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Cobias Tane weaves a path through the ever-thickening forest.
The
calls of unseen birds and the scuffles of tiny animals accompany him
along the forgotten trail. Low branches and vines tear at his fine
clothes as the young merchant travels ever farther into the deep
regions
of the Llanowar. Unknown beasts and deep shadows surround him, but
never will the foolhardy noble entertain the thought of turning
around.
It is too late for that now. He is involved far too deeply, both within
the
forest and the pact he has already signed. The only way to go is
forward. That is his first mistake...
The forest grows thicker and thicker as Cobias pushes his way
into its
heart. The plush green ceiling cuts off nearly all light, plunging the
underlying layers into deep blackness. As he continues his trek, what
little remains of the once wide path trails off into nothingness.
Surrounded by the wilderness, Cobias feels suddenly alone. Nothing
remains to point him back towards the way he came. Only his instincts
are left to guide him. Born on the wild slopes of Balduvia, he is
more
than willing to trust those same instincts with his life. That is his
second mistake...
The forest begins to thin slightly, allowing beams of
light to
break through the canopy. The trail once again becomes apparent,
giving
Cobias a new sense of direction and purpose. He will soon be there!
Ah! What great rewards await him? Pushing on, he demonstrates quite
adamantly that he intends to find out.
When he finally nears his goal, he breathes in the sudden
stench that
is so synonymous with death. The air hangs heavy as the horrible
cloud
wavers in place. Tramping ever forward, he is surprised when the
scent
becomes suddenly lost amidst the other, more pleasant smells of the
forest. Thinking it had been his truly exhausted mind playing tricks
on
him, he decides that spot as good as any to rest. As he closes his
eyes, he could swear a shadow flits across his field of vision. Once
again, he blows the occurrence off. That is his final mistake.
Ten minutes later the forest is as it was before the
merchant's
arrival. Only a few minor scuffle marks give any indication as to the
fate of the late nobleman.
"Mom! Mom!!!"
If you were riding high on the back of an Æsthir, you would
see a
picture similar to this. A young boy in his preteens is running
across an open field. Upon closer inspection, it is obvious that the
goal of his dash is a small, frontier cabin nestled about 200 yards
away
near a small stand of trees. The cabin itself is built of the sturdy
Ironwood, not to be confused with their very animate relatives. No
windows are visible, however, a dancing light on the tall grass neaby
shows that some opening is letting out the firelight from inside.
When
a woman steps out, it becomes apparent that the opening is a door.
Turning your attention back to the field, you will notice one thing
missing.
"Seth! Seth, time for dinner!"
Turning back inside, the woman receives a short glance from
her
husband.
"Is he coming?" he says.
"Yes, I heard him calling just as I stepped outside." the
woman
replies. A short grunt from her husband is the only answer she
receives. Five minutes later, they are still alone at the table.
Another short glance from the husband sends the woman back to the
door.
"Seth!!! I said dinner time!" She waits a second for the
response.
None comes. "SETH!!! Stop your games and come here this second!!!"
Again, silence is the only answer. Shooting a worried look to her
husband, he gets up and runs to her side.
They spend all night searching the field and the surrounding
forest.
However, they hardly make a dent in the tens of thousands of acres of
woodland that encircles their small meadow. As the sun rises to
signal
daybreak, the two head straight south to the town of Deersbrooke.
Silent prayers flit through their thoughts, hoping above all else that
they can get help in time...
The Llanowar Forest is the most stunning of all forests on the
plane of
Dominia. Stretching hundreds of miles across, it blends from the
civilized human settlements to the primordial wilderness of the
interior. Somewhere between these extremes, the lives of an entire
elven community are about to be shattered...
"Siltran!"
The shout of the elf is barely audible over the everyday
noises of the
Llanowar Forest. About a hundred yards through the trees, a young,
male
elf picks himself up from his task and hurries to the elf's side.
