The Lorestones of Nyx

There was a large crow sitting in the orchard. Not in the trees, which wouldn’t have drawn the Keeper’s attention, but in a stone pedestal in the center of the small grove. A cursory glance showed the Keeper that there were others of its kind perched atop the windowsills and ledges of the surrounding buildings, but these seemed like normal birds. They fluttered and looked around, cawed and shuffled amongst one another. A few even took flight, jockeying briefly for the better position with one another before settling back down. But not the large raven. This one didn’t move, didn’t caw, didn’t as much as blink. It simply sat there, on the granite pedestal, and stared at the Keeper with large, knowing eyes.

“Crows,” the Keeper said, half-expecting the bird to dart away at the sudden noise, despite its odd behavior. It didn’t. The Keeper frowned.

“Corvus,” he continued, approaching the bird. “A group of crows is called a murder. Often seen as trickster spirits or psychopomps,” the Keeper paused, looking around at the murder of crows surrounding him. “Ferrymen of souls. Omens of death, war, and plagues. Which are you, I wonder?”

The Keeper cocked his head to examine the bird. It was sleek and shiny, a paragon of its kind. But this crow was no normal crow. That much the Keeper could see. Up close it was obvious that there was an intelligence behind those eyes, an intelligence which surpassed the normally high intelligence of this particular species. This crow was a messenger of some sort. Or a message.

The Keeper walked around the pedestal as he pondered the mystery. That too, was one of the crow’s purviews, though it was more often attributed to their cousin, the raven. The crow simply stared at the Keeper, implacable, its body shifting only as much as necessary to maintain its gaze. Not a bob, not a step, not a flutter.

“Alright then,” the Keeper said, returning to his initial spot. “I’ve given up, my friend. What is your purpose here? What is your message for me?”

Moving faster than the Keeper could follow, the crow’s beak shot forward and snapped a strip of flesh from the loremaster’s cheek. Startled, the Keeper jerked back and put a hand to his face, but the crow had already spread its wings and lifted by the time he felt the wetness trickling down his cheek. The bird rose with the barest flutter, then looped a single loop around the orchard before settling on a nearby ledge. Crows that had been crowding the area darted quickly out of the way as the large crow came to rest, each bird bobbing in a way that reminded the Keeper of subjects bowing to passing nobility. The summer sun caught the curve of the crow’s obsidian beak, glinting a flashing red. Then the crow opened its mouth and issued a single high pitched caw which made the Keeper’s ears ring and set of the rest of the crows in a raucous chorus.

A pair of acolytes came running out into the orchard, drawn by the noise. The air was suddenly filled with the fluttering beat of a hundred pairs of wings as the murder of crows took flight.

“Keeper, what was that?” the first acolyte noted before going pale. “Keeper, you’re bleeding!” The second fumbled for a handkerchief, passing it over to the loremaster. The Keeper idly took it and pressed it over the wound, never taking his eyes off the large crow which was still sitting on the ledge, starting at him. Until suddenly, it wasn’t.

“Well,” he said, “I suppose that answers that.”

The acolytes looked at one another, confused.

“I feel that it’s my duty to suggest against this course of action,” Josep said. He paused his preparations and gave the Keeper a pointed look. The two had been working in an air of tense silence for the better part of an hour and the Keeper was beginning to wonder if his steward would ever air his grievance or would simply show his displeasure through stony, pouting silence.

“You know, most acolytes would simply be honored to assist me with my duties without the commentary,” the Keeper said, trying to defuse the situation with a little humor. But humorous as it was, it was nonetheless a true statement. Many of his acolytes would jump at the chance to show their devotion to the Keeper in such a manner. But then, many of his acolytes held a level of devotion to him which bordered on fanaticism.

Josep gave his master a scornful look. He was not one of those acolytes. Despite the vast knowledge the Keeper possessed he was still just a man, and men could make mistakes. An average person’s mistakes could be bad but the mistakes make by someone with the Keeper’s level of knowledge and power could be downright disastrous. And those sorts of mistakes were all too easy to make without someone acting to check the Keeper’s decision making. Josep was, often to the Keeper’s chagrin, more than happy to point out the flaws in the Keeper’s thought processes. Which was why the Keeper had appointed him as steward.

