The Game Begins

At first there is only darkness. Then a spark catches tinder and wood, in an instant the fire blazes to life. In its light an old and battled scarred veteran leans over with flint in hand. After a moment he settles, carefully and painfully against a boulder; the scars of many years visible in his every motion. From his side he draws a long sword, crafted by the finest of masters, simple yet elegant, and begins the ages old ritual of honing its pristine egde.

A voice calls from the shadows on the other side of the fire. "Why do you bother?"

The veteran looks up from his task without stopping. He shakes his head, "why do you bother asking? It is always the same answer."

A thin man, in tattered and filthy robes steps the the very edge of the firelight. His head is covered by his hood and plunged into shadow, his hands buried in his sleeves. "Because I keep hoping that you will explain to me the futility of sharpening a magical blade! Because with that answer, perhaps I will understand why it is that you have challenged me to this oviously pointless meeting. You have no hope of winning. Her heart, her will," although his face cannot be seen, his arrogant sneer can be felt. "Belong to me!"

The veteran looks back down at his blade, a look of true sadness in his eyes. "Why does she bother with you?

The robed man barks a laugh. "Why do you bother asking? It is always the same answer!"

A tear falls from the veteran's eye onto his blade. With a twinkle of light it vanishes, to be replaced with a pearl white spot. "Because I keep hoping to see what she sees. To understand why she left my side to join you."

The robed man pulls his hood back from his face. His whole form is covered in raw open wounds. The blood dripping from them gives more light to the stains on his robe. "Well then, why ask for this meeting? Are we to play the game again?"

"Yes." The veteran looks him unflinchingly in the eye. "Why do you always accept?"

The scourged pulls his hood back up. "Because I know I will always win." He turns and walks away from the light. Before he is completely lost in the shadow, his voice drifts back, "and because I love to see you loose!"

After the voice fades in the distance, the veteran asks of shadows, "but do you love her...." and then he too fades from view leaving only the fire and the shadows it casts.

The fire roars and cackles shedding light around the clearing. At the edge of the firelight a dense ring of trees surrounds the peaceful clearing. Overhead a multitude of stars twinkle back at the fire.

A white fog slips from between the trees as if dancing. After a moment or two it coalesces into the slim form of a half-elven woman, garbed in a flowing gossamer gown. Layers of sheer fabric, like fog, conceal as much as reveal, the slight swell of her waist. Her raven black tresses are held back by a simple copper circlet that sits upon her brow. She retraces an old elven dance, her arms holding on to an unseen partner as she gracefully steps barefoot across the lush grass. The dance carries her into the firelight before she stops, standing right where the old veteran had sat. Smiling she reaches down and picks up the abandoned whestone, placing it carefully almost reverently atop of the boulder he had leaned against. She carefully takes a log from the pile laid out near the fire and tosses it on. When it lands a cascade of sparks flies up into the air. She watches with a smile on her face as the wind carries them swirling around her before spreading them around the clearing. Where each spark lands something new appears. A large iron cookpot hangs over the fire, bubbling with something wonderfull smelling. Baskets containing breads, fruits and cheeses spread appear close to the fire. Around the clearing, bedrolls unfold, covered with think blankets, packs laid out beside them. In mere moments a full camp is laid out about the fire. She moves about the camp, putting finishing touches here and there, testing the bubling soup, laying out the cheeses, peeling some of the fuits.

In the distance a she wolf howls, long and low. A hunt is on. Her pack echos her call, announcing to the world that they are on the move. The wind carries their voices to the clearing. The young woman looks up from her task, a look of sadness tinged wih regret flits across fer face quickly replaced with stern determination.

"Well its about time." She dusts the crumbs from her gown and stands to meet the newcomer.

She does not have to wait very long. A deep black mist pours through the trees and circles the outer edge of the clearing three times before stopping. Another low howl cuts the silence and the mist forms into a large wolf, never truly becoming solid. Her head turns to the fire and her eyes flash a deep green.

"Hail and well met sister." The woman dips a alight bow in the wolf's direction. "I was wondering when you would be arriving."

The wolf sneers. "Maiden, I am not your sister." The wind carries the wolf's voice across the clearing. "Dare to address me as such again and I will rip your throat out."

"An empty threat, but your point is taken. I had hoped you would have reconsidered my offer. Your answer clearly tells me that you have not. To the point then. Is your task complete?"

