Legion stood long in front of the largest of Garados’ tables of trinkets and horrors.
Here too, these things seem to ‘find’ me…
The cold, damp air might not have bothered him, but the sharp blade of that skeletal minion sure did. Legion‘s robes were still damp with his own blood. Taking the long, slender wand in his hand, Legion turned it over and over, closing his eyes in concentration.
Ah… so that’s how it works…
Turning to the others, Legion‘s voice was tired: “I believe this could be useful… and perhaps suited to those like me…”
Milo piped up, “You mean no-breaths?”
Legion smirked at the halfling. “Not quite, but these other items could be useful as well.” Turning, Legion took from the table the tome, dog-eared and marred by much use. “This, for instance… I believe would be most helpful to the more martially-minded of you…” his eyes fell on Idris, Nidalru, and Puki. “It won’t take long to leaf through it, even for those… less well-read. Come, look and see.”
Legion stepped away from the table and hearing no objection, slid the wand up his sleeve for later use.
The Seekers of the Lost… what do they want with me? How do they even know me?
Legion was beginning to think it was related to the nagging sensation he’d had since arriving in this… place. It was certainly more than just the adjustments he’d gone through when he had jumped before…. ever since the confrontation in the Dead Vaults when he felt as though he was able to ‘push back’ against this oppressive energy… things were tense… heavy.
I must meet this Archmage, whoever he is. He will know where the shard is. Perhaps he will find it for me…