An old wizard in a red and gold robe stands on a well, raising a staff that glows with green lightning towards a stormy sky as a distressed crowd looks on.

A dozen or so people in tattered rags, a stark contrast to the tall, ancient-looking man in his gold-trimmed red velvet cloak, stood around a brick well in a village square. The druid pierced the crowd with his deep-set eyes, his gaunt face dark and brooding. A storm raged, the wind whipping icily through his long white beard. His mouth is open. He brandished a crooked staff, its shaft ending in a large, cartilaginous bulge, and pointed upwards at the dark clouds that threatened a sudden, A bright green flash from the crooked staff creates a hole in the clouds of the sky. Ver más