[Game Thread] Off-Stage Narration

[Fil kearney]

Standing over a pile of corpses, Orvelius' armoured chest heaves as he struggles to regain his breath. The divine energies that surges through his veins have been taxed considerably, but he is victorious.
Stepping lightly across the blood-soaked floor, Orvelius sifts through the fallen fiends and spawn for any potential survivors to bring to an end.

The Karrnathi feels a slight tremmor, and then the tunnel surges-- looking off down the way the others had ran, the tunnel was constricting fast... the blood of the devils was seeping into the tunnel, and now Orvelius has a very BAD feeling about what is about to happen.

With a leap, he takes to the air in a mad dash towards the large cavern where he may be able to escape the collapsing tunnel behind him....

[MittenNinja]

((998YK - Arkus' hidden labs within Sharn))

The dank room was littered with numerous tools, devices, and notes. The occasional dripping of water droplets falling into the small puddles collecting on the floor echoed against the stone makeup of the safe-house. A handful of magically created lanterns barely lit the workshop where D32 stood against a wall, inactive and inert.

Sitting amongst a number of other devices on the wooden shelf near the single entrance into the room were 4 tubes, each containing a tiny ball of what appeared to be pure elemental energy. The ball of air whirled around in the tiny chamber, up and down, up and down, never tiring. The water element swirled around the bottom of the container as if being stirred by a spoon, although the tube remained still. The least mobile of them all, the earth ball, lay much like the stone it appears as.

Flickers of light shed across the shelving as the tiny mote of flame stirred within it's confinements. The flame took shape, that of humanoid form, and began to examine the walls that contained it. Feeling that examination would prove fruitless, the tiny flame began shoving itself against the transparent wall between it and the outside. Slowly but surely, it managed to inch it's way towards the edge, finally pushing the tube onto the damp stone floor with a loud crash.

Freedom. It felt great to get out of that stuffy little test tube. "Ahh... I can finally breathe." The words echoed in the room like the pops and crackles of a campfire as the elemental's flame grew a bit brighter. Taking in the surroundings, the flame strolled around the room taking interest in much that was present. Despite the tiny flame's nature, he was quite fond of the fusion of the mechanical and magical. But everything else paled in comparison to the large figure made of adamantine standing against the far wall.

"Oh my. What have we here?" walking up to the giant's foot, the flame took a close and careful look at the workings of this machine. "Whoever constructed you has an eye for efficiency. Let's see what's under the hood..." as he reached out to touch the foot, the flame instantly felt a sensation surge through him.

"Wh... what? That can't be." It was a feeling of sorrow, confinement, and loss, it was oddly familiar. It took a moment to place it but as soon as he did, everything clicked. "Mother?"

Just then, the sounds of the door handle rattling about disrupted the near silent air of the workshop. Not wishing to be discovered, the flame rushed behind D32's leg and found one of the lower trap doors on the back of his ankle. The elemental shimmied his way inside the adamantine body and kept himself there, hidden.

The door quickly flung open, slamming against the wall with a loud "thunk." A man, glistening with sweat and with a mad look on his face rushed in and quickly began haphazardly gathering documents. "They mustn't discover my work, they can't take it from me. It's mine. My work. I've spent so much time..."

Three men followed after him with swords drawn and stern looks upon them. The leader of the three proclaimed loudly, "It's too late for that Arkus. You're finished. For crimes committed against House Cannith. Yield or we will use lethal force."

Arkus looks up at them with surprise. Fear crosses his face as he lashes out, "NO! YOU CAN'T TAKE ME AWAY FROM MY LIFE'S WORK! It's the only thing I HAVE!" In a fit of rage he lunges towards the three officials wildly, who make short work of Arkus. Within the blink of an eye Arkus lay in a puddle of stagnant water with a gaping wound pouring blood from his chest. "My work...", he forces a whisper from his fading strength, "... it must... be finished."

