Last Page Main Menu Next Page
Somehow the Warlock had one that day so long ago, and when Brun emerged from the throne room victorious, he was never the same. Some speculated that it was spontaneous consumption with his chosen path, while others argued such thing was an abomination in itself. Whatever had happened, though, no one would overlook the fact that the Keeper of Secrets was slain and the craftworld eventually emerged from the eye. It would be wrong to say victorious. Iderhra had paid a terrible toll, but it survived.

It was probably no more than 5 years from that date that Brun was officially welcomed into the ranks of the Farseers of Iderhra, perhaps a formality. He'd been welcomed into the hearts of the survivors instantly. He was their greatest hero, someone who would still the room with the very sight of his feather crowned helm.
Still he was rarely seen, a recluse. All seers were like that, consumed with the visions of the future, trying to thread the needle of fate for the best. It was almost an unspoken task of the Warlocks to keep them connected with the reality they were trying to save.

"Seer... I think there is something you might enjoy," Sera reported, one of the half dozen warlocks Brun had entrusted to be his retinue. "A troupe of harlequins is here..." she began, and while this was nothing extraordinary, more along the lines of a rare treat, she enticed him further with, "They are performing the Final Victory."