As the scroll lights up, first runes and characters lock into place, next the magical apparition of some wisened man appears… Whilst Wisdom leaps backwards in surprise, the bird's instincts kicking in as it takes flight and aggressively lands onto the ceiling rafters, Ohmen instead leans in. His reaction, his seriousness is in the eyes, Not the body.
Staying silent, deep breaths saying more than words, Ohmen is quiet, standing back as the group does as the man says. A tingling sensation in the base of his stomach, he looks to Shiro as he places the scroll against the door with an unearthly stare.
And as the light, or rather darkness flashes into the room the doorway opening to the scene of some moonlit winter.
The snow is dense, the cold even denser, and far beyond the rolling white hills a city dimly glows. Its light promising warmth and respite to the weary, those left out in the cold, left out in the dark.
Moving his glare to Shiro’s glowing hand. Ohmen speaks gently, his breaths heavy only partially because of the wave of cold air. “Think of the horrors we could have just unleashed through that one simple action. A possible portal to some damnable realm of ancient evil..”
Looking at the scroll, then the doorway, Wisdom chimes in.
“Those forgotten by all men, by even the light, prey on the foolish. Carelessness finds no clemency in this world”
“And I have learnt that the hard way, We needn’t be so impatient, but I understand Shiro, I understand.”
Ohmen gestures to the door. “If we are entering, We need equipment, we need gear.” With those words, Ohmen begins pacing before gesturing to the rest of the group “Does anyone have resist elements amongst their magic? No?”
“Alright. Extra layers, dry firewood and rations, lots of rations. The night air is cold, that full of snow even colder. Prepare for the worst, Hope for the best, or so they say”
As Ohmen turns to the Raven and nods, the bird takes flight once more perching onto his wrist before peering beyond the door's threshold. ‘Keep moving your wings. Don't let them freeze up, Come back to me and I will warm them.’
Before the changeling could even hope to finish his sentence, the bird enters, Wisdoms eyes, colder than the snow, brighter than the moon, scan the bleak landscape once more. This time embracing its crisp bitter air, accepting the howling winds chilling caress.