The leader of the three walks over to examine the 6 ft. adamantine figure standing across the room. "Over here." He calls out to the other two, "This one seems intact. We should bring him to the city officials. They'll want him liberated."
________________________
(Post #32, how appropriate )

[DaveTheMagicWease]

((100 years ago))

a void

No one knew how long the jar had lain in the churches vault before Geldan found it, sweeping away its covering of dust he found it covered with archaic symbols. No living scholar he consulted could ever identify it but after many years of searching he found an obscure grimoire by the scribe Ralian that described the symbols on the jar in detail.

darkness

The grimoire told of an ancient time when demons walked the earth and of a great battle between the first humans to wield the powers of magic and a mighty demon lord. Though they vanquished the demon it was beyond their power to destroy it completely, and so they bound its soul to a jar so that it could not rise again from the bowels of the abyss.

watching

Geldan finished tracing a circle of silvered dust onto the floor surrounding the jar, he had sent his assistant out of his basement already, sure though he was that he could bind the demon and demand its secrets what he was doing was incredibly illegal, it wasn't right to let his young acolyte risk his career.

waiting

His preparations complete Geldan raised up his arms to begin the incantation he had found in the grimoire that would force the demon's soul out of its prison and bind it to his will. His voice filled with an unearthly power as the ancient words issued forth from his mouth.

soon

With a blinding flash the ancient jar smashed apart, shards flying in all directions taking great chunks out of the tapestries and furnishings on their way. as the dust cleared Geldan saw a shadowy form towering over him, its barbed tail lashed from side to side, scattering the silver dust as it passed. It didn't even flinch.

"No! It cannot be ... I did everything as it said!"

Its face twisted in a sneer. "Foolish mortal. Who do you think guided Ralian's hand?"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bran was upstairs, finishing up his daily chores and cleaning the tower when he heard the crash. The unnatural scream that followed it sent a shiver down its spine. There had been no words but that cry had carried with it a sense of horror that words alone could not convey.

He raced down to the basement, bursting through the doorway to be presented with absolute chaos, the furniture upturned with great rents torn through it. Peering through the thick dust filling the room he saw Geldan slumped in a corner and raced to his side.

"Master, what happened?"

He coughed weakly and his voice came out rasping, "the demon, it almost broke through, it took all my power to force it back"

"Let me help you master, is there anything you need?"

"No. Leave me, I need to rest."

Bran looked dubious, the old man was obviously hurt, but he had been trained in the strictest discipline and reluctantly obeyed. As he turned and walked out of the room the flicker of a smile played across Geldan's lips.

freedom

With the boy gone he rose to his feet, stretching to his full height with none of the weakness of a moment before. A black flame burst into life in his upturned palm slowly coalescing into the vague outlines of a face.

"I am ready master, is the time at hand?"

"No. We wait..."

[ChristopherGroves]

(Sharn, day of the tsunami)

Rillikith circled above the towers of Sharn. Up here he could see well enough but for the moment his eyes were closed. He was searching for someone.

The old man coughed. “Ah my pet … I will not hold on much longer.” He lapsed into a momentary fit of coughing, leaving him breathless. “I …” he gasped for air, each word an effort “… need you … to find someone.”

Rillikith heard a noise and sensed danger. He opened his eyes to see a large bird of pray circling towards him, likely mistaking his outline in the misty clouds of dawn to be some large and tasty sea-bird. Fangs and claws ready, Rillikith turned on the attacker. Seeing the true nature of his intended prey, the hawk reeled and dove away and out of sight. With an approving snort, Rillikith settled back into his soaring stance, closed his eyes and probed … trying to find one thought out of the morass below.

“I know him … remember him … at least I think I do. It can be no other, I think … surely no other like him in Sharn.”

The pre-dawn and early morning hours made for the best hunting of this kind. Rillikith sought one who did not sleep and did not dream. While the bulk of the city slumbered there were a few who’s thoughts were not of dreaming.

“Be sure it is him!” The effort of this exclamation sent the wizard into another congestive fit. “Find him, follow him and watch him” he continued in a rough whisper. “Fate is cyclic … the Traveler can easily double-back on his path. To think … all this time … if we had known … so much closer.”

