The land stirred. It stirred in a deep memory, ancient beyond telling. It stirred in its endless sleep, the rock groaning and quivering assomething shifted deep beneath....

The skies broke. Lightning came, and the sickeningly sweet smell of baked tin. The land heaved; it remembered.

It remembered.

****

The sidhe grinned. It was not a pleasant thing, despite being on her face - often, humans and others assumed she was a child, and nothing more....and all were equally surprised when their beliefs were found full of holes, when she turned out to be something else entirely. She sat on a log near the fire, staff set across her lap as she stared into the flames that flickered to and fro, as if with a life of their own. Her eyes were pools of flame-haunted shadow. But when the light from the fire did not touch the, they seemed to glow with an inner light, something unreal and disconcerting yet despite all quite natural.

Around the fire were others, people she did not know. Humans. That perhaps said enough about them, hasty and irrational. Beyond even this, though, they were ignorant of a great many things. The grin did not leave her lips, even when she spoke. SHe looked at each of the gathered men - a dozen in all - one at a time. Most of them wore simple plate-and-mail over leather jerkins; all of them wore swords at their sides, and all had spears with their horses. They were a border patrol, a border for one nameless, easily forgotten realm, and they had come upon her past the midnight hour, came and held her. Or tried to, until she finally gave up trying to thwart them. For humans, they were persistent. They also appeared to have a knack for following those such as she, those who could call upon the Art.

Will you delay me all night? She growled, low, despite the grin on her face. Many of those gathered around the fire shifted uneasily in their seats. None of them shared the certainty of their command, he who sat directly across from her and gave her a level, appraising look. If you will not let me pass through, at least let me go around. I must go north. SHe said, a little more level and calm herself.

The captain, or commander, or whatever he chose to call himself stirred from his thoughts, blinking. None have business in the north. He replied, guardedly. His unease in the presence of a mage was plain to see. His hand remained near the hilt of his sword, as if it would do him any good should she choose to take a dislike to them, and that he very well knew. Never the less, he insisted upon touching the pommel every so often, as if the weapon itself was some reassurance of his and his mens' safety. The sidhe grinned wider.

She did indeed have business north, though what it was she could not say. It had come upon her a week prior - a sudden, maddening desire, a need to go....north. The direction never presented itself to her as such, though. It wasn't a direction she was being called - more like forced - to go. It was merely a feeling, like an intuition. She had crossed the borders of three tiny shit-pot kingdoms, not knowing their names and not caring one way or the other in any case. She had traveled by day, and by night. She rested infrequently, mostly because of the dreams that haunted her sleep. Even now they haunted her - a clear warning, though what against she couldn't say.

But mostly it was Him that caught her attention. Her nemisis, since the day He had used her as a tool in His great game, the purpose of which still eluded her to this day. The Dark One. The Lord of the Tower that was no more. Once sealed, now free and regaining His power among the world, the Lord once again threatened, had been threatening for some time now. And along with the feeling that she belonged somewhere else, was the certainty that if He discovered of her destination, or should He happen to come upon it by chance, and get there first....

She shook her head lightly, clearing the thought. Whatever it was that drew her, the vehemence with which that last should be denied was almost painful. Even thinking of His name was enough to give her a headache....that dark man must not know, never know of what she was about now.

I have business in the north, and I will go with or without your permission. She said, sharply. His hand went to the sword again, and rested there, a warning look in his eyes. She ignored that, and continued on. Just because they are forbidden in your lands does not mean you can hold me from my duty. She was refering to wizards, sorcerors, and witchs. This backwater country had a great deal of dislike for their kind and she couldn't blame them. Magicians often left a trail of destruction behind them, the impure races worse than all the rest. Even the thought of a human touching the Art made her mildly angry. It was not fit for their touch, because all the others could not appreciate the beauty of magic, could only appreciate its destructive power and aught else.

The leader of the patrol half stood, his blade loosened and ready to be fully bared at a moments notice. In this land, your tricks and lies do not hold sway, witch. He growled, coming fully erect with his blade completely out of its sheath before he had even gotten the words from his mouth. Eleven men got to their feet hastily with spears in hand. The sidhe suddenly found herself at the receiving end of eleven spears, all whetted to a bright, gleaming edge. The officer said nothing, only stared at her intensely.

You've wasted enough of my time. She said, after a long and tense wait. She rosed, and several speartips found themselves against her breasts, piercing through her dark cloak, through the pale blue dress beneath. She gave no indication that she felt it, instead opting to grip her staff ever more tightly. Her eyes hardened, her petite features turned to stone. Get out of my way. She snarled at them, gesturing wildly with her staff.