The wolf prowls around the edge of the firelight. "The pack hunts as we speak. Some are more... compliant then others. They literally fell into our path. Others are more reluctant. In time they will all arrive. More or less in one piece. Now if you will excuse me, there is a young druid that I must hunt down." The wind guts through the clearing taking the ghost wolf with it. The pack calls out again and the she wolf howls her answer, "Come we have much work to do."

A single tear rolls down the mainden's cheek as she dissovles into misty white fog and is carried away on the breeze.

The fire roars and cackles shedding light around the clearing. At the edge of the firelight a dense ring of trees surrounds the peaceful clearing. Overhead a multitude of stars twinkle back at the fire. Crickets chirp merrily in the distance and owls question all who pass.

A circle of light appears near the fire, a spinning disk of dizzying colors that slowly grows until it is the size of a small door. Two step through the portal. The first is a burly dwarf, bare to the waist, his skin a golden bronze of one who spends much time by the forge, is covered in the small scars of his trade. He wears a smiths leather apron of his leather trousers. The second is a young halfling, her black hair is tied into a neat bun at the nape of her neck. She is dressed in gard common in the Eldeen Reeches. She moves around the fire 'tsk'ing as she goes, clearly unhappy with something.

The smith looks over at her, "What vexes you child?"

She looks over at him, hands on her hips. "This is hardly a warm welcome. Pot of stew and some bread? I wouldnt feed that to me mum were she to stop by! Nothing to sit on, nowhere to eat!" She sighs as she looks around the fire. "At least the rolls look well placed, even if they are a tad far from the fire."

The dwarf rolls his eyes. "I take it then that I am on log duty?"

"Could you please? Ill work on getting these blankets just right while you do that" She begins pulling the blankets in closer to the fire and turing them for a better position. The dwarf wanders off into the trees muttering to himself.

From the fire comes a disgusting slurping sound as someone begins to help themselves to the stewpot. A rail thin man in gaudy expensive clothes stands over the pot, spoon in hand noisily inhaling the meal. The halfling rounds on him, her face livid. "Get out of there peddlar, thats not for you!"

He looks up at her with a cheap smile on his face, stew dripping from his beard and clothes. "They'll never know. Or even care. Besides theres plenty to go around. Surely you wont refuse me a bowl or two."

She grabs the spoon from him and throws in on the fire. "A bowl or two you can have. IN A BOWL!" She ladles him out a large bowl. "Now begone. I have work to do."

"Work, work work. Thats all you do is work. Ever though sometimes about getting someone else to do you work." He eats messily from the bowl that she gave him. "This is good by the way. Did you make it?" He asks his mouth full of food. She merely glares at him. "Ever thought of hiring some poor hapless fool to work for you? You could... you know, give him all sorts of things to do, pay him almost nothing, and then beat him when he fails to make you any money." His eyes twinkle at the thought.

She grabs the bowl from his hands. He pouts a look that clearly says that he wasnt finished. "That may be how you do business. But not me. And if you come seeking my blessing tonight you can just get yourself gone empty handed. My answer is still and always will be, NO!" She throws the bowl on the fire. "Now get going before the smith comes back. bad enough that I have to see you, I have no desire to curse him to the same fate."

"Fine," he sniffs and looks down at her with a disgusted look. "If thats the way you treat your guests, Ill find my hospitality elsewhere." With a flash of light he disappears.

The young halfling slumps to her knees obviously shaken by the encounter. Hearing the dwarf returning, she quickly wipes her face and gets back to the taks of moving the blankets. Unable to control her emotions, she dashes across to the dwarf, burying her face in his beard. "Why must we do this again? Why wont he take no for an answer?"

A little startled by the embrace the dwarf carefully drops the log he was carrying over his shoulder and places a rough hand on her head. It takes him a moment to put together what she is babbling about. "There there now lass. The peddlar man was here again werent he?" She nods her head. The dwarf holds her for a long moment before peeling her grip from his chest and looking her square in the eye. "We do as must. And so does he. As much pain we must endure, his is far worse a burden to bear. We are his friend and as such we help him bear the weight." He pulls her back into a rough hug. "So again we set the stage, in the hopes that this time, she'll listen to reason."

After a few moments a cloud passes in front of the moon, hiding the two from sight. Whe it passes they are gone.

The fire roars and cackles shedding light around the clearing. At the edge of the firelight a dense ring of trees surrounds the peaceful clearing. Overhead a multitude of stars twinkle back at the fire. Crickets chirp merrily in the distance and owls question all who pass. The full moon above casts a warm glow over all it touches.