Yesterday Rillikith had sensed him for the first time, but briefly before losing him in the jumble of awakening minds. For five days, nothing … but he would continue. His master (and friend, really) wished this … what else could he do? Never taking a wife, Marn had instead chosen to spend his time in research. The draconic prophecy was his passion and Rillikith his only constant companion in his research.

“I will be dead soon; this foul disease will take me. You must be strong, my friend. Find the warforged and take him the book. He and his friends are the key … they are the key!” Marn looked nearly mad making this pronouncement; the fever had not let up for days.

And there it was … the stirrings of memory. Rillikith folded his scaled wings in close to his body and dove closer to the city. He could sense the dreamer down below ... somewhere. He landed high on a roof top above Tavick’s Landing and surveyed the area, scanning the streets looking for a sign.

“Six paths, one lost ... six paths, one lost …” Marn had taken to repeating this during the more fitful moments of his fever. At times he slept and others he babbled incoherently. Here, at the end, if he spoke this was all he said. “Six paths, one lost …”

No sign … not yet. Rillikith sat perched, still as a statue. A pigeon, not realizing the threat of this particular rooftop, landed less than two feet in front of Rillikith. Quick as a snake he pounced. He liked fresh food, so he held this pigeon tight in a front claw … but not tight enough to kill it. He strained his eyes, continuing to look for the dreamer just as he had every other day for the past month.

When the fever had taken him, Rillikith did as his master wished. He took one small bag, the one the Marn had packed for the journey and pushed it inside the special backpack Rillikith wore. Then, he set fire to the tower … the entire building a pyre for Marn. Nothing would remain of Marn save memory, Rillikith and the book.

[Surreal]

Followup from here
timeframe: after the battle at the docks, possible before the graveyard, but not known for certain

All over Sharn the tracker has been pursuing his quarry. They have proven to be an exceptionally mobile lot, and many times he had nearly lost their trail were it not for their propensity for causing trouble. The wreckage at the docks was especially concerning. By the time he got there the damage had already been "cleaned up" so to speak, but the residue was still there. Sniffing about, there was obviously a large battle at the pier. Several fatalities (mostly dwarven, so not his quarry), a new large player with a propensity for running on rooftops, the stench of demons in the warehouse, a strange mix of warforged, ripples in the spiritual realm below the earth... and a few blocks away a powerful taint of magic in one of the taverns and reports of extraplanar creatures stealing people away.

This was by far the most curious and dangerous assignment he'd ever taken, and he definitely wasn't getting paid enough.

[Surreal]

Continued from here
timeframe: just after the tsunami hit

The goblin barrows were rife with activity as preparations were underway to prepare for the coming flood. While the surface world met with the brunt of the wave and suffered the most immediate damages, the underworld would endure a relatively slower suffocation unless they could carve enough drainage tunnels to the lower strata to divert the water flow. Matters were made worse by the fact that they had only just plugged the massive leak left by their unwanted visitors from the other day, so the ground was still wet and unworkable. Even now, the currents of water from above were starting to trickle in. Slowly at first, but it would be unrelenting.

The old goblin surveyed his land and his people. There was no way they would be able to dig fast enough, and there were far too many people to move and stay ahead of the water. With that, he turned and started heading up a tunnel towards the water flow.

"Sire, where are you going?"

"To find some bulettes..." and in a blink, he was gone.

[DaveTheMagicWease]

((24 years ago))

The dragon swooped down low, its wing tipped slightly as it banked against the wind to align itself as it belched forth a blast of white hot flame. Its target was utterly consumed, leaving nought but a pile of ash in its wake as it tipped its wings once more to rise up into the air.

"Corvalis!"

"Uh ... ma'm?"

"This is a serious lesson, this could very well be a matter if life and death for you one day. This is not a theatre and we are not here to show off. Do you understand me?"

He fidgeted as he looked sheepishly down at his feet "Yes miss"

"Good, now repeat the exercise as instructed. A simple bolt of fire, no dragons."

The youngster obliged, sending a deliberately feeble bolt of fire at the next target in line. He flashed a cheeky grin in Jelima's direction as he did so, she flicked her air out of her eyes and smirked back at him.

