Upon the rolling hills of Falderen's southernmost hills lie a single shortstack mountian with no bretherin around. It was a single island in a green ocean, one that was not the most difficult to climb with a height of only around a thousand meters. It's very own summit was today greeted by the song of rhythmic ticking and tapping made by climbing picks. The one holding said picks was none other than Haru, determined to reach the top as usual. And he was just about done. Every swing of the pick brought the magician in white closer to his goal. He could see it clearly in his eye and feel it on his skin. There was a certain special kind of wind found only at the top of something. It was small and hard to notice, but was far easier to discern the harder it was to climb something. In about five minutes, Haru reached the top of this isolated mountian and found his reward in the view that greeted him atop the summit. Rolling green hills as far as his eyes could see. Over in the west lie a sun about to set. There was nary a hint of animal or human dotting the plains from all the way up here- he was just too high to be able to tell. "Wonderful. Ha ha ha..." Haru exclaimed aloud, delighted. This was what he had wanted to see today. No matter how tall the mountain it was always satisfying to reach the top, for the sight was always unique and beautiful. He wouldn't be here for more than a few hours. Nothing like days, to say nothing about weeks or months. Yes, he'd just be atop this mountain for a little while. Resting.
“Hello,” Iván deadpanned, appearing right beside @Haru. The anachrolyte was hoping he’d be alone in this summit, having decided to take a day off from the hustle and bustle of the Curry House. Through his training in Astral Magic, as sufficient as any beginner training in augury and such, which meant that it wasn’t sufficient at all, considering the forces being divined were always in constant flux, he had felt something odd about to happen to this world at large. Or maybe it was just the shirtless chef’s experimental curry. Iván made a mental note to try and avoid consuming anything from that person. At this stage of his knowledge of augury, omens, he could barely make sense of any that came to him. They were mostly in blurs, vague hints, strange feelings, often could be explained some other way. With what had come to him just a few hours ago, he could find no other explanation aside from experimental curry. Was something truly coming for them? Was it anything related to the Ancient Dissonance? Or was it something new? Something far more sinister? Even with his chronomancy, Iván felt helpless and weak against his lack of knowledge. There was just a nagging feeling at the back of his head, something he could barely understand. Perhaps more training in that mastery would help. Perhaps everything he has ever done were all in vain. He looked out over the horizon, relishing the air around them. Ever since Iván started dabbling in aeromancy, he has felt attuned to the air, to the wind, sometimes even to lightning. The rolling hills of Falderen's southernmost hills could be his second home. Pormont has seen its fair share of him, but it never failed to welcome the illusionomancer with open arms. The freedom he felt while in this place could be euphoria in its purest form. Or maybe it was just the lack of oxygen, his lungs fighting to maintain their very existence. Whatever it was, Iván took to it as a good feeling. “What’s up, my old friend? What brings you way out here?” Iván finally turned to Guide, his fellow Witch Ops member, a soft smile on his equally soft space, his trademark mask nowhere to be found, only his hood over his head. “May I see your hands?” Somewhere, far beyond them, across time and space, a familiar tune played, a witch’s call.