If they had been terrified before, now true fear ran through their eyes. She could practically smell it. Their horses, tethered and hobbled, did their best to bolt and run, screaming in terror. Several of the spearmen dropped their weapons and broke for the safety of the trees. It took a handful of seconds to play out, but by the end there was only her, the officer and another whom was too petrified to even move. The horses had gone, managing to break the lines tethering them to trees, all except for one that had fallen and broken its leg in its haste to be away from the strange woman that smelled of death so strongly, so suddenly.

She stared in the flickering firelight, her waist-length silver hair shifting lazily in an errant breeze. Before there was really time to react, the officer was moving, striking with a vipers deadly speed.

There was a brief shower of sparks and the smell of ozone as his blade was turned aside easily by the sidhe's staff. His surprised look was there for only a half second, as her backswing cracked the man soundly in the back of the head. His eyes went dull, closing before her was even halfway into his collapse. She looked on as he sprawling himself on the pine-needle littered forest floor, laying unmoving except for his breath.

She shook her head, slowly, then stepped over the unconsious man with clear distaste in her eyes.

Humans... She thought to herself, as she wended her way into the trees. Eventually there was aught else but a fire, and a lone man come to his senses, at his commanders side. She saw none of it, and cared even less.

The night passed on and the wind began to pick up, blowing gently at times and abruptly at others. It was never constant and the mounted creature found it to be quite annoying. It was a distraction at most, for with each burst, the ringmail beneath his cloak would shimmer and chime with movement. This did not hinder his task however, for though he preferred to travel by stealth, it was not always the best means for gaining information.

His steed pulled him onward, rhythmically advancing with each stride. Its head slumped greatly showing no emotion, for its will had been broken and its mind was no longer its own. In a way the rider empathized for the creature, for he himself was but as slave, always doomed to live another's life. Nothing he wore now belonged to him originally. His clothes and equipment, his name and even his face had be taken unwillingly from another. His own reflection was a stranger to him now, and his true identity had been lost in time. The only thing that now remained was the unbreakable urge to follow the will of his dark master. To find the place of old and the location of those who seek it.

A bolt of lighting suddenly flashed in the distance, illuminatimg the landscape before the him and breaking his focus on withering memories. No life had showed itself during his travels this night and the forest beside his path had remained eerily quiet. The steed who accompanied him now was the only exception. He had found it startled and masterless wandering among the trees of the region. It was not a wild horse however, being burdened by both bride and saddle, and the man thought it best to to track it back to its former location. And after a bit of persuasion, of both force and magic, it did not argue. By the link he had of the creatures conscious, he could tell they were almost there.

Moments later rain began to fall in a slight drizzle and the man willed his mount to stop as he surveyed a large clearing before him. A rattling of leaves within the woods to his east grabbed his attention, and he dismounted from his horse, and pulled his hood close to avoid the weather. He paused and waited beside his steed, listening intently in the rain. The sound came again, and was clearly of an artificial nature. Then suddenly he was moving, sprinting with incredible speed, across the field and toward the source of the noise. He reached the treeline swiftly, saber drawn, and almost pounced upon the shadowed form that rounded a large tree before him.

"Ahh!! Don't kill me...!", Screamed the armor clad soldier as he shrank away from his pursuer, falling backward in a heap.

The man with the blade stopped in his path, and eyed the human warily. The man in plate armor was trembling uncontrollably, the look of surprise to still fresh upon his face.

"Why would you think I'd kill you?", asked the cloaked man, keeping his saber steady.

"I..., I thought you were the witch..." , replied the frightened man, scrambling to his feet and pressing his back to a nearby tree. He looked around as if paranoid, and fumbled oddly with his hands as if searching for a weapon.

"What witch?", asked the cloaked man, lowering his tone, as well as his blade.

"We found here only hours ago, we of the border patrol of Cazic-Thule", exclaimed the soldier, seeming to be more at ease. "She claimed she had business in the north and we detained her until... Who are you, if i might ask?"

The shape shifter sheathed his blade and stood upright, sporting a stance of courage and truth and revealing the the marked armor he wore beneath his cloak. "My name is Valcatin. I am a ranger from the city of Tyrandire west of here. I am hunting an elf who goes by the name Shayanna, who's treachery and evil has left many dead in our region. Is this the witch you speak of? One who's beauty is only surpassed by her skill in magic and stealth?"

"No...", the other man replied slowly, obviously trying to envision the incarnation of his fear. "The women we held was much shorter than an elf would be, and shared none of the features of their kin. There was 13 of us in all when we first found her. Our commander Raven Torgal, sent one of our men back to Cazic to report and ordered the rest of us to keep her under guard at the camp in the clearing north of here until his return. We detained her for more than an hour, until she unleashed her unholy magic upon us."