His heart skipped a beat, "After class I'll show her the dragon again. Once we're outside I know I can make it better."

[Surreal]

timeframe: post tsunami, continued from here, a few hours later
location: tunnels beyond the goblin barrows, underneath Sharn

The wolfbeast ran through the tunnels, sniffing along the ground searching for the scents that had passed through a few days earlier. Their trail was especially difficult to follow because the bulettes would occasionally bore through the earth and seal up their passage behind them, forcing him to find another way around. To make matters worse, the ground was beginning to seep from the waters above.

After another hour, he finally spied the two bulettes resting up ahead. They quickly stirred as he approached however; their sense of smell was just as strong as his. The bulettes and wolfbeast circled for a moment; making no immediate aggressive moves. The bulettes were obviously tired and hungry, their master was nowhere in sight, and they were in no mood for a fight. Razr sniffed cautiously; the scent was familiar but the form was not. With a nod the wolfbeast backed a few steps and reared onto its hind legs, shrinking in size until it stood as a goblin once more. Maul advances a step but Razr gruffed and motioned her partner to stay put. The old goblin carefully reached into his pouch and pulled out two small bundles wrapped in cloth. He tossed one each in front of the bulettes, which unfurled into an assortment of meats. In a second both were neatly devoured, cloth and all. Both Razr and Maul look up at the old goblin, hoping for more.

"Ah, but the simple ways to a beast's heart..." thought the goblin. He peered deeply into Razr's eyes, a soft glow emanating from his. After that, he carefully walked forward until he was at Razr's feet and tapped the ground with his hand. Razr knelt down, and the goblin leapt up. With a gentle nudge (more like the hardest kick he could manage considering Razr's hide), he urged the bulettes back towards his home. This time it was Maul's turn to follow.

By the time he returned nearly half a day had passed, and the burrows were in a panic as the water was now several inches deep. Nearly all the able-bodied goblins were out digging with whatever tools they had, and hands if they had none, trying to form channels to redirect the water more quickly towards lower tunnels. When their leader arrived with the bulettes, most were too tired to even run away. They merely watched in awe as the monstrous beasts simple plowed into the wall, sending out torrents of rock and mud that would have taken then days to do.

"Come on you muckdwellers. Those bulettes won't do much good unless we can clear out the debris they leave behind. Now gather round..." As the goblins gathered closely, their leader concentrated and a hum filled the air. A dozen of their fittest suddenly grew to double their size. Another dozen found themselves filled with newfound strength. "Now lets get to work. There's no time to spare."

[zarzak]

On the road to Breland:

Dear Diary:

The 'trip' ... if one could call it that ... has been uneventful so far. My 'unnamed' guide seems to know all of the backroads, and seems well acquainted with owners of taverns where no questions are asked ....

He hasn't been inclined to share any details so far, and let me leave only the vaguest note to let the others at the grove know where I am. Celestine would not be happy if he knew, yet he's at the grove so rarely ...

Diary, I am very apprehensive about this whole situation. I think that Thurgin wouldn't send me to a group that pose a danger to me, but then again ... he did have some connections he was none too eager to share ...

My guide is due to return soon, so back into hiding you'll go. I don't know whether or not he would approve of you ...

~Lynx~

[DaveTheMagicWease]

(continued from here)

The wind whipped at his cloak, icy fingers trying to pull it from him and let the rain in forced him to grip it about himself tighter still as he struggled against the gusts, head bowed down against the blizzard.

The bleak weather matched Bran's mood perfectly, spying on his master had never sat right with him from the beginning - he'd joined the Inquisition out of a sense of honour and duty, not to skulk in shadows - but the whole thing was made worse by the fact that he had come to hold a genuine affection for Geldan.

Lost in thought, he failed to notice the figure stood before him until the flash of light. He couldn't make out the face, same as always, but could see well enough to tell that the wind and rain avoided the figure stood before him, and see the symbol that flashed briefly before his eyes - the unblinking eye, The Mark of the Inquisition.

