He would have to show it to them then. You touch? You become awaken?
He holds out his arm, hopefully this experiment would follow through

(Sorry, man, but we'll wait for Crailek.. if he doesn't post in a few days I'll work something out, but he is still present.)

Crailek just watches, as he had little clue what Foun was talking about, either.

The creature softly, nervously, reaches out to touch its Lord.

Now absorb, feel and copy. It is within you to do so. Reach out and take what is me. It was very possible that this would backfire creating an enemy he wouldn't know how to handle. It was also possible that it would work out perfectly creating a worthy ally and a powerful aide in the protection and reawakening of the isle. The worst possible situation would be that it copied him in a incomplete or corrupt way. Possibly even bringing back Penta or murpheous or worse ... the foun that was ... before he left. The foun filled with hate and lust for revenge for those who had hurt him.

Foun felt a blur form around him, as if the entire world was rushing past him at an unimaginable speed, as felt a huge loss of power as the transaction took place. It wasn't his divine abilities, or anything he held, that fled, but rather potential itself: he felt the Degree of Power be ripped, burnt, sucked from him and he fell..

Crailek saw both the creature and Foun disappear in a blinding flash of light. After a few minutes pass, he'll have regained his sight, but all that is left to see is a strangely intricate circular marking - made, it looked, of silver - carved onto the ground.

(Foun - continue posting in RP FOUN: The Patterned Isles of Penta)

Crailek lets out a low whistle and leans down to study the symbol more closely. "Guess we won't be trying that again for a while..." He mutters to himself.
He puts a hand over the symbol to see how hot it is. If it is tolerable, he reaches down and feels the dirt on and around the symbol.

The symbol is actually quite cool to the touch; Crailek feels strange gravity fluctuations about the glyph, as if it is at once dragging his hand down and up. The dirt itself remains mundane.

Crailek frowns, then stands up, and leaves, for the time being at least. He heads to Anik's realm through a portal.

It was done. Crailek crackled, popped, and was there.

OOC: Yo Crailek aren't you supposed to be here too :P

(( Oh right..))
Crailek appears, and heads back to study the symbol.

Crailek feels sick.. whatever had poisoned him had gotten worse. As he looked upon the glyph, he fell to the ground, screaming as the information raped his mind..

Pattern. Pattern of Methodes, named by Methodes himself, rarely seen; known more commonly as the Pattern of Correspondence. Geotonomantic term. Created by the raw influx of power from one with naturally Geotonomantic tendencies. Power is robbed, but used to create a 'pattern world', more stable and utterly different from anything else created. Current pattern. Leads to the Isles of Penta (2). 'Patterned' Isles of Penta. Created by Foun. Acts as a seal. Only certain individuals may enter. Seals can be linked. Seals can be broken. With enough effort, seals can be entered. A sacrifice of power.

–noun
1. a decorative design, as for wallpaper, china, or textile fabrics, etc.
2. decoration or ornament having such a design.
3. a natural or chance marking, configuration, or design: patterns of frost on the window.
4. a distinctive style, model, or form: a new pattern of army helmet.
5. a combination of qualities, acts, tendencies, etc., forming a consistent or characteristic arrangement: the behavior patterns of teenagers.
6. an original or model considered for or deserving of imitation: Our constitution has been a pattern for those of many new republics.
7. anything fashioned or designed to serve as a model or guide for something to be made: a paper pattern for a dress.
8. a sufficient quantity of material for making a garment.
9. the path of flight established for an aircraft approaching an airport at which it is to land.
10. a diagram of lines transmitted occasionally by a television station to aid in adjusting receiving sets; test pattern.
11. Metallurgy. a model or form, usually of wood or metal, used for giving the shape of the interior of a mold.
12. Numismatics. a coin, either the redesign of an existing piece or the model for a new one, submitted for authorization as a regular issue.
13. an example, instance, sample, or specimen.
14. Gunnery, Aerial Bombing.
a. the distribution of strikes around a target at which artillery rounds have been fired or on which bombs have been dropped.
b. a diagram showing such distribution.
–verb (used with object)
15. to make or fashion after or according to a pattern.
16. to cover or mark with a pattern.
17. Chiefly British Dialect.
a. to imitate.
b. to attempt to match or duplicate.
–verb (used without object)
18. to make or fall into a pattern.