"And then what happened?", asked Valcatin Trying tp appear concerned.

"I... I'm not sure...", replied the soldier, looking about and fidgeting.

"I thought you said you were there?", pried Valcatin, slanting his eyes in distrust. "Do not lie to me..."

"She..., she became a demon i think..., or something, and i ran. It took all that was in me too catch a glimpse of it as i escaped and all i saw was commander Raven standing before her. She probably killed them all. Maybe ate them too. Thats what witches do isn't it? I was too afraid to return...", whispered the man, clearly beginning to shake once more.

"Is that all you remember about her?", Valcatin asked, searching the mans face for truth.

"Yes..., errr.. wait. Her eyes, they had some kind of glow about them, something..., unnatural.", the man proclaimed as he turned to look behind him, as if he thought she might be there, watching them... Turning back to the ranger he began to speak.

But by then it was too late. Valcatin was already upon him, slashing and rending flesh with abandon. The man waved his arms sporadicly, trying to stop the rangers attack and wiping blood upon his killers face as he grasped desperately for some hope of survival. The shape shifter continued unrelenting, in a practiced manner, until the last breath of life escaped his victims mouth with a dull moan. Rising from the corpse, the servant of the dark one smiled, thinking to himself how easily humans were fooled these days, and then began making his way to the camp in which the soldier had described.

There he found little of value, other than the body of the commander, left unconscious by a blow to the head, laying next to a fire that had burned itself out long before. With a malicious pleasure of that resembling a feral predator, the shape shifter feasted on the fallen mans life force and donned his armor as well as a new identity. Raven Torgal of Cazic-Thule.

After cleaning himself of the apparent gore of his kills, Raven retrieved his slave horse and continued his travels north as the sun began to rise, in search of the mysterious woman...

She continued on at a pace that ate the miles quickly, not daring to come close to any habitation. On one occasion, she'd had to swing wide around one such settlement, a sleepy little place so far north, she had almost been unable to believe that it was there. Aside from that, there was nothing to see except rolling hills full of ghostly woods. The air had begun to chill ever more, even though midday had come and gone quickly.

There were no words to describe how the Sidhe felt. It was like the feeling of being hunted, all the while feeling drawn forward despite. And there was an apprehension; she, at least, knew where she was going. At first she had been uncertain, but now she was positive. She walked through the Sleepwood, had been all day. Once upon a time, this place had been within the realm of her authority. What really bothered her was that this and much else had been leveled years prior. The Tower had been ripped apart stone by stone, all the way to its base, and the mountains that surrounded it had shivered and fallen as the earth, tortured as it was, was blasted, melted, destroyed by a magic that she herself had long ago lost the ability to cast. Indeed, and wouldn't use it if she could.

She held her piece, and her pace, until evening threatened again. There continued to be no others about, though a dim sense of premonition foretold that encounters would be had. Relatively soon.

She crossed a ridgetop, its trees more dead than alive where they stood.

The funeral plains of the Valley greeted her, a thousand square miles of featureless desert and compleetly uninhabited. Dry sage and tumbleweed grew in patches here and there, but most everywhere was bare, hard packed and sunbacked dirt. To the east, it extended to the horizon. The the west, a low line of ridges stood, hazy and blue-gray with distance.

What held the Sidhes' eyes was directly in front of her though. Etched by gunmetal skies and painted by the gold light of the setting sun even if they were too far to see. Etched in the same pale blue-gray as the distant ridges to the west, she could just make out five towering peaks in the middle of nothingness.

Five peaks, spaced just so....the Sidhe groaned, and turned to head back the way she had come. She could not move a single step, and the curse that she uttered was loud enough to have been heard a mile away. She tried for only a little while....the sun hadn't even moved much closer to the horizon before she turned back to look upon that pale mirage - it had to be mirage! - with a frown on her face. It held her in its power now, and she could not balk it, being a creature of her nature. The magic demanded that she continue onwards. ANd since there was no way she could go otherwise, she started down theh ill, pausing only momentarily as she crossed into the wastelands. For a brief moment, she felt that she was being watched, and that something....important....might be on her backtrail. The thought died quickly, but it left some doubt....but those doubts were quickly dispelled. If someone followed, they would have to be especially hardy to survive this desert in particular.

So long under the shadow of the Lord......even the land itself had sought to kill those that entered it before. A waterless fifty miles or more, saltpan flat and bare of wildlife nor oasis.

If the Tower would let them approach, then there would be naught she could do to avoid an encounter with another. If the Tower had no care for others, only for her....then she could definately be in trouble.