"You're late"

"Sorry sir, I couldn't get away these last few days, Geldan has kept a close eye on me"

"Indeed? Do you believe your cover has been compromised?"

"I'm not sure sir, lately he's had an odd look in his eye, and has been acting furtively, ever since the accident..."

"Accident? What accident?"

"Well, errr .... see that's what I wanted to report. A few days ago he retired to his chamber with the jar and sent me away, there was this loud crash and when I found him he was lying on the floor injured, he said it was nothing but..."

"And the jar? What of the jar?" his tone was insistent, it seemed to Bran that fear lay behind that voice, "but what could an inquisitor be afraid of?"

"It was shattered sir, pieces of it scattered about the chamber"

The other man's gasp was clearly aubible "Shattered! Flame preserve us, he let it out?"

"Let what out? Sir, what's so important about this jar anyway?"

"Listen Bran, Geldan has been in truck with dark forces. I have to stop him, tonight, and you are going to help me do it."

[DaveTheMagicWease]

((15 years earlier))

No matter how many times he came here the sight of it always took his breath away. Even more so than usual on this day, since he had been gone so many months. The sweep of the arches overhead were filled by the reflection of a perfect white light off of the pure white walls, the mosaics and stained glass windows shone with a special kind of beauty.

Gwyn ignored all of that though, his gaze was fixed firmly on the Silver Flame burning in the centre of the room, his face a picture of bliss and contentment at the sight.

His audible gasp was accompanied by the rustle of feathers to his right as Blackwing shifted impatiently on his shoulder. Normally his familiar wasn’t phased by anything, but today Gwyn thought he saw the bird stand a little taller, and its deep black feathers looked freshly cleaned.

Bran’s hand gently rested on his apprentice’s shoulder, “Missed it haven’t you?”

“Yes. Oh, I know ‘the flame is with us always’, but nothing compares to actually being here.”

“No, that it doesn’t. But not to worry, after today it truly will be with you always.”

Gwyn’s quizzical look was never answered, the sound of a chime signalled the beginning of the ceremony, and as the hymn started up the Templars lining the hall each became illuminated in a corona of white light in miniature imitation of the flame blazing at the centre.

Ghelios had told Gwyn that this ceremony had been performed on this day – the Day of Prophecy – each year for centuries to initiate new recruits into the Order. Gwyn had lived and worked in Flamekeep for years and been completely oblivious to the fact, but there was a lot he knew now that he had never even suspected before.

As the hymn reached its chorus Gwyn stepped through the entrance and approached the flame. Bowing solemnly before it, he stepped onto the mosaic that surrounded it and was consumed by the Flame’s spread towards him, washing over him at once cool and refreshing as a morning stream, and warm and exhilarating like the first rays of the morning sun.

It was a moment of pure ecstasy, of the removal of all doubt, and as the fires receded Gwyn felt an aching sense of loss for one brief moment, but that passed with the realization that he could still feel the flame burning within him, a tiny spark clinging to his soul, filling him with strength and resolve.

As he turned to face the arraigned Templars he was now, like them, clad in a pure white light. He turned in response to the familiar rustle of feathers on his shoulder to see that where once had been black feathers there were now silver feathers, gleaming in the reflected light of the Holy Fire at his back.

[MittenNinja]

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Time: Two days after the Tsunami in Sharn
Location: House Orien Courier Guild Hall, Sharn
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Nolan emptied his spent smoke pipe onto the side of the street outside the large but unspectacular building in front of him. The ashes of burnt weed slowly swayed back and forth in the air as they fell in the gentle breeze. The wind was calm now, but two days ago Nolan couldn't imagine what it had been like here. He was just glad his dad was safe, it's too bad that the only thing his father had to say to him was about how disappointed he was in him.

Not even a single word about him being glad that he had checked in on him after hearing about the disaster, just plenty about how Nolan wasn't "contributing to the good of House Orien." He was part of the house, just like his father, what more did he want? Nolan even had the house's dragonmark of passage, was a member of of the Blades and had never failed a delivery. "Oh well, I can't say I expected him to change." he thought to himself as he reached out to open the door in front of him.