“It just doesn’t sit right with me,” Josep continued, choosing to ignore the jab. “Why shouldn’t we assume that the omen was trying to warn you against this action? Perhaps the Lorestones of Nyx are better off locked safely away where lesser men can’t use them for ill purpose.”

“The Tome directed us to the Lorestones after the omen appeared,” the Keeper countered. “Why should we believe that trying to keep them hidden isn’t in our best interest? Besides, there is nothing that I have seen about the last Phoenix to indicate that he is the cause of this doom.”

“Within a year of the destruction of his order he was leading a band of rebels in revolt in Corone,” Josep shot back. The Keeper understood the acolyte’s passion and he didn’t fault him for it. He knew that the anger he was showing was born from fear and concern. Despite his willingness to question the Keeper’s authority, Josep was still a senior acolyte of the order and would willingly give his life for the Keeper without a second thought. The idea that there was something malevolent being directed at the Keeper was a little more than unsettling for the man.

“Omens work on an entirely different level, Josep. Simply doing nothing will not prevent what it was warning me about. It is my belief that this Raiaeran is the best way to do something about it.” The fight went out of Josep. He knew that he’d lost this argument. He lost them more often than not. Being the steward to a near omniscient being was a somewhat frustrating task. Now it was his responsibility to see to it that the Keeper’s task was as easy as possible.

“Very well, Keeper, I shall see to your duties here as you make contact with this Elisdrasil.”

The day was getting long and Elissa couldn’t help but wonder about the stranger. He’d slipped into the Silver Oak quietly, around midday, and taken up residence in one of the back corners. And then he’d sat there, nursing an ale while the shadows grew long. Never ordering another, never asking for food or a room, simply sitting there, as if he was waiting for something. As if he’d been waiting for something for a long time.

Elissa could have simply gone over and talked to him, of course, but Othrick had always pushed on her that Silver Oak employees weren’t to be bothering the customers that wanted to be left alone. The stranger didn’t strike Elissa as someone who had come to the Silver Oak to do much talking. He didn’t strike her as someone who had come to the Silver Oak to do much of anything. But he was elven, and handsome, and the few words he’d spoken marked him as a native Raiaeran. Despite herself, Elissa was fascinated.

There weren’t many travelers who came through Tediore Salle these days. Years after the end of the Corpse War and things were just starting to get back to normal but Tediore Salle had never been much of a tourist destination, even before the war. In fact new faces were so rare that nearly everyone new who’d come into the small town’s single inn held an air of mystery. Frankly, it was getting to the point that Elissa wanted nothing more than to leave Tediore Salle. Not that she expected the stranger to sweep away from the tedium of her village life. Still, a girl could always dream.

Elissa glanced through the doors into the kitchen where Othrick was slaving away at his pot pies and made up her mind. She grabbed another tankard and filled it with the same frothy ale that the stranger had been nursing. Then she marched over to him, purpose in her walk.

“Another ale?” she asked, already swapping the stranger’s tankard for the fresh one. The stranger looked at her with piercing blue-green eyes and Elissa immediately felt her confidence disappear. Grasping for anything to say, she looked down the stranger’s hands. His slender flingers had been tapping a small piece of odd stone on the table as she’d approached, but the stone had vanished the moment she set the tankard down.

“Neat trick,” she blurted, then immediately grimaced at the awkwardness of her voice.

“Hmm?” the stranger asked. Up close Elissa could see that he possessed a sort of wild, rugged quality which she had come to associate with people who made a living on the road. His clothes weren’t much to look at, and were stained from too many miles on the road. But up close Elissa could see that he was even more handsome than she’d initially thought.

She coughed uncomfortably, not wanting him to think that she’d been staring, but as she looked away he caught her eyes with his. There was a steadiness in his eyes, a straightforward look that seemed to bore into her. They were hard, haunted eyes with more than a little distance in them. Elissa knew those eyes well. They were the eyes that many who’d survived the Corpse War possessed. But then he blinked and she could see nothing but warmth in them.