Forward! Do not let them split our line! She cried aloud, struggling to be heard over the sounds of steel on steel, of men dying horribly from one wound or another. Such scribes as yet lived darted off into the press, seeking out individual commands to relay orders to. But the orders would barely be enough to secure this victory if at all. The blade mistress and commander in whole of these forces, arrayed against the remnants of one of the God Kings remaining known armies, might well die this day. She watched as the barbarians horde, completely unused to warfare in even grasslands such as these with low hills to the north and nothing to the south. Their home was to the south and east, in the desert. Desert bedouin for the most part, they had rarely ventured forth until a year prior.

SHe sat astride a warhorse, massive hooves and great body dressed down with leather and steel to prevent its life, as much as its riders, from being taken. Eyes the color of cold blue stone, gleaming with an intelligence uncommon in these dark times, stared openly as the formations of the barbarians regrouped, spreading their rough shield wall out against them again. Three deep and a hundred wide, there was little hope of conquering them without grievous losses. She herself only commanded two hundred or so spears. At the start, at least. Better than fifty lay sprawled across the field of combat in various poses of death, intermingled with the hundred or so of the barbarians those lives had bought. It might be enough. Slowly, under the guidance of her tactical skill, her forces reorganized themselves, and pressed home.

There was another roar that threatened to deafen her. Shields clashed together violently, swords rang off of scimitars and spears thrust under careless bondsmen of the Kings' shields, spilling their blood. Her forces pushed hard against the enemy, but their shield wall yet held. The screams of the dying carried on the wind, horrible things to have to hear. But necessary, ever so necessary.

At first, the notion that crossed her mind went completely unheeded. All things considered, it was not completely unexpected.

Her pale lips made a fine line on her face, her eyes glittering deadly in the flicking light of a cookfire. The men under her command had long since retired to their bedrolls. The only movement, the only sound, were the sentries posted at intervals along the perimeter of their camp. Men in cold iron armor, spears whetted so sharp and bright as to gleam by firelight and moonlight alike. She could see a spear flicker in the moon every so often....but elsewise, there was no trace of those sentries.

There was no one up but the guards, herself....and this thing, creature. It shimmered in front of her, a tall man one second seeming to not just become, but to be a woman the next. And a child. And an old man. The shapes shifted so rapidly and randomly. She had no idea what it meant, but she knew that none but herself could see it sitting across the fire from her. Sometimes it would settle on a particular image, and there would be an exchange that was not words, precisely.

It shifted to a beautiful young woman, nubile and unclothed. She raised her aetherial hand, pointing northwards. She mouthed words, but what Aeyliea hea.....no, not heard. It was not words, it was not spoken. It appeared in her mind, images and feelings. A place, far north. A place of power, and danger. The woman pointed that way with a calm look upon her ageless, yet young face. Her arm dropped, and the image faded altogether. Aeylieas' cold blue-gray eyes closed as she took a deep, sighing breath. Rising, she looked north. As if compelled to do so....

In the morning. She had fought it all day, but could fight it no more. Whatever compelled her northward was simply too strong to resist.

She didn't get much sleep that night. They moved on in the morning, but heading another way.

Raven Torgal, servant of the dark lord, opened his eyes and sighed heavily. He was covered in sweat from head to toe and as he sat trembling in his armor, he surveyed the area around himself once more.
Nothing seemed to have changed during the time he spent invoking his magic.

He blinked suddenly, impulsively, as a bead of sweat ran down his face and into his eye. It stung slightly and he raised his good arm to clear his vision. The pain his body felt was a reminder of his mortality, proof that his spell had ended, his mental projection expired. It was long into the night now, signifying the end of another day, and he took a moment to look himself over, inspecting the progression of his wounds. He no longer had any feeling in his left arm, although his control over its movement still seemed to be intact. He grasped it's cold blackened surface with his other hand and recalled what had transpired in the last few days...

He had set out slowly at first, heading in the direction the mysterious woman had gone, according to the information he had acquired from the warrior he had killed the night before. He could feel her presence then, as he drew closer, it took all his willpower to keep him from bolting forward and giving chase. It was her magic that gave her away, he could literally smell it, and its magnitude had left him as anxious as he was fearful. Perhaps it was that same attribute that linked her to the other, he wondered, the one he had found just recently.

He had traveled on wearily, slow and methodical. He was no fool and realized the danger of catching her quickly and having to deal with her power. For there was nothing he really knew about her, except for the taste of her aura and her link to himself and the others. She would lead him somewhere important he was sure, and he was willing to wait. Furthermore, he was still currently within the lands of Cazic-Thule and he was forced to keep his disguise up to par, representing the new identity he had become in case others of the land were to happen upon him.

