Prologue:
The Autumn sun was shining brightly over Montbéliard, bathing the once shadow-touched land with its golden glow. The dark clouds had all abated leaving behind a bright blue sky and fluffy cumulous clouds. They had gathered in the Courtyard of Greystone, those who had survived the skirmish. Though many did not come out unscathed, the courtyard was littered with mercenaries in various states of injury. Arley sat on the stone edge of a large yet empty fountain, watching Adelard and Erebos take stock of the situation. The two men aiding the injured and directing the healthy. Those who were fit enough assisted them and searched for other survivors,
Itzal and his Caitsith comrades had survived the assault as well, battered and bruised but no less energetic. The black-furred feline man scurried back and forth to give what aid he could. Arley raised a hand over his head as he looked up, blocking the sun from his eyes. Overhead the Erimidol hovered, high in the sky, once the portal had been vanquished the warship was able to safely make its way to the skies over Greystone, and with it succor from the Dwarven shipmates. The stout and burly men delivering medical supplies to those below. Arley had already been tended to, Khummal, surprisingly, having been the one to patch him up and take care of the sprain in his knee with a little healing magics.
After A’hote had closed the portal the creatures that plagued Montbéliard and Castle Greystone had all vanished. Or rather burst apart like an over-inflated balloon. At least the one he had been fighting had. He was just glad he had been far enough away from it to avoid the spray of blackened gore. He suspected that had happened to the rest of them, judging by all the mysterious blackened puddles of goop littering the castle and courtyard. Regardless he thought it a good end, he’d have been miffed if they had to keep fighting those strange creatures even after the portal had closed. It did make Arley ponder though, just what those creatures were, where did they come from? Arley knew of the existence of other realms outside of their own, mainly of the six realms which intertwined closely with their own. His fine Arcane education had taught him much about the world. But still, at times like this, he felt like his knowledge was a mere drop in the bucket. Sometimes it was terribly frustrating, not having all the answers. But he supposed that was what made the world interesting, the mystery of it all. Speaking of mysteries, he needed to decide what to do about the new information Sivyl had given him. Finding out he had living family in Galadrielle hadn’t been on his bingo card for this year that was for sure. Then again neither had traveled the realm with an Elven man afflicted with a strange and esoteric magic and restoring a Kingdom. It’s certainly been interesting.
Slowly Arley let his hand fall from its position shielding his eyes as he lowered his gaze. His eyes roved over the busy courtyard, spotting A’hote who was helping move Itzal supplies and equipment. Honestly, the man had far too much energy. Arley was exhausted after all that dirty business. Not far from him was Khummal, crouching next to an injured man, his gloved hand hovering over the man’s injuries, a soft yet warm glow emitting from his hand. Arley tilted his head as he leaned back on his hands, reclining some on the fountain’s edge. His legs stretched out in front of him. Arley was more than ready to take it easy for the next few days. Perhaps he’d hitch a ride back to Galadrielle, deal with the matter with his supposed uncle, then loaf around the castle for a few days. Idly he wondered what A’hote’s plans were, or if he even had any. The man didn’t strike him as the type to plan. Unfortunately for him, fate was a fickle thing, and his reprieve would be short-lived.
The ground began to bubble like boiling water beneath Khummal, the ground turning black and licking up his legs. Khummal abruptly stood up as he began to be slowly dragged into the vicious puddle. The taller man tried to move his legs, but they didn’t budge. Arley jumped to his feet at the sight, the man Khummal had been tending to let out a shout as he quickly rolled away before he was pulled into the goop as well. He heard A’hote shout, the Elf dropping the box he’d be carrying before rushing to Khummal. “Wait stay back!” Arley warned. Of course, the man didn’t listen, A’hote grabbing at Khummal’s arm as he sank further in. Black tendrils snaked up Khummal’s thighs before they began to latch onto A’hote as well. “Stop! Let go” Arley barked as he quickly ran over to them, the two having already sunken past their knees. Arley grabbed onto A’hote in an attempt to pull him back. The inky black tendrils snatched at him as well just before it engulfed them in one fell swoop.
