Druidess of Judea III

Dearest Abigail,

I do not believe you properly understood the reasons for my coming toward your abode. The artifacts which you call soul stones can be procured at any one of a thousand vendors throughout the central continent—although the ones created long ago offer far more potential and far less chance of backfire.

I will tell you a secret of my own. In truth, I am coming there for something far more important than soul gems. The truth is that there is no end of the wasting of resources and no ceasing of the trouble of which you speak both in the land that I currently call home; going to you is the only method I can conceive which will end or stifle the troubles of which you surmise I am putting myself to. No, for this journey is the end of my troubles and the beginning of a soothing oil poured upon my head.

I fear you may misrepresent these ideas in your mind if I do not explain them with explicit enigma. There are powers which you do not understand and magics which are now present in the world that were not so much present a few years ago. The mages must all respond to this magic in the manner that seems most appropriate to him or her. In my case, I have been called to that dogged wasteland in which you and your family live, for that is where my thread of magic leads me.

I tell you this not to threaten you, but to give you courage and faith in my abilities and my own faith: do not question me. I know exactly what I do and I know exactly how much resources and energy is being spent, and what that energy is being spent for. Not only me, but all the magus understand the times in which we live and the season which has been proclaimed.

I hope to see you soon, and I hope all is well for your family.

Your friend,

Belvor the Mage.

 

Good Mage Belvor,

Please do not consider it impertinent of me to reiterate that this land which my family and I have plowed for many generations is barren besides the farm valleys running lush along either side of the two great rivers. I know now that nothing I say will convince you otherwise, but I find but them unfavorable circumstances for you when I consider what life might be like here for you, from your point of view.

Very well; since I cannot seem to dissuade you from your current course, I will make a confession to you, since you have also made a confession to me. I trust that a mage of your caliber might be predisposed with prejudice against creatures of the dark, but I must profess the secret to the Well of Souls, the pathway between universes, which my family has protected for many generations, for no doubt that is the reason why you would travel all the way here.

On each blood moon, the Well of Souls glows. There is the stairway to the cosmos, the gateway to the kingdoms of angels and demons, of beings not meant to be seen by mortal eyes. During the blood moons, the fabric which separates the universes, either by design of by accident, is stretched so thin that one is able to see past it, to look upon things which are marvelous and eternally frightening.

Beyond this fact, there is one other occurrence which I must declare to you. The fabric between universes can become so thin that tearing through it becomes possible. Not just torn for the eyes to grasp a more resolute view, but passed through, as by walking through a train tunnel in a mountain just as freely as if you had walked the wild flower paths between any two rolling hills inhabiting Judea.

It takes but one drop of demon blood to pierce the paper-thick wall.

Do you know who opens the portal each year? If you had guessed that it might be me, which I think a mage of your caliber might have already had a sentiment of, I would conclude, although not to your face, that you were correct.

I would also beg that you keep your own soul away from me, as well as the warmth of your holy magic; the village in which I live is mine to protect. We will become mortal enemies and destroy one another, if you inhabit this land for more than a night. Am I not allowed to live out the rest of my days in peace, or would you bring a sword to destroy what has not warranted destroying?

I declare to you that if you come here, you, you will be the death of me. I know that which is proclaimed in the stars, for our family has studied astronomy and astrology for many generations. One of the stars has disappeared from the sky; I have counted and named all of them since I was but a small girl, and I cry still when I think about its departure, though it has been a couple of months since.

If this year is to be my death, I would request that you consider passing by my village, or perhaps stopping for lunch and tea, and then passing through, so that you will not be the cause of it and so to heap upon your brow the guilt of the ages.

This shall be my last letter, as you shall arrive in short order, and I must spend my time gathering the order of my affairs.

Signed, Abigail.

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