Despite the chaos that had been brewing outside the walls of the guild hall among the city of Sharn, there was a calm air about the place as Nolan stepped inside the main entrance. The sun shone through the windows, beaming down directly on the symbol of House Orien created out of mosaic tiles on the floor. Nolan's worn leather boots skimmed over the crest as he approached the front desk where an elderly man sat staring into an equally elderly tome.

"Uh... excuse me?" Nolan's young but rough voice pierced the silence of the hall and the man looked up at him, squinting as the sunlight assaulted his eyes. "I was told that there was a job waiting for me."

The old man's expression was completely stoic as he responded, "And you are?"

"Name's Nolan d'Orien." He reached into the pouch at his side and produced his identification papers, laying them out upon the desk. The man reached his hand forward to examine them and revealed a dragonmark upon his forearm. "The Mark of Passage, he must be a retired courier." Nolan thought to himself as he rubbed his fingers across the back of his neck, safely behind his armor, where his own mark lies.

"Well Nolan, everything looks to be in order." The man's tone seemed to lighten slightly, "Let me see what I've got for you." He slowly stood from his stool, bracing himself against the table as if it were the only thing holding him aloft, and turned to rummage through the shelves behind him. After a few moments he produced a sealed envelope and handed it to Nolan.

Nolan examined the seal upon the envelope and recognized it as that of the High Court of Breland. "So what noble's doorstep am I headed to this time?"

The elderly man chuckled a little under his breath before breaking into a wheezing cough as he sat back in his chair. "This isn't for a noble, it's for an airship captain. One by the name of Ashaya d'Lyrandar."

"Let me guess, this 'Ashaya' has overlooked some registrations on his hunk of junk ship and this little envelope is the fine?" Nolan laughed a little to himself at the mundane image of the job he had conjured in his head.

"Hardly." The man folded his hands on top of his tome, "This is an urgent message, and you are not to read it's contents. It is for Ashaya's eyes and her eyes only. She is the captain of the Turquoise Sonia. We've arranged for a diviner to show you the ship so you may teleport yourself there."

"She eh?" The courier fiddled with the envelope as a slight smirk formed on his lips. "Well this might be interesting after all."

[MittenNinja]

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Continued from above post
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"Right this way Nolan." A large half-orc led Nolan through the guild hall towards the divination room. The sounds of their boots echoed off of the worked stone walls as the courier strolled behind, hands in his pockets.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?" Nolan spoke up, "If you don't mind that is."

The 'savage' spoke with a very refined voice, obviously raised here within Sharn among other members of the Courier's Guild. "Of course. Please don't be hesitant, we both belong to the same family do we not?"

Nolan's expression drooped slightly as if he already knew the answer to his question. "How do you feel about being part of a house where you know you and your family will never gain influence within it's walls?"

The half-orc stopped and slowly turned to face Nolan. The courier's eyes looked up at the half-breed's eyes as they bore down upon him. "Are you referring to the fact that none of my children will ever bear the Mark of Passage?"

Nolan always found it odd that House Orien not only accepted those who could never bear the mark, but encouraged them to become members and have some part within the house. Not that Nolan had anything against half-breeds, but he just found it odd compared to the other houses of Khorvaire and wanted to know what they thought of it. "More or less yeah."

"While I may never become a figure of importance here, the house does something for me that few others will. They give me a place where I am accepted and valued for what i am capable of. A place where my sons will be able to grow and make a living without being judged because of their bloodline. I am not greedy like most men are, I only want to live and have my hands in something that will better the world we live in." The orc and Nolan stood staring at each other in silence for a minute or two. "Is that an acceptable answer?"

Nolan let loose a huge smile as to not upset his guide, "More than acceptable."

The half-orc smiled back, removing any sign of hostility from his face. "Good. The divination room is just down this hall." He then turned and continued leading the courier behind him.

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Continued Here
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[DaveTheMagicWease]

((Earlier in the The Temple of the Long Death))

Yin dreamed, and in his dreams he again saw the light, felt the rush of the wind on his face and saw the world spread out below him like a tapestry, the energies of the world swirling through the air above.

