The town of the Red Hand was still, eerily so. A single light was left flickering alone along the streets, the flames that would normally be filling the glass lanterns having been blown out by the wild winds. It was not common for the area of Corone to receive such vicious gusts. The tree line that split the town from the mountain was still though, causing the prophet to worry even more. In soft leather boots he started his stride towards the one light, searching the darkness with his elven vision. Not a soul wandered the night, the waning moon his only companion.

“The Thayne guide my steps,” the prophet murmured to himself, his voice low and stoic. The pathway to the gods of Althanas had opened before the drow as he had grown and developed, and through the Red Hand and his own personal studies he had become enlightened to their wills and their sway. The night, however, was one that was not like one he had ever felt before. He wrapped his hands around the cracked leather hilts of his swords and continued his deliberate gait through the streets. “Be my light in the darkness; guide my steps in this forlorn world.”

Ranger turned down a street and saw the source of the malcontent weather that tore through the town. A chalice of meager design, tall enough to come to the drows waist, rested alone in the middle of the prophet’s path. The silver goblet was roughly brushed, dented and worn from countless ears of existence. The lackluster artifact was the least of the drows concern. Behind it blackness deeper than any he had ever seen lingered like a portal, beckoning him into its void. Hesitation was lost to pure curiosity and the will to remove whatever dark powers were at work within the Red Hands new strong hold.

With a steady hand the prophet lifted the chalice, the weight of the artifact equal to one of common size instead of the behemoth that waited for him. As soon as the base was lifted the winds died, the silence was intrusive and unbearable. Ranger turned to view the world behind him, hoping to see even a single pair of comforting eyes watching as he was pulled into the void. But not a soul wandered the night.

~*~

Darkness flooded his vision, a supernatural darkness that his cautious, silver eyes could not pierce. A slender, calloused hand rose to his face. Long fingers ran over a sharp jaw line, down a short but piercing nose, and to a pair of thin lips. The chilling stroke of his hand felt as if the emaciated hand of death itself was moving across his facade. A chill found its way down his neck and arms, the resulting shiver forced the discomfort deeper into the inner sanctum of his mind. The sleek eyes of the drow closed and he searched his mind for his peace, his serenity, only to find that the connection with the Thayne was severed and forgotten. But soul and body were disjoined within the devious world he had been sent to, the feeling of being incomplete and empty grated against his thoughts. “Where is this place where not even the gods of Althanas can see into?”

The words echoed through the void. Tangible words were lost to the whims of the void that consumed him and his surroundings.

It was seconds later that the feeling of nausea and separated soul diminished and the prophet felt whole once again. His hands feel to his chest, grasping the silver goblet that had shrunk to a mere inches and was attached to a necklace that he had never worn before. Without looking down to the object he knew that it was vital to his further existence, though how it was vital to that aspect was unsure even to the seemingly all knowing drow.

Cautious steps, like those taken towards the void, were again assumed. This time they were removing him from the place that he had been so abruptly assigned by whatever fates dictated his pathway in life. All around him a grove of trees thicker than any he had ever seen on Althanas stood as silent watchers, their boughs stoic and unmoving as if giving no sign that they welcomed Ranger. Overhead the moon that had been watching him with the winking eye of N’jal had fallen quite a bit, giving the prophet ample proof that he was no longer in Corone, or anywhere close to the island nation.