand there and try to justify any of this? The Mad King was mad, Aurora was wrong, but I wasn't about to spark a civil war, letting the Griffins and Minotaurs surround us and kill or enslave us once more, and so I stayed out of all of the nonsense… And what did my inaction cause?" He asked rhetorically, livid that she was still trying to paint her and Celestia's actions as warranted. With a great, resonating boom the gargantuan stone wall before them collapsed and gave way to a cool wind of ash and snow. After blocking her face from the sudden torrent of ash, ice and dust she lowered her wings and felt her blood run cold. "It caused this." He answered himself, stepping over the frozen corpse of a House Leonas knight. The Lion's Den was burning, its old stone walls crumbled under the magical barrage of the Equestrian forces, the ramparts were littered with dead archers and Mages, their bodies charred, crushed or broken. The great hall where she once sat aside Alistair and drank their first great victory away alongside friends was little more than cinder and rubble. The memorials dedicated to the former Lords lining the ice covered paths were cracked and broken apart, indistinguishable from the falling stone from the ancient towers and buildings. The virgin snow was topped by chilled pools of dark blood that ran in all directions, the rock and valatite knights of Aurora laid battered, broken and crumbled like refuse. Their bodies were riddled with arrows, magic burns or the occasional javelin and sword. All of Equestrian design. And there, amidst her valiant soldiers, rested Aurora. Her two toned, short blond and redish brown hair was covered in flecks of snow and ash, her white armour and blue robes were stained red with blood which poured out from a smoldering tear in her stone breastplate. Her valatite tower shield, which depicted a golden lion rampart, was scratched and battered with several arrows and even weapons embedded in it. Her ancestral sword which she was sworn to pass onto her successor was missing, her hand left grasping for something long lost to her. Her foggy yellow eyes were staring up into the night sky, stargazing eternally. Her face was contorted into a clear look of betrayal...She looked hurt, confused but more than anything, she looked broken. The howling Winter winds accompanied the sounds of clashing swords and crashing magic, the beleaguered capital of the North was in its death throes yet all was still inside its walls. Luna walked forward, only a few feet away from Alistair, shame and horror washing over her as she was made to witness the first great 'victory' of the old war again. Alistair was quivering where he stood, shaking profusely as he stared forward, eyes locked onto his sister. Luna was filled not only with a sense of disgust but also confusion. How could Alistair remember the siege of a castle he was never at so accurately? How could he have noticed the minute details that even Celestia herself would've forgotten or overlooked...How could he so vividly and accurately create a mirror image of a battle he wasn't present for? "Al...I'm...I'm so-" "I don't care if you're sorry Luna, your sorrow and guilt won't bring her back, it won't bring anyone back!" He snapped, reeling around and staring her down with a powerful, hate filled stare. "You dare betray me, betray my sister, betray the people who saw you and your sister as a ally and now, after everything has ended and nothing can be restored, you tell me you're sorry?!" He continued, a twisted, confused smirk plastered on his face as he looked down upon her. "I will never forgive you Luna, I'll sooner flay my skin from my bones then suffer the shame of accepting your pitiful apologies." His contorted grin switched to a dead, cold stare that shocked her as she finally got a good look at Alistair. His skin was still pale and had a glow to it but was whiter than normal, his hair shorter then she remembered, eyes mismatched and face devoid of his endearing imperfections and blemishes. The once friendly, gentle, beautiful man was replaced with a creature she couldn't recognise. Where once was a pair of calm, life-filled azure eyes were a mismatching pair with veins stemming from them flowing with the same discolorations. His pleasant, graceful features were hardened and imposing, his lips were curled into a foul sneer and his entire body radiated a sense of power and malice. This...Human spoke, dressed and acted like Alistair, but she had no idea who this person was. "Who...Who are you?" "If you end up finding me Luna I'll let you be, you were merely a pawn to Celestia, in the same way she tried to use my sister. But words cannot begin describe what I feel for Celestia, if I see her, I'll make sure she knows exactly how I feel before we're done. Stay away from me Luna. Goodbye." He bid farewell with a slight nod of his head before he closed his eyes and began willing himself to wake up. Before Luna could ask him one of the millions of questions she had, they were both forcibly awoken, leaving the cold, biting winter of Lion's Den behind. Alistair awoke with a jolt, snapping into an alert state with a fiery drive. Trying to ignore the scenes he'd just dug up from the recesses of his mind and trying his best to forget Luna, he went through his morning routine. After putting on a fresh set of robes, fixing his hair and practicing to look calm, he quietly left the room so as to not awaken the slumbering Changeling Queen in the corner of the room who was busy mumbling some vague threat to whatever she was dreaming of. After putting a soft blanket on her and leaving a chalice full of water for when she awoke, he departed. It was still barely morning, he suspected he'd only been asleep for four hours, yet he was invigorated with an inhuman sense of might and determination. He finally had something more to focus on aside from simply surviving… He had people to protect from a monstrous horde and potentially, an Equestrian invasion; and this time he refused to wait and see what would happen. Pondering several possible routes and actions to take, he walked down the hall with a hand to his chin and a smirk on his face. His eyes were aflame with passion and desire and he set his sights on a grander, greater vision than simply waiting to die. His followers were still allegedly flocking en masse to the Archive but they wouldn't be enough… He could rebuild the Archive but evidently its defenses may prove lacking in the new world in which he lived… He knew where he had to start, but not where it would end and that limitless potential thrilled him With a chuckle and a happy, upbeat hum he began plotting how to rebuild Drachen-Tor and he knew where to start, the Archive's heart.