He awakens and immedieatly seeing his beloved in agony he rushes quickly to his side. Crailek! What is wrong please speak to me! He clutches him if he can and tries to think of something that can be done to ease the pain. He had so much to do so many plans what ... He had to think closing his eyes he did just that. First things first, to save his beloved.

As Foun gripped his beloved, however, the image of Crailek withered away and disappeared. A ghost; an apparition, nothing more.

He roared and shook with fury, how could this happen? Then he stopped he remembered his other self and smiled. Perhaps it was time... to let the old foun back out. He laughed a little to himself somewhat manic he stood and smiled at the sky. There would be blood... oh yes there would be blood to pay for this. He cleared his mind although he allowed his vengeance to live, but bottled it up for now. The second priority would be of course ruse... the isle of mist correct? He thought on this and smiled again as he opened a portal. Looking back on that which was left on the ground, yes he would have to find a way to open that portal again...

With several thoughts still running through his mind he left to the isle of mist.

The image of the dragon rising from the mist - destruction, devastation, detestation, degradation - it was really quite warm, yes -

- and Foun was in the Valley of the Mist.

He appeared, his feeling of vengeance was gone. He smiled softly looking up and he couldn't help but weep. He had hoped so much to bring it all back, but now it was no more. He began his work now from what blank books he brought from the tower. He would write three copies of his plans what he had planned to do for the tree to save it. A fourth book would not only hold his plans, but a diary full of his memories and thoughts all he knew and his path and the way of a hunter of truth. All this he would record as quickly as he could.

Hours passed - a night passed - as Foun struggled with his task, but eventually the records were complete, the copies finished.

He sighed now and began to set up the greatest spell he may ever cast in this world. A spell to ensnare, trap, and test any who try to rise the isle. Any who try to take from it what he was to leave behind. It may take days or years for him to finish, but he would work determined to finish what he started in some way.
To those who would finish my work, only those with a heart of a hunter of truth. Only those who have read what I've written and dedicated themselves to my path. Only a true hunter may pass and take what I leave in your safe keeping.

Foun, with unusual prescience, felt alarmed as he began the preliminary invocations before the mighty sorcery. He felt as if he were to continue that he'd be struck down by a force larger, wilder than himself, possibly be destroyed utterly. Foun wasn't as great a magician as he once was, and he estimated that such a spell could - perhaps would - take decades, but even if he had the time.. did he have the strength?

He stops looking up he asks that which is unseen, I suppose you wish me to trust you to do this then? Well of course I do. I suppose it is my own fault, I only wish to be certain that they earn what I leave behind. I do not want these things to be easy for them... very well I trust you and I will leave it as it is. He takes the sleeping terre morte and stabs it into the ground. I only ask that you allow the isle to sink once more to go into the sea as it has done before. If those who wish to follow my path are true then they will find a way to make it rise once more...
He opens the portal to leave, but waits he wishes to see if he was heard if the isle will once more go to the sea. Terre morte his sacred weapon would go with it this time, perhaps if the one who follows his path is worthy... then they may awaken it's true power once more...

The power of sinking an island is needed, and given, ripped from its Lord in exactly the same way power was taken to create another Penta; regardless, the island very slowly began to sink beneath the waves with a wailing, a screeching, the scream of stone on stone. Terra Morta would be forever lost.

He looks up and smiles, I trust that you will open the path to those who can prove themselves... I suppose this is the last of it... goodbye my home... goodbye terre morte... although I remember now your truth we shall not be separated for long. With that he leaves this place.

Silently, the Isles gave their own goodbye. Perhaps Foun would return to Yggdrasil, if there would ever be an Yggdrasil to return to; perhaps not. A certain peace came over the place as it bade its Lord farewell.