The moon was full, and hung like a gravid fruit in the foggy Dheathain night sky. It reminded the boy of an over-ripe fruit, ready and threatening to burst. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled its miseries in the darkness and Chance Wintersent couldn't help but remember all the tales of stalking monsters he had ever heard, and shiver. He watched the pale orb through the small window of the library, stared at the murky shadows that carved a face into the moon.

The library around him was located in Dheathain's Capitol, Donnalaich, and was in and of itself the Capitol of the Dust and Dirt nation. Soil somehow managed to coat the floor, despite the walls and ceiling that were supposed to guard the precious volumes from the elements. The dust was everywhere. After sitting in the room for even five minutes, he could wipe his arm, and watch it fall from him like a curtain. After being in Atarael for so long, the boy hated being locked inside such a small space. He was used to the great plains, the never-ending cobalt sky overhead. But even more, he missed his brethren. Why he had been ordered back to this god forsaken land, he didn't know. It was like being forced into a crypt, or a coffin.

Chance dispelled the thoughts from his mind. Why are you bitching? You're a Third Lieutenant of the Storm Blood Order. You know you are better than this.

His cerulean blue eyes moved back to the book laying open on the table just past where his feet were propped up. The title read The powers that be. For being a book describing the strongest groups of power in Althanas, it was unbelievably boring. Leaning back, Chance's eyes lifted up the bookshelves, catching random snippets of words or phrases. One leapt out at him. Frowning, he took his booted feet off the table and let the legs of the chair smack down against the floor. He ignored the small cloud of dust that rose from it. He stood, stretched, and moved to the bookcase.

Fae Crystal Manipulation.

Chance pulled the book out and began ruffling through the pages, his eyes catching on random pictures and words, and slowly his desire grew. He was reminded of the last time he had done this ingredient gathering, with his Father and Lillian. He looked down at Hoarfrost and Hailstorm, and smiled. It had been worth it, even if it had been a trial. Leafing back through the book, he bent the corners of the a couple pages down. Smiling, he closed the book and left the library. The morrow would bring another adventure.

[hr]

Finding companions for his Hunt had proven more difficult than he had originally believed. Now, he stood at the front steps of the Morach Mor, the Great Hall of Enchanting. He had left a note pinned to three notice boards around the area, asking for companions, and now he waited to see if it would pay off. The weather was floating somewhere between summer and autumn, warmth weighed his actions down, and humidity drew a thin sheet of sweat across his forehead.

He wore a white, long sleeve shirt and black pants beneath his sangria cloak. The garments were a little heavy in this weather, but were priceless for one single fact: they hid the scars that traced over his body like latticework. At his belt, two Scimitars hung in sheaths, and if he drew them, they'd be revealed as Prevalida. His sandy blond hair was cut short and messily, and his boots were scuffed. Altogether, he had seen better day. But the fire of anticipation burned in his eyes.

He waited impatiently.