“Your trick with the rock, it was neat,” she mumbled, feeling a heat rise in her cheeks. She wondered if perhaps she should have listened to Othrick.

“Ah,” he said. “This old thing?” With a quick flash he’d produced a smooth sandy coin from the palm of his hand.* “I admit I don’t think it’s quite as fancy as a rock, but I do think it’s pretty neat.” A slight smile curled the corner of the stranger’s mouth and Elissa felt her blush spread all over.

“Take a look for yourself,” the stranger said, holding the coin out to her. Elissa moved in for a closer look but the stranger chuckled, took her slender hand in his and placed the coin in the center of her palm. Her hand shook in his as he held it, but the stranger waited patiently. It took Elissa several seconds to realize that her hand was still within his and then she jerked it back with an embarrassed, self-conscious laugh.

The coin he’d given to her was a small one, and unlike any that Elissa had ever seen. All of the other coins that she’d handled had been made from semi-precious metals and were all stamped with some sort of official mark of authority. Elissa was quite familiar with the coinage of the various districts of Raiaera, and with some of Salvar and Alerar. She’d once even seen a coin that claimed to have been minted in Irrakam. But no official seal had been stamped on this coin. Only an etching of a bird of prey wreathed in flames marred one side.

Chewing her lip, Elissa rolled the coin in her hand, feeling the warmth of it before holding it back out to the stranger, etching side out. The hint of a smile faded from his face as she did so, replaced with a look of such sadness that Elissa’s heart lurched.

“Keep it,” he whispered, waving the coin away.

“But, sir,” Elissa said, her eyes widening in surprise. Before she could finish her protest, however, Othrick came bellowing out of the kitchen, demanding to know where she’d gotten off to. Elissa gave a slight shriek and bustled away quickly, muttering apologies to both Othrick and the stranger. She clutched the coin tightly as she ran.

“Are you planning to stand there all night?” the stranger asked once Elissa had disappeared through the kitchen door. His hand moved, almost imperceptibly, to the pommel of his curve blade as the shadows to one side of the table coalesced into a human form.

“That was quite the gift, Elisdrasil,” the human said, gesturing at the departed barmaid.

Elisdrasil eyed the man cautiously, keeping his hand on his sword. He had come to Tediore Salle anonymously, and prior to that had travelled through Raiaera as just another nameless refugee. It was easy to be just another face in the crowd when half the nation’s population was still trying to get their feet back under them following the end of the Corpse War. And yet here was a human who somehow knew Elisdrasil’s real name.

“Do you think she knows the coin is mythril?” the human continued, very obviously making no hostile movements. The man’s bland face stuck out from his short haircut, and the plain clothes he wore blended in well with the background. “I think it was fairly obvious that she was attracted to you, you know. I wonder just what she’d do if she knew you’d just given her half a year’s wages. Not that I’m accusing a member of the Phoenix with …”

A faint click echoed between them, cutting the human silent. The human glanced at the hand on Elisdrasil’s sword, and then at the hand which had stealthily slid under the table. He narrowed his eyes, impressed at how smooth the motion had been. He’d been watching for something like that but hadn’t seen a thing. There weren’t many people who would have been able to catch him off-guard like that.

“Sit,” Elisdrasil said, his finger resting tightly against the trigger of his crossbow. The man hesitated for a moment, then nodded and slowly sat.

“Believe it or not …,” the man began but Elisdrasil cut him off with a hiss.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Elissa said, hustling over to the table, “I didn’t see you come in. Welcome to the Silver Oak. Can I get you something to drink?” The human looked to Elisdrasil for permission, but the elf had put on a pleasant smile.

“I’ll just have another of what my friend here is having,” the human said politely. Time seemed to hold still for the two of them while Elissa fetched another tankard. Finally, once she’d returned to casting furtive glances from behind the bar, conversation continued.