He woke slowly, a feeling of peace spreading through him. As he opened his eyes he saw again the eyes of the raven staring back at him, deeper than the oceans they were eyes that hinted of tantalising depths beyond the mortal world.

It looked intently at him for a moment, before seeming to nod its head in approval, spread its wings and take flight once more. Yin's eyes followed its path to see it land back upon its perch on Gwyn's shoulders.

"It is good to see you up. Do you remember what happened?"

"I, uh ... no."

"You fainted. Your wounds were more severe than we realised. I am sorry, I should have listened to Blackwing's concerns."

"Blackwing? You mean the raven?"

The bird's loud squawk of indignation cut Gwyn's response off, and it ruffled its feathers in annoyance.

"Be still, he sees only your shell."

"Shell? I thought I saw ... flames of white..."

Gwyn's eyebrows arched up in surprise at this, "There are few who can catch even a glimpse, even those blessed with the spirit sight rarely see into the places where she walks."

"The bird is merely a guise? It isn't real?"

"Real? I assure you, Blackwing is as real as you or I. But she is far more real than either of us at the same time for she is truly conscious of her true nature."

"I do not understand."

"We believe that the flame lives in all things, a spark within all life. We, all of us, our souls, are the manifestation of that spark in its search for consciousness, and once we have seen the world to the flame do we return. The bird is real, but within it lives a sliver of the flame, here in the world as a guide to us and as yet another perspective through which the flame experiences the world."

"I have heard similar beliefs before, from those druids who claim that the divine lives within all things. But I did not think it was a belief shared by your Church."

"There are, shall we say, 'competing viewpoints'. And that is as it should be, for it is in those differences of perspective that the truth is revealed. But I am sorry, you are clearly tired, rest a while longer, Blackwing assures me your wounds are now fully healed."

Summon Plot Exposition - providing answers to questions no-one asked since 2006.

[Magpie Manny]

Outskirts of the Draguun Border
Thaelion | Rass

Thaelion moved with swift and deadly precision, scuttling from shadow to shadow, keeping himself from sight. Moradae awaited his call behind the hill, he hoped to bring them news of glory. Glory they could share. The ambitious elf was their leader but he still loved to stalk their prey himself, to see if they were worthy enough for their consideration. If they were he and his warband would keep on stalking them, watching them and if necessary taking out their scouts. When Moradae decided they were worthy adversaries they would attack them, hopefully ending in a glorious battle.

His gloved hand pushed away the shrubbery so that his pale blue eyes could glare into the darkness. His Elven heritage provided him the means to pierce through darkness; having enough light from the moons to see clearly.

Before him lay a small settlement, quickly and shabby build. No main road, no fortifications, nothing to even be worthy of his glare. No honor could be gained here. He was about to turn and leave when something at the far end of the village caught his attention; a small band of goblinoids marched, or whatever they called it, towards a small gathering of peasants. The gathering had armed themselves with pitchforks and other crude tools of defending. Pitiful fools, but at least they tried. He’d seen Cyran cowards doing differently.

After a short study Thaelion noted that the gobilinoid warband was careless enough not to notice his companions coming up the hill, so he signed for them. Each of his companions hurried up the hill with skills that almost matched his own. he wouldn’t have noticed them if he didn’t knew they were there.

”What do you think, Miraene?” he asked his Irinngael. She was second in command, and although there was a gap between their combat skills he still appreciated her keen eye for worthy foe.

”We could trample them with ease, Thaelion.” she said with a voice soft as Aerenal silk. ”Better to spend our attention on something else, we gain no glory from this.”

”Thaliaen,” whispered Zaeles, drawing Thaelions attention by using his official designation. ”Look what’s happening” The old scout pointed a gloved finger towards a figure leaping in between the two goblinoid groups. Its slightly arched back was towards the peasants and seemed to yell something at the warband while waving violently with his hands.

”Interesting.”

”Let’s see how this plays out. Syffea get the horses just in case this becomes a disappointment”