The face of his god, blessed be his alters, had appeared to him in forgiving nightmare. Of the Archdruids, he most favored of his god, still living that is, dreamt his lord's command. Taking to well hidden paths through the winter-touched north, did the living Archdruid water-walk across to the dreadful isle, hidden by way of sunset. Clad in their white-cloaked visage way, he prayed a well thought out blessing for the longevity of the island's eldest, and so the ghosts and warrior-monks hidden beyond the shore mumbled welcoming prayers to the still-living Archdruid. Most holy isle, seat of the entrance to the Hell that Jhunal sits in, Isle of Long Stones embraced the living Archdruid.
By the will of his god, the island was sheathed by a ungodly wood that cloaked the mountainous hinterland. Destitute of good-prayer, only those who the dead-owl bid enters unscathed, those uninvited witness the face of their god and despair, freezing under the ice. So was the living Archdruid forthcalled and wandered inland unscathed, past the underground monastic-barrows of the unliving druid warrior-monks. Past mountainous villages of the aspiring, and still living druids who toil away against the mundane, ever seeking the mysteries. The island was utterly beholden to their god and lived entirely in the memory which their lord once knew, untouched by the winter-like-grave that consumed Atmora, and touches Roscrea. No road graced the isle, or any marker of direction. The mysteries awaited only those who seek it, and the living Archdruid had once sought it many winters ago. It had cost him dearly...even Sovngarde itself was surrendered for the knowledge within. He knew the way well, within the isle, mundane and metaphysical intermingled by the grace of his god.
What was a lifetime of seeking an age ago, was delivered in good haste. For the living Archdruid caressed up the most sacred mountain of the isle, where the entrance to the Hell that Jhunal sits in sat. Shrouded by the forested mountain, he happened upon it. In the mind of his god, it was Raald do Tiinuhaar, though the mortal druids knew it well as the Fifty Pillars. Before the time of his god, in the farthest reaches of antiquity it was a great shrine of the Dov, the gods of old. Though now, no right-minded Dov would perch within the desecrated ungodly temple-city. It belonged solely to the dead-owl now.
The distant sounds of city life was absent from it's desecrated figure, only the ringing chants of endless prayer echoed out. Devoid of all passion and life otherwise, here was the final resting place of the druids. No still-living druid dwelt within the temple-city. A nightmare visage of immortal draugr endlessly toiled in prayer, script writing and knowledge-seeking towards attaining divinity. It was the paradise that awaited in place of Shor's Hall. He hadn't known when, yet now the Archdruid was dressed in the monastic death-robes as he crossed the threshold into the temple-city. Immediately with head bowed and his eyes closed, the still living Archdruid matched the prayers of the immortal draugr in their worship of Jhunal. Though the longer he prayed within the temple-city, he began to ail. Terrible frost began to envelop and overtake the still living Archdruid. In his ailing prayer, the nightmare took form again and bid he continue, in prayer of course. Just as many years ago, it was not yet his time to take up the mantle within the temple-city.
He had only taken a single step forward during the prayer and yet the nightmare of his god ended, along with the prayers of the immortal draugr. In the cold and quiet place there sat an immortal dragur, with a scepter-like priestly staff. The still living Archdruid prostrated himself before the most hallowed figure, itself an ancient Archdruid and most favored of his god. He who held the key to the entrance to the Hell that Jhunal sits in. Petrified and diminished the figure was cloaked unlike the living Archdruid, appearing like a lesser priest of old antiquity clad in the effigies of the owl, and the strength of his tongue was that of old, and his ordained word was that of old.
"Beloved Nord, hallowed and destined for the Hell which our lord and his favored sits frozen within, I dreamt five hundred good prayers for you... The world turns, and what was may come again. Know you well, the prayers of the old pantheon? For that is desired. Hew yourself the face of a holy man and preach well the blessings of the Nord-gods of which there are EIGHT. Oppress the court of ancient Windhelm if you are able, should a strong High King dwell in the most heavenly palace, entrench yourself at his side. Allow through many kind faces and subservience, and subtlety the passage of the living druids to preach within the Old Kingdom. Within the court of ancient Windhelm, under guise of kindly faces and subservience, and subtlety belie the mundane to the High King no matter of his strength. No matter of strength, diminish yourself, hold your shoulders low, speak not the name of our god in truth, exist as nonthreatening, surrender no knowledge, be at oddities, reveal no vestige of our purpose, attain any position of power granted... Most beloved Nord, hallowed and destined for the Hell which our lord and his favored sits frozen within, who better to sail south to fool the Nords than a Nord? Withdraw now from Raald do Tiinuhaar, enforce the will of our god before the living Nords of this isle, gather the longboat-full and set sail. Go with my blessing, Theudofrid, and obey it well."
The living Archdruid only pressed further in his prostration, and said nothing. So it was before masters and their subservient. When he arose, the temple-city was nowhere in sight with only sprawled ruins of old surrounding him. Obeying the powerful commands of the true most favored Archdruid, the living one descended the sacred mountain, giving prayer to the monastic-barrows and seeking the Druidic Nord clans within the mountainous villages of the isle. The living Archdruid was favored certainly, yet it was a monumental task ahead, it would be a difficult task oppressing or entrenching the court of most ancient Windhelm...right?