“Now, you’re going to tell me who you are and how you know about the Phoenix,” Elisdrasil began.

“Or you’ll take it as an unkindness, I suppose,” the human said. He dipped his head in the general direction of the crossbow still cocked at him. Sighing, the man picked up his tankard, and took a swig. Elisdrasil’s dispassionate eyes followed his every movement.

“As I was saying before your young paramour interrupted us, I am not your enemy, last of the Phoenix.”

Elisdrasil’s scowl darkened at the title. “There is no last of the Phoenix, human. The Phoenix are gone. And I still haven’t decided whether you’re my enemy or not.”

“Fine, if that’s how it’s going to be. My name, elf,” the human had the satisfaction of seeing Elisdrasil flinch as he threw the racial epithet back at him, “is Kell Winters. I am a member of an order of scholars. We work for a lore master who goes by the title of Keeper.”

“Never heard of him,” Elisdrasil said.

“I assumed you wouldn’t have,” the man continued, nonplussed. “Very few have, as a matter of fact. We are a rather small order and the Keeper, if you’ll pardon the phrase, keeps to himself most of the time.”

“But somehow your small order knows about a secret Raiaeran sect which was destroyed in the early years of the Corpse War?”

Kell shrugged. “Yours is a special case. The Keeper was recently given an ill-omen. While researching the meaning of it he discovered that it had something to do with the Phoenix.”

“I told you,” Elisdrasil snarled, “the Phoenix are gone.”

The hand under the table shifted and, for a moment, Kell expected to be skewered. But then another click echoed between the two of them as the safety engaged and Kell visibly relaxed.

“You think I’d give a passage coin to a pretty girl if it still meant something? Faded remnants like that are the only things left of the Phoenix now. Nothing but echoes of bygone days.”

“What about the seer stone?”

Elisdrasil blinked. He’d almost forgot that it’d been the carved stone he’d been playing with when Elissa had approached. He’d hidden the crystal and produced the mythril coin without thinking, secretive habits dying hard. Not needing a flourish to impress the human, Elisdrasil simply produced the carved crystal and set it on the table in front of him. Though the stone itself was worn smooth from use, the markings carved into its face were still plainly visible.

“I found this trampled into the dirt inside the old monastery. It’s not valuable,” he said spinning the crystal on the table. “Seer stones only work as a set.”

Kell watched the sword mage with calculating eyes. There was an air of brokenness around the elven warrior. But there was something else there too. A hint of hope, perhaps. He’d come to take Elisdrasil’s measure, to see if the man was worth recruiting to the Keeper’s cause. Elisdrasil was broken inside, but all he was lacking was direction. Kell made up his mind.

“The Lorestones of Nyx,” he said.

Elisdrasil’s head shot up. “What?”

“The Lorestones are why the Keeper was looking into Phoenix. They’re what the omen was pertaining to.”

“He knows where they are?”

“He knows something of them, but the information is clouded.”

“The Lorestones are potent artifacts,” Elisdrasil said. “In the wrong hands they could be used to devastating effect.”

“Which is why the Keeper would like to enlist the aid of someone who knows something about them.”

Elisdrasil take long to make his decision. “I’m in this with you.”

Kell Winters smiled. “Excellent, but I should warn you, you’re not the only one that I need to find. There are others that the Keeper has seen.”

Elisdrasil merely nodded.

Elissa came out from the back with another drink in hand. Despite Othrick’s chiding, she’d thought of at least a dozen more questions to ask the stranger, and even a few that she could ask his companion if the need arose. She sagged a bit when she saw the stranger and his friend preparing to leave. The coin in her hand radiated warmth, as if the fire etched into it were the real thing. It called to her, and she responded.

Elisdrasil and Kell climbed up onto the driver’s position of Elisdrasil’s small wagon. The elf took up the reigns and whipped once to set things into motion. Kell pointed out the direction that they were to go, guiding Elisdrasil to the next member of their group.

Unnoticed by the two men, Elissa quietly slipped into the back of the wagon and burrowed beneath a pile of old tarp and threadbare blankets, all the while gripping the warm coin tightly to her chest.