The wolves howl in the distance, a sound of triumph and victory. The hunt was good, their prey found, trapped and brought to bear. She she wolf howls her pleasure. 'Bring them to me', she cries. 'The rest are waiting for them.' The pack howls back, 'On our way Alpha.'

The shadows smiles as the She wolf reforms in the middle of the camp. Then comes the pack, smaller then her, made entirely of shadow and smoke, each with a glowing orb held in their jaws. They step cautiously around the firelight, which seems to dim at their approach. One by one they drop their orb onto a bedroll and in a flash of brilliant darkness the orb becomes a sleeping form. All told there are twelve people sleeping the in clearing as well as a number of animal companions.

After the wolves set the last of their burdens in the camp, they gather around the She wolf. She howls to the sky and with her voice carried on the wind, all of them vanish.

From atop a rise the moonlight touches down on a solitary female form. She stares down across the valley watching the fires blossom like deadly flowers. Three figures approach climbing up the rise. The first immediately kneels before speaking. "Majesty, the battle is turning to our favour, but much damage has been done." She gestures for him to continue without turning from her vigil. "These creatures are like nothing that I have ever seen or fought before. These arent Quori minions they're..."

She cuts him off, "Dead? Yes, I know. I was told to expect this. Did our guests get away safely?"

"We tracked them to the gate as you instructed Majesty. Shortly after the wraiths began their assault, the area was plunged into magical darkness. When we were able to return, there was no smell of blood, not that there wuld be if the spectres caught them. We did detect scents from each of them leading to the rockwall where the gates had opened. Either they made it through the gate or they perished in the attack."

She turns away from the devastation, her eyes filled with sadness. "Either way we we may never know. Did Sorno escape with them?"

"Majesty, the Sphirari are difficult to track at the best of times. He did manage to convince the human priestess to take him along and last I saw of him, he was a growth on her shoulder. But I cannot say for certain if he fled with them or not."

She tuns back to the battle in the valley below her. "Good. I have the utmost confidence in his ability to carry out my desires. He will succeed in this. Return to the battle, send these creaures back to Dolurrh where they belong." They bow and leave, shifting into wolves as the race back down the rise.



The scene pulls pack through a cauldron of water. Around the fading image are arrayed eight individuals. When the image fades completely to black they look to each other. One's face is covered in fresh scars another's in dried tears. Some choose to hide behind a stoic mask, while others show their anger plain across their features. One favours the group with a smile, even knowing that the fear in her heart makes the gesture impotent.

"I searched everywhere I could in such short time. His trail simply vanishes in the market. There was signs of a struggle and his scent mingles in with that of many others, armoured men and magic. The trail leads away from the tavern but ends suddenly in an alley not far from it. There was the scent of another with his. He met with his colleague before he was captured. I could find no trace of the colleague leaving however."

"The old fool, he likely used his magic to send the colleague away before facing the guards alone. That would explain why he didnt return here."

"Clearly he has been taken captive though, and not by the local guardsmen as rumor would ahve it. Question is who would have the power to hold him more than a day or so?"

"Only someone who knows what he can do, what he is capable of would be prepared to hold him captive against his will."

"Someone like that could hold any one of us."

"I dare them to try."

One rounds on another, "Do not call such ill luck down upon yourself. You should know better than that."

Silence stirs the thoughts of the group for a moment.

"We have to do something. We have to get him back. Why are we just standing around here as if talking this over is going to free him from his enslavement. You've forbidden me from going after him, In his name I command you to do... something." One flees the circle fresh tears streaming down her face.

Another follows her in silence

"As I am commanded, so I go." One bows to the group and walks away.

"I better go with him." Another looks back at the man who is her mirror image then runs to catch up.

The remaing four stare at the darkened water of the cauldron for some moments.

"There must be something else that we can do."

"You know that there isn't. Let the hunters hunt the living, and the mourners mourn the dead. Right now we must stay focused on the task at hand.

One slams his fist down on the cauldron, causing great ripples to spread. "How can you be so calm? How can you just dismiss what has happened so easily?"

"Because I must. Because someone must. Someone must be strong for us all. That is what I do. I have work to do, as do you all. If we are to succeed I would urge you to do as you were commanded. Do... something."

Three of the four turn on their heals and step away.

The last touches her fingers to her lips and dips them into the water, murmuring a prayer of protection. "Good luck, my friends." Then leaves the cauldron behind.