The key to all power was within his grasp. White and Black Magic were not a problem to locate; any temple in Seyroon was filled with the Flare Dragon's power, and the best place to find the essence of Shabranigdo was anywhere with massive amounts of destruction. Nightmare Magic was no longer practiced due to the threat it posed to all life, so that left only Spirit Magic; Shamanism. And because Gaea shealtered her own, it was Shamanism that was the hardest to locate a master in it.
"Damnation!" The scryer roared, smashing his fist on the table. The rogue across from him jumped slightly, spilling a bit of his ale.
"It's the only lead we've had for a month." The scoundral shrugged. "I'm sorry it's such a disappointment, but - "
"No buts!" The other snarled. "Tail them closely, and don't lose them no matter what she pulls."
"But sir - "
"Didn't I say 'no buts'?!"
"Yessir..."
"Return sucessful, and your men will have all the gold they can carry." He promised. "Fail, and..."
"Death?"
"Much, much worse. Now get out of my sight."
"Yessir." The mercenary quickly rose and left the meeting place.
"I will not allow such a cocky upstart as Lina Inverse to hinder my plan." The seer scowled and gazed at his medallion. The souls of ninety-nine magic users fueled the power that he wielded, but only two had been Masters. One of Black, one of White, leaving only that last empty slot for a Master Shaman. Just one last soul...
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