Tûrin Faelandaerl, Wanderer from the Deep, began his daily trek up the Eiba mountain to conduct a de-summoning of the Monster of the Deep he defeated centuries ago. The tendrils atatched to his light teal hair pointed like a dowsing stick, pointed towards the hidden location of the portal to the Deep, a lost door to the vacant dimension.
There, he would mutter a verse, and draw some runes on the portal's frame, sealing it for 24 hours. He did this daily, as a precaution. There were still tendrils writhing in the alternate reality, twisting bits of tentacle that could spawn another monster for each of them.
The tendrils in Tûrin Faelandaerl's hair were dead, he went to a warlock named Ophren who sent a dark spell into the tendrils, rendering them immobile. He hoped. Apparantly there was only a one in seven chance it would fail.
Tûrin snapped out from his binding when he heard a twig snap. He spun around quickly, his mind screaming that his hidden portal was found. If someone else knew about it...
Could they have been inside? Tûrin wondered.
No. They couldn't have. I've sealed the portal from the outside and in daily. Unles... Maybe someone can undo the work I have done. Or simply someone has followed me and is wondering what I am doing.
he would shout out, but he had no mouth. All he had to do was wait.