(Moderator Note: Using my level 5 Profile for this adventure.)

As was oft the case with prophecy, many people were sucked into the events of the global scale.

Raiaera.

The High Elves were bourn of the fires of life from that land.

And Xem'Zund's Corpse War, which concluded for the most part sometime ago, left the Nation devastated.

Much of Raiaera was a broken land, a nation devastated by the ravages of Necromancy's devastating power.

Xem'Zund had fallen during the closing days of The Corpse War.

It was a different legacy that lead Elthas Belthasar into Raiaera for the current stage of his life.

He'd ventured to the once beautiful Nation several times in his life. But the most current reason was not one of revenge, not one of business...but one of family.

The Belthasar Clan, once a prominent clan within the community of Ruild Forest Elves, was facing it's final days. The Forest Elves of Ruild were on a mission to seek out their cousins in Raiaera. The Forest Elves of The Red Forest. Elthas gathered a small contingency of Ruild Forest Elves, and they ventured to Raiaera on a desperate mission to save their remaining kindred. The small caravan was well equipped and modified to survive the trip to The Red Forest. They ended up in one of Raiaera's port cities and made their way to The Red Forest. The courier message that Elthas and his people had received was one of a great threat that loomed on the horizon. A menacing secret that revealed itself during the last days of The Corpse War. Elthas kept the document in his hands. What he'd discovered in the document was a grave new indeed. There was a contingency of Xem'Zund's former followers that brok free of the mad Necromancer's power. They fancied themselves a tribe called The Forsaken and were sentient and aware.

They'd discovered a way to ravage The Elves of Raiaera, and hunted the living.

These remnant forces of Xem'Zund, even after The Corpse War was over, had to be dealt with.

The ravaged land suffered.

Elthas could smell blood, death, and even sorrow in the air.

He was with a small group of about ten other Elves. They all had specific missions given to them by the Elders of that time period.

Elthas sat in the wagon with his brother, Drathis Belthasar.

Several others were with them, including the wagon's driver.

Elthas felt the weight of sadness in his heart for the broken heart of a Nation.

Drathis noticed that his brother was unusually quiet. "There has to be survivors, what do you think Elthas?"

Elthas merely nodded in agreement as he studied the document in his hands. "The letter is urgent. They haven't attempted to contact us like this before. The matter must be very severe for them to contact us in this manner." Elthas pointed out. "We need to be ready for anything, even a trap." Elthas said.

"Gentlemen, I hate to be a buzz-kill." The driver suddenly said. 'But I think we're being followed."

Elthas blinked as if snapping back into reality after a long dream. He turned towards the driver. "The Walkers, or something else?" Elthas asked and moved up to the front of the wagon so he could sit with him.

"Not Walkers." The driver said. He pointed up to the sky. "They been following us for about five miles." The driver said. "Wasn't sure about it at first, but then they kept circling around us. And there's the bigger one too, flying lower than the rest."

Elthas eyed the crows, interesting black feathered birds, and spotted the larger of the flock.

"They will give away our position for any idiot who spots them! Stop the caravan." Elthas slid back in the wagon, and gathered his belongings. He looked at his brother. "Drathis, this is where we must part ways." Elthas explained.

Drathis frowned and prepared to gather his things as well. "Let me come with you!" Drathis asked in frustration.

Elthas shook his head as he placed on his famous fedora hat. "Your destiny is different from mine, Drathis. You know what must be done. Stay with the caravan, I will draw their attention away from you and our people. I have a plan." Elthas said.

After gathering his gear and equipment, he stepped out of the wagon, and looked at the drivers of the two others wagons. "Keep going straight, best speed. I'll hold the birds here."

***
Looking up, Elthas saw the cloud of black feathers.

One of the birds, a bigger avian than the rest, swirled down and made it's way directly in front of Elthas.

There was no fear in the birds eyes, but Elthas saw an intellect that rivaled his own.

Elthas kept a hand on one of his daggers when he noticed that there was a message attached to one of the legs of the big bird.