"You called?" he asks of the young female beside him.
"I sense something..." she responds.
"What... wait a minute..." Siltran closes his eyes and lets
his other
senses take their place. He becomes one with the forest around him.
Bird calls mix with his subconscious. His skin picks up the slightest
movement of the air. His nose savors every scent. Every scent but
one...
"Here? How..." is all he is able to get out. He turns to
address the
female beside him by name for the first time.
"Xalia, get the Elder. Now!!!"
Xalia runs off through the forest, her tiny form almost
indistinct
within the tangle of underbrush. Over logs and under limbs, she
glides
across the uneven ground. In but a moment, she is gone.
Siltran once again focuses his senses on the forest. He knew
that what
he was sensing wasn't possible. Too much care had been used to
prevent
such an occurrence. The elves had spent generations weaving the
spells
to protect their home from intrusion. It should have been a haven
from
the outside world. If what he suspected was correct, it was a haven no
longer.
As Xalia comes flying back through the trees, Siltran closes
his eyes.
The Elder was getting so old, would he be able to handle this? Would
any of them be able to handle it? The Elder walks up to the pair,
directing Siltran's mind away from the disturbing thoughts.
"Come, let us see what fate has brought us." the Elder states.
The trio walk slowly through the forest, caution their only
directive.
Within half an hour, they come upon the scene. A large creature,
probably one of the native Craw Wurms, had attacked and devoured a
human
passing through the area.
Siltran feels a vague sense of unease. Something isn't right.
A
thousand questions jump across his thoughts. Where are the remains?
Who was it? He shakes it off and concentrates on the immediate
problem.
"How did the human get here?!?" Siltran yells.
"It has been known for many years that this would happen one
day."
Xalia looks from the Elder to Siltran, whose face is now
sheathed in
sudden recognition. "What? I don't understand..."
The Elder looks over to the young elf. "The wards have
failed. Humans
have come to our home."
Xalia nearly laughs. She knows as well as anyone that no mage
exists
who could destroy the magical wards that protected their corner of the
Llanowar! She voices her thoughts to the Elder.
"You're right. Humans aren't the cause of our problem but the
effect
that followed. There is greater magic at work."
Though Xalia nods her head in understanding, the look on her
face gives
away her ignorance to the situation. She is too young to realize the
magnitude of what had just occurred. Too innocent to understand that
from that point onward, her life will never be the same.
The Elder turns his head to regard the young girl. He feels
sorry for
the life she will soon have to face. "Come, let's return to the
village." As he walks off the pair regard his solemn mood, and then
turn to follow.
Fourteen miles south of the town of Deersbrooke, a small cottage
sits nestled
away in the forest. It is a lonely site, bare except for a door,
window, and thin chimney running up the length of the house's north
side. Inside the house, something rather curious is going on...
"BOOM!!!" Shards of wood fly across the room as the table
explodes in
a powerful detonation.
"Control!!! You must learn control!" shouts an aging
sorcerer
to his young apprentice.
"Forgive me, Master Garem."
"I will forgive you when you can detonate a wooden cup
without
destroying the whole house!!!"
Garem knew full well that his apprentice was a poor magician.
If it
hadn't been for his own protective circles, they might both have been
killed in that blast.
"Darmon, take a seat and let me explain something to you,"
Garem said.
"Where?"
"What's that?"
"Where are we going to sit? I think I took out the chairs..."
"Oh dear. Uh, take a seat on the floor then."
"Yes, Master Garem."
The two each take a seat on the larger pieces of debris.
Darmon is
obviously embarrassed. Garem studies his over-zealous
apprentice. He has very little control over his powers, that is
obvious. Nothing that Garem tries seems to help the young man.
However, that isn't what worries him the most. Never has Garem seen a
second year apprentice demonstrate so much power. Power without
control... a dangerous combination.
"Darmon, I can't teach you forever."
"Yes master, I know."
