Her staff lay discarded in the corner of the room, apparently untouched by whatever brought her here.
And the stranger?
The door’s handle slid open with a click. A small wisp of cold air stung across Setara’s face. It swung open, to reveal a tunnel to a frozen landscape.
A trail of flower petals and soft footprints in light snow led out into the frozen tundra.
There was snow as far as the eye could see, wreckages and statues strewn across the white surfaces.
The sky was dark and gloomy, with clouds roiling in the distance. There was no sound, save for the wind and snow. The cold washed over her, burrowing its way 'neath her skin to her bones.
Long, twisted shadows coalesced underneath the long-dead brambles of ancient trees, which stood like weathered markers against the pale white snow. The barren wasteland beckoned to her.
The humming continued, but became intensified, no longer just a sound, but a sensation, a reverberation upon one’s own body. It remained at the same pitch, neither becoming louder nor softer. The vines began to shake, as Conleth feels his hand become warm. If he were to gaze upon it, he’d find it encased in phantom-like manifestations, coiling pieces of energy and heat. The same is to be said for Tebor, his own hand becoming hot, now swarmed with flames and swirling smoke. And as Tebor approaches the entrance to the tunnel, the vines glow a soft white, and slowly part, revealing a long, winding tunnel with cracked flagstones, leading deeper into the darkness.