The Arcana: Ehlii's Gate (OC)

The realm of the nomad witch is not one many have stepped into. It is a wasteland of jagged icy peaks and a sea of sand, scorched by the red sun's fiery eyes. Like a river carving through the earth, the lands of this realm are always flowing, always changing into new landscapes of unfamiliar but breathtaking scenery. You can hear the song of beasts and the lull of nature around you, but no matter how far you walk, you find yourself alone. Utterly alone. You then hear it. A voice. It sings in a language unknown, but it speaks to your soul so strongly you cannot ignore its call and find your tired feet pulling you towards it, entirely entranced by the ancient hymn. Suddenly, the voice is drowned out by low and thunderous chants, the deep voices coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. The sky turns into ink as angry grey clouds swallow the world in darkness, the bone-chilling rumble of thunder like the enraged roar of a giant. The storm does not bless the lands with rain, but rather shakes the very mountains from their perch with howling winds and flashes of lightning striking the earth like white arrows. The realm swirls and rages against you, challenging its intruder. How long has it been since the storm? Minutes? Hours? Days? You cannot tell. But you are fighting with your life, but you are growing weary. You're afraid that you might be forever lost in this realm of secrets. But then, you hear it again. The singing. You force your exhausted and beaten body through the whipping winds and sand before you're blinded by a white flash of light. For a moment, you think you've been struck down by lightning, but no. You are alive. The dark swirling clouds retreat from the depths that they came from, the war cries in the distant fading into peaceful hums. You have proved your resolve and worth as a warrior. The realm accepts you. The sky has turned into a deep amaranthine hue, streaks of gold and red like paint strokes on a canvas as the sleepy sun sets behind the dunes. It is beautiful. Then, you see it, a kingdom of clay and jewels cupped in the claws of the mountains, fractured but standing strong. Red and black rubble earth against ice peaks, as if the petrified skeleton of a god was curled around the city itself. It is an oasis in a land of wondrous death. The sight itself renews your strength, a shaky sigh escaping from your lips as you push on towards the sanctuary. By the time you've arrived, the sun has lifted it's glare from the land and drift into a deep slumber, the sky now turned into a universe of star clusters and distant planets. The night has grown cold, but the fiery glow reaching out from the empty houses warm both your body and soul. The singing has returned, but it no longer sounds like a distant dream. Raspy yet ethereal vocals are carried by the smoke of a bonfire nearby, and your feet carry you to the center of the abandoned city. Standing in front of the fire is a figure clothed in colorful robes and furs, their singing coming to a slow cease as they unclasp their hands from prayer, turning to face you fully. The Nomad Witch is neither man nor woman, with thin eyes of liquid gold and burning ice that peer into your soul and twinkle with kind mischief, dark hair wisping over their face and the dancing flames making their tawny skin appear bronze. They reach out to you, open palm inviting you. "I've been expecting you," Ehlii speaks with a wolfish grin, friendly, but unpredictable. "Come, lay your feet and join me by the fire in the home of my ancestors. Your journey has been harsh and long, but your courage and determination has been rewarded. The night is young, and we have many of stories and secrets to share."

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