It was a rolled up parchment.

The rest of the flock continued to circle over head.

Elthas approached the bird and carefully removed the parchment from the bird's leg.

The big crow did not resist.

Elthas kept a nervous eye on the bird, and unraveled the parchment.

The message was written in red, and the the ink was actually blood freshly sprawled on the parchment.

Written in Black Forest Elf glyphs, the message was very simple.

Find The Keeper, Elthas Belthasar. Or your people all die.

Elthas's eyes narrowed. He looked at the bird.

"Challenge accepted." Elthas said to himself and prepared to follow the bird to where it would guide him.

The rest of the birds dispersed to another area...Elthas never looked back.

After their dramatic meeting, the rest of the day was dreadfully uneventful for Elisdrasil and Kell. Kell spent the day driving the wagon for the two of them, while Elisdrasil sat on guard for the trip. They stopped twice during the day to stretch their legs and rest the horses, though they ate lunch from a pack that Kell had brought while bumping along down the road. Elisdrasil figured that this had turned into a fairly decent day.

While nowhere in Raiaera could really be declared truly safe from the predations of the remnants of the Corpse War, this area had been far enough away that it had seen little activity. Those few creatures which found their way here were generally put down quickly, so this was as safe an area as it got out in the wild. Still, experience lead Elisdrasil to always assume that there was danger just around the next bend in the elven homeland. Because of this he spent the day scanning the road with his crossbow out, loaded and ready. But even while on watch, Elisdrasil found that he couldn’t ignore the beauty of his homeland as the miles rolled by. He’d been travelling on his own for so long that he’d forgotten the last time he’d been able to simply watch the countryside pass. It soothed his mind and brought him a measure of peace that he’d forgotten how much he missed.

For his part, Kell drove the wagon well enough. As the instigator to this journey, the human had taken it upon himself to maintain the conversation between himself and Elisdrasil. He stayed as pleasant and polite as he could while avoiding the topic of the Keeper. As far as actually driving the wagon, Kell did his best to avoid the majority of the bumps and potholes on the road. While he wasn’t the best wagon driver Elisdrasil had ever had the pleasure to ride with, he was more than adequate enough to keep the cart from slipping into a ditch or getting a wheel stuck in a rut and he kept the two of them entertained while doing it. Elisdrasil had definitely had worse companions.

It wasn’t until they had pulled over to prepare camp for the evening that something intruded on an otherwise uneventful day of travel. One moment the skies were clear and the pair of travelers were putting the evening meal together, and the next the skies were filled with a horde of fluttering wings. The murder passed quickly and Elisdrasil cocked an eyebrow at the oddity, but shrugged and returned his attentions to the task at hand. Kell, however, seemed to think a little more about the flock which had just passed them by.

“Something is coming,” he said, grabbing Elisdrasil’s attention. A question came to the Raiaeran’s lips but he bit it back, nodded, and unslung his crossbow. He gestured for Kell to step closer to the wagon and thumbed the safety lock off his weapon. Instead, Kell put his hand gently onto his companion’s shoulder. Questioningly, Elisdrasil looked over to see the human shaking his head with a slight frown.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” he said. “I believe this is a meeting that has been arraigned for us.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll keep it handy.” Still, he listened somewhat to Kell’s opinion and he put the safety lock back on as a precaution.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Kell chuckled. Patiently, the two of them waited on the side of the road.

The big black bird flew slightly ahead of Elthas, but maintained a carefully placed location.

Elthas did not feel comfortable around the massive bird, but he knew that he had to protect his people...at all costs.

Thoughts of his trip leading up to his arrival in Raiaera taunted his mind. He recalled the long carravan ride with his people, and wondered why exactly, he was summoned. Elthas adjusted his fedora as he ran forward at best speed, the forests of Raiaera surrounding them. About an hour into the journey, the bird suddenly stopped at a small town that had a field for picking grain, cotton, and other natural things. Elthas kept his eyes narrowed as the bird suddenly swooped down towards a rock and silently perched there. The bird patiently looked up at Elthas, studying the Elf. Without hesitation, Elthas arrived in front of the bird's position. He carefully studied the bird, waiting for some sort of a reaction from it. The bird merely looked on ahead, in the general direction of the township. As if to say, Keeper is there. Elthas frowned deeply, he didn't understand the bird's role in the sordid events...but it was clear that it was a significant one. Elthas tipped his fedora gently as if to say good bye to the bird. Little knowing that the bird was intrinsically connected to Keeper and Elthas's fates.

