Behind a large cascading waterfall, and behind an overgrowth of vines stood a large stone door. To the right of the door a crumbled statue, the only part that can be made out is a pair of legs the rest is nothing but rubble. To the left of the door was a statue of a large golem. The statue had amazingly stood the test of time unlike the other. Water dripped into the structure from a small crack in the ceiling. The door looked as though it had never been open, the waterfall had done its job. What secrets did the mysterious place hide.
Ripples in the lake's surface showed signs of bugs skimming the water's surface. A splash showed signs of said bugs being devoured by the unseen fish below. The wind blew gently across the water's of the lake. The surrounding trees shook in its breeze. The tranquility of the natural beauty that was the lake was in full force. This would be the ideal day for anyone wishing to bask in nature's glory.
Drip, another drop of water seeped its way through the crack from above. The lonely golem who's friend had left him long ago, stood in eternal silence. The secrets that it once guarded or at least stood to watch over, now lay lost. And so perhaps the golem itself was now lost forever. Its metal still somehow undulled by the water, and unchanged by the test of time. Amazing how the golem itself had survived the harsh erosion of the waters above. The other had not been so lucky. Even it's stone seemed hard as though unweathered by the fall from above.
The golem's eyes were cold and lifeless, never moving, never growing, never seeing. His mouth sealed shut, his tongue never to whisper the secrets it knows. Its hands never able to reach out and touch the world. His legs stationary to keep him at his post. He was the perfect solider, yet not a solider at all. For what good is a solider who cannot see to fight. For what good is a solider who cannot issue commands to his troops. For what good is a solider who cannot use his might to defend its goal. For what good is a solider that cannot march into battle. For what good is a solider that is no solider at all.
A gleam of metal shinned brightly threw the cascading fall of aqua blue. Now it seemed as though the golem was trying to reach out to the world. To use its own inner light to escape the shade of it's prison. The light the small was bright than it had been on any other day. It seemed as though destiny would do its part in helping the cries of the lone statue be heard. Or at least help its tears be seen.
Kevlor felt kind of sick lately, his disease was worsening, there was no chance for him, people did not want him among them anymore, they were afraid if him. He did not even have a home and was often forced to sleep outside, on the streets of Lomedor. In fact he was no better than a beggar, he lived at either the mercy of the inhabitants of Lomedor or either he had to steal to earn his living. People often stood away from him.
Lately his condition worsened, he felt like he did not have too much time left, and decided to amplify his quest to look for a cure for his disease and find in fact what manner of thing or creature was behind his damned destiny. He also hoped for a few allies, and powerful wizard who with their wisdom would be able to answer some of his many questions and also help him with a cure. He would do anything just to get rid of the plague developing itself by feeding off his life. The effects of this curse could be one of the worst around, it could affect the whole realm if it would spread or will turn Kevlor into some manner of undead minion. Either way it was not good, and needed to be removed.
The rogue was no older than 20 years, though he looked much older, very tired and pale, his lips were purple and his eyes red, and all those because of the disease. He kept himself wrapped in dark bandages under any piece of clothing he owned, every inch of his flesh covered bandages except for the upper half of his face, because he needed his eyes to see. He did not have any friends, he did not have any money, the few belongings he owned being his ragged clothes, a cloak, a staff and a dagger he inherited from his mother. The very tool of his salvation, or so his mother liked to say. Only if he could understand the meaning behind those words, why, why was he not wise enough, why the time was constantly against him, and what in the nine hells he did to deserve such a curse?
There have been a couple of days since he left Lomedor, and no one knew how many would still pass before he will return, he had no reason to do so, nothing linked him to the grand city. Instead he traveled the surrounding realms high and low, with no certain destination but with a well-known target and reason. The first two days of his campaign didn’t seem too successful, and he didn’t expect them to be either, he was a pessimist by nature, so that was understandable. Though, something managed to catch his interest the previous night while he was walking by the lake Aelin, something behind a waterfall, the strange shadow of some strange forms were reflected into the water at the light of the moon. He awaited the morning, so he could investigate the matter, and now the morning came.
He woke up on the same place he went to bed: the large branch of a water-loving tree. His eyes snapped open as if something alerted his senses, and with the agility of a feline he climbed down, back on the surface of the ground. The rogue approached the waters carefully, and walked along the shore of the lake until he was as close as possible to the falls. It was the time, the time of exploration, he jumped into the water, and made his way to and through the falling water from above. It seemed like the wall of water was hiding something behind, something like a corridor going to a secret chamber, what manner of entity could hide there. Also there were two statues, one on each side of the corridor. One was in perfect shaped, and it resembled a humanoid creature, the other was nearly dust and didn’t resemble anything into the rogue’s eyes. The humanoid statue radiated a strange aura, which was instantly felt by Kevlor, and pushed forward by his inborn curiosity he approached it, touching its face with his left hand, and slowly tracking his fingers along it. He remembered hearing the few stories of a bard which concerned golems, constructs animated through means of magic. This statue could be one of it, as it seemed perfectly shaped, by a master sculptor. “Anyone there?” The question came whispered by the rogue, as his tired eyes gazed at the statue.