"Someday, you will have to take my place. That is why
I am
training you."
"I could never take your place."
Garem considers the possible truth in these words. He shakes
them away
and continues.
"You can and you will. But first, you have to learn how to
handle your
powers. There is too much emotion in you. Magic is not about
strength,
it is about control. You must work harder. Have you been doing the
exercises I taught you?"
"Umm... not often..." he mumbles.
"And why not?"
"I don't see the point of ANY of it! Every day you have me do
the same
thing! I can't do it! What you ask of me is impossible!"
"Nothing is impossible."
"Then tell me how! You want me to build a house of cards with
just the
bit of magic I know. I can't even do it with my hands!!!"
"You are failing to do what I've taught you. You must
establish
control over yourself, the cards, and the environment around
you. Only then can you accomplish a feat so difficult."
"It can't be done..."
"Can't it?" With those words, Garem begins to gently wave his
hand.
From the one corner not blackened by soot or torn by shrapnel, a lone
deck of cards floats gently through the air. It comes to rest just
outside the door on a soft pile of leaves and branches. As Darmon
watches, he can't believe what his master is trying to do. There is a
gentle breeze outside, more than enough to topple the house of cards
before it ever gets off the ground.
"Watch," Garem says. As he does so, he closes his eyes.
Every fiber
of his being rings with power, yet his body is loose and relaxed.
Darmon watches, amazed. For before his eyes, the breeze grinds to a
halt. Not a molecule of air moves. Not a leaf shifts. The house of
cards begins to form.
One level, two, three... Each card falls perfectly into
place.
Impossible balancing acts are realized as the fragile monument to
control is built. The impossible becomes a reality before Darmon's eyes. He is awestruck. What he has practiced off and on for months,
he
master achieves flawlessly in a span of less than a minute.
"How..." he manages to get out.
"Control."
It is at that moment that the cabin explodes. If Garem hadn't
been
putting his energies towards the cards, he would have felt the
presence
of the other mage. He could have set up a defense and prepared for
the
attack. As it is, he can barely raise the circle around Darmon before
his body is consumed by the fire...
Siltran cautiously enters the Elder's hut. Rays of branches
and
patchwork leaves mold together and blend the surrounding forest into
the
home. To the casual observer, it is nothing but another swath of
green
in the vast forest.
"Elder..."
Across the room, the ancient elf sits motionless in his chair.
His
eyes feign tears where none will fall. His brow reads sadness. But
his
lips.... his lips curl in the signs of revenge.
"Elder..."
"Garem is dead..." The words stun Siltran into sudden
silence. His
thoughts and words lose all meaning as the impact of what the Elder
has
said hits him. He quietly speaks.
"Then all is lost. There was no one greater."
"No, there is still hope." The light in the Elder's eyes
gives
confidence to Siltran. He is speaking the truth. "There is
another..."
As the Elder says the words, his lips ease and his eyes regain their
glow. Siltran knows what must be done.
"Then I shall bring him to you."
Darmon wakes up hours later, his body covered in ash and his
flesh
burnt from the tremendous heat. His head swims as he vainly attempts
to
pull his body out of the rubble. As he tries to move, he finds his
arms
lead, his legs dead weight. His strength is quickly slipping away.
Darmon is but a young boy. Lightly muscled, he was hardly
prepared for
the common farm life on the edge of the Llanowar. Perhaps this was
why
Garem picked him to become his apprentice. Darmon has never been able
to help but feel that Garem made a mistake.
From the very beginning, Garem's frustration had been
apparent. Darmon
could memorize anything put in front of him. All that Garem taught
him
stuck. All, that is, except control. Perhaps it was Darmon's natural
enthusiasm for learning that tore him so far from the path of his
guardian and mentor.
Shaking his head, Darmon clears his thoughts. Now was not the
time to
second guess his ability. Garem had seen something in him!!!
Whatever that something was, he will use it to slay the creatures who
did this!