As it walked, Razah thought its situation over. It knew
it
was no
lo
nger
in
Tyria; its attunement to the Mists told it as much, but beyond that,
it had no idea where it might be. Nor did
it
have any idea as to
who
the
figure atop the dais was. It recognized that an enco
unter with
th
e
figure could be fatal, but, it reasoned, there was a chan
ce
the figu
re
knew something of the staff.
Of course, there was no guaran
tee of this.
Razah had no idea if the portal would have taken th
e staff
to the same
place when it was cast into the abyss at Hallowed Po
in
t all
those years
ago, and if it hadn’t, Razah knew it could be stu
ck
in this
fo
reign
plane
of existence for an interminably long time, possibly fore
ver. It
went
over
all of this information quickly and matter-of-factly, a sentient being
outlining its situation, nothing
more.
As Razah drew level with the dais, the figure atop
it
tu
rn
ed to face it.
“Long have I awaited your arrival, Rift Warden.”
“You know of me?” Razah asked, perplexed, but not su
rp
rised.
“I know of all, child of the Mists. In my mortal life, I travelled the
Mists freely, traversing lands and realities no mortal being was
ever
meant to behold. I paid for my trespass
with my
life, and
now
it
is my
duty to guide those who seek greatn
ess toward the
pro
per
path. For
you, Razah, I am the end of one path, and the begin
ning of
an
oth
er.
However, which path you
choose to
set foot up
on remain
s a decision
for you alone. Do you know who I am,
Rift
Warden
?”
Despite its initial confusion, Razah found
that it did, “You
are Lord
Odran.”
“The very same. Do you know
where y
ou are?”
Again, Razah instinctively knew the answer: “This
is
the Hall of H
eroes.”
“Yes, yes, you are the one. You seek a powerfu
l
talisman, know
n in
your
world only as the Staff of the Mists. You hope it will provide you
the answers you seek. You desire a path to tread upon, a w
ay
forw
ard
illuminated by fate. The talisman is fate incarnate, and will grant y
ou
what y
ou seek.”
“You know of the staff?” asked
Razah.
“I am its protector, its warden, I keep
it safe from those w
ho wo
uld
misuse it. As I once did.” Odran replied, a faraw
ay
look in h
is eyes.
“You wielded the staff?” Razah asked, surprised
.
“Long ago. The staff allows the user to traverse the Mists
at
th
eir
whim, though such activity incurs the
wrath
of bein
gs beyond
the
comprehension of you or I. Misuse
the staff,
an
d you
shall end
up as I,
a
warden of destiny, a custodian of the Mists. You are fated to carry the
staff, to use it, bu
t
only for a time.”
“It is my fate? My purpose?” Razah asked, a strange feeling blossoming
within
it.
“It is. However, nothing is set, an
d what yo
u choose
remains to
be seen.
Know that your actions
here will influ
ence the fate of
the world
in
to
which you w
ere
thrust.”
“Will you give me the staff?” Razah asked, its body tensing,
preparin
g
for
a confrontation. Odran radiated power, and Razah decided it would
rather not engage in a contest of p
ower with
th
e ancient being.
“I shall give you a choice, Rift Warden. You may
have the staff,
as
it
is your right to possess it. However, kn
ow that in
receiving
it, yo
u
will never again return to the place from whence
you came. You w
ill
become a Watcher, an entity fated
to
oversee and infl
uence the
physical
realm from within the Mists. You will shape the fate of Ty
ria throu
gh
the power of the staff, guiding and hin
derin
g the peo
ple of that w
orld
as you see fit. But you will never
go back. Is th
at a fate yo
u are
willing to
accept, Rift Warden?
”
“And if I refuse the staff?” asked
Razah.
“I shall return you to Tyria, and you shall continu
e
to wander its
land
s in
search of your place in that world. As for wheth
er
or
not you
will find
it,
I cannot say. Which shall you choose,
Razah, child of
the Mists?”
Razah hesitated for a moment, then
spoke the
words that sealed its
fate, “Give me
the staff.”
Wordlessly, Lord Odran held out his hands, his palms facin
g upw
ard,
and in the next instant, a shimmerin
g
blue light
blossomed from them,
twisting and expanding as it formed
into the
shape of an
imp
ressive
staff, its tip adorned with a large, pulsating blue stone.
Odran
’s eyes
opened, and he held out
the Staff of th
e
Mists to Razah. As
it
reached
out to take it, Razah suddenly realized that the
peculiar
sensatio
n it was
feeling was the human emotion of joy. For th
e first time in its ex
isten
ce,
it was hap
py.
“Wield this mighty talisman with honor and grace,
Razah, Watcher
of Tyria. Go now, begin your destiny, embrace yo
ur
fate.”
With that,
Odran’s form began to fade, melting back into the fabric
of the M
ists
to
wait for another hero to come seeking their
destin
y.
Razah stood alone atop the golden dais,
the Staff of th
e
Mists held
reverently in both hands. Then, turning to face
th
e pale,
empty horizon,
it raised the staff overhead, turning sightless eyes toward th
e
heavens
as it felt the staff’s power begin to
suffuse it. It
had foun
d its pu
rp
ose.
Epilogue
Rytlock Brimstone opened his eyes an
d looked aroun
d,
his mane
prickling. Where was he? Probably somewhere in
the M
is
ts, w
ho could
tell where that blasted portal had spirited him off to.
Th
e ground
beneath him was rough and dark, composed of pitted,
vo
lcanic rock.
The smell of sulfur hung thick in the air, and
the sky
ab
ove
him was
painted a dark, unsettling red. The landscape abou
t
him was dotted
with jagged rock formations, mesas, plateaus, and cliffs. Far off in the
distance, he could see a mountain spewing fi
re
in
to the crimson sky.
“Long have I awaited your arrival, Rift Warden,” said Razah from behin
d
the big charr, causing him to whirl around
in alarm and
let out a d
ee
p,
guttural growl.
“Who are you?! Where am I?! Wh
ere’s
my
sword?! Speak, demon!”
Rytlock spat, claws extended, ready to fight to th
e
death.
“Come, Rift Warden. Follow me.
I have much
to
show
you, and
we have
little time.” said Razah placidly, turning and beginning to
walk
down
a
narrow canyon. As it walked away, Rytlock noted
the peculiar staff
it
wielded.
“Why should I follow you?” shouted
Rytlo
ck, teeth
bared
.
“You seek the sword Sohothin, do you not?” Razah
rep
lied
,
not looking
back.
Withou
t another word, Rytlock tore after it.
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