The well dressed Elf made his way into the farming community and several individuals were already walking towards him.

He wore a carefully placed and level expression on his face.

A mask of emotions.

Though storm clouds were visible in Elthas's eyes.

The townsfolks walked carefully towards Elthas and kept their distance from him.

"State your business with us, traveler." The elder of the four gathered folks looked at Elthas.

"Just looking for someone." Elthas said calmly. His thick Radasanth accent, a city boy, very evident. "Any chance ya fellas know someone named Keeper?"

Elthas studied their reaction and noticed them become physically apprehensive and take several step backwards. Almost in unison. The leader of the group looked at Elthas very, very seriously.

"Depends on who is asking." The leader responded, there was hostility in the man's voice.

Elthas kept himself guarded. A hand went to his weapons on instinct.

"I merely want to have a word with Keeper. He may have some information I need." Elthas said, keeping himself polite and businesslike. One wrong move, and you're all fucked. Elthas thought coldly to himself. His mind was already getting into reactive mode...his recent trials and tribulations showing their ugly head, and weight on his shoulders. The seconds were starting to tick by, and Elthas felt an terrible tension in the air, an almost mad anxiety. Elthas felt his hand tighten around the handle of his weapon, a pair of elegant daggers, but he did not draw either just yet. Elthas continued to talk, and try to keep the situation as non violent as possible. "I hear that Keeper is very knowledgeable about certain matters. I just need to have some words with him if you all would allow me to have a meeting."

Tensions were hostile in the world because of the various wars going on in many places.

Elthas had kept up with the changing times.

So he approached the villagers very carefully.

"Keeper is in the field." The leader of the group began. "I can guide you to him."

Elthas considered the reaction, the leader of the group was a stern Hume, but he seemed kind. The anxiety must have been present by another event...Elthas nodded.

"That is agreeable. Take me to Keeper, I need to talk to him." Elthas said and walked with the group.

For a moment there was nothing to hear, or see, save the crows flying off in the distance. A gentle breeze stirred the tall grasses and the yellow and blue Geiltaithe that grew along the road. There forms periodically peaking out from the sea of green and brown. There was no telling what might be hidden within the ocean of grass, what slowly circling marauder could be out there waiting for the perfect time to strike?

A Lumëoi, or shadow cat, as they were called in the trade tongue, so named for their ability to alter there skin to blend in with their surroundings. Perhaps a Dur'Taigen, either living or undead, either was a possibility in this day and age, even if Raiaeran militias tried to kill every oone they spoteed. Maehaps it was something else spawned in the depths of the Lindequalmë, now freed by the death of Podë. There was no sign, nothing to indicate what, or where the threat was, or even if there was a threat.

“The wooling begins,
And the fall as at its end,
And the grain is in the barn…”

The voice had those qualities that were instantly identifiable as Soubrette, for those that had the ear for such things. Indeed, one knowledgeable in the art would no doubt classify her a soprano who sings best in middle voice with no strenuous vocal dynamics. The woman’s voice was warm, bright, sweet in vocal color, with a light vocal weight. It was a tone that at once expressed vitality and maturity, with hints of plenty else beneath.

“Come back to me, my darlings,
For you need no arms, but ours.”

Something flitted out of the grasses, off to their right, something that looked like a woman, with pink hair and skin the hue of a dark stone clad in a brown and green plad dress that looked at home on any farmer’s wife found anywhere.

“Good evening good sirs.”

This woman, who looked almost elvish – but obviously couldn’t be – who couldn’t have been more than a foot in height from crown to toe, was the singer.