In the sudden whirlwind and the booming noise in his mind, Modir felt his soul being suddenly detached, drifting in some kind of void emptiness. He didn't know how long he drifted, only feeling that he swiftly traversed an "distance" incomprehensible to mortals—then, his tattered soul was brutally stuffed back into his shell like a rag.
A moment later, the old Mage slowly woke up, reflexively assuming a guarded stance the instant his consciousness returned. One hand touched his Combat Staff, the other touched the enchanted dagger for protection, followed by a flurry of instant-cast protective spells... He vividly remembered the same process occurring not long ago.