During the evening of his 3rd day traveling north, following this supposed witch's path, he was halted by the sight of a massive forest. It's sheer size and depth kept him at bay for quite some time as he thought about it's passage. It was clearly ancient, with it's enormous vegetation, and a fog swirled about it, as if it were alive. He remembered the tales told by those in the town he had visited weeks before, about an area called Mystmoor, a place of mystery and confusion that even the hunters dared not enter. Some had said there was no end to it and that those who traveled beyond its borders were doomed to wander, lost for all eternity. Raven wondered how much merit the stories really held.

Nothing was visible beyond its front, and the steed he rode upon was reluctant to go further, fear apparent throughout it's mind. Worse, he could no longer sense the aura that came from the one he was tracking, her essence seeming to vanish within the trees. Panic took him then, and he placed his hand apon the neck of his steed, magicly forcing it comply to his demands and enter the forest against its will. He could not miss this opportunity, to find this strange women and understand why the dark one was so interested in her. Putting his worries aside, Raven unsheathed his blade and began onward through the trees and rolling cloud.

He went on for quite some time, passing between the cluttered forest rather blindly, hoping that he would find an exit soon. The lack of vision troubled him even the more as time passed on and he gripped his weapon all the more tightly, ready to strike at the first sign of danger. His steed stumbled more than once, tossing him violently in his saddle, as it nearly collapsed. Thankfully the beast held its footing and they made good time until stopping in a small clearing between the trees. Raven looked about in paranoia, wondering at the sight of a small gathering of ruins that looked to be an old fort of some kind, standing off to the east within the darkness of the now coming night. The mist seemed even thicker in this place, and against his better judgment, the shape shifter dismounted to investigate. The area around the rusted broken gate, the lead to the entrance to the ruins had almost a greenish tint about them and Raven readied his defenses, thinking perhaps that the witch could be there, waiting for him.

".... Seska...?", a voice whispered from within the clouds, seeming to be heard more in the mind than the ear, and the shape shifter stopped in his tracks.

He was sure he heard it, and wondered about it's source. Was this someones name, a question, or something else in a language he did not understand? He waited patiently in a defensive stance, and after a moment he could barely make out a humeniod form standing at the entrance to the gates. Sword in hand Raven answered the call.

"Who are you?", he shouted, trying to peer through the fog, and get a better view of who or what he was speaking to.

There was no verble response then, only silence followed and Raven twisted about nervously, checking to make sure his slave horse was still close by. As he turned back to the ruins he saw the other there more vividly than before. It hovered before him now, nearly 100 ft away, It's form a blur of whiteish haze, shifting and changing size as it came closer.

"Stay back!", the Raven demanded, stepping backward as he looked in awe at the odd creature.

"DIE....!", hissed the the ghostly image in a tone that cut the night, and screamed repetitively, as if being spoken in anguish by an entire nation of those in torment.

The creature came at him then, moving with incredible speed and howling in madness. Raven unleashed his readied spell, igniting his sword with an mass of dark flames and hurling it at the assailant as it quickly closed the distance between them. The weapon spun through the air, flipping end over end and hitting its mark. To his surprise, it passed through the ethereal form of the wraith and continued, until ending its path in side of a large tree. Raven turned in haste, sprinting toward his steed and cursing his foul luck and foolish move to stay so long. He reached the horse before his enemy and shouted wildly the command words from his dark arts in an effort to speed the creatures movement. The moment he reached the saddle of his mount he was off, rideing in desperation, trying to avoid his pursuer.

But he was not fast enough. As his mount surged on, carrying him blindly toward the treeline, the spirit caught them. It's glimmering incorpral hand tore at the intruders as it passed overhead, striking Raven hard and throwing him from atop his mount. Raven moaned in agony from the blow and scrambled to grab the reins as he fell from his steed. He was successful and was able to hold on with one arm, although he was so low to the ground that he was practically being dragged. The spirit gave chase without a second thought, shrieking in anger and quickly gaining ground. To his horror Raven noticed the mist beginning to clear all around the area, only to be replaced with other floating demons intent on taking his life. It seemed the vapor here was not just a byproduct of the spirits inhabitance, but part of their very existence as well. There were hundreds of them now, and he feared he would soon be surrounded.

Raven's legs scraped and beat against the ground as he struggled to hold on. His knuckles white with pressure, he tried to pull himself up to a safer position as the mount raged onward, but to no avail. He needed to do something quick, to find away to escape, he needed his magic. He closed his eyes briefly then, clearing his mind and desperately seeking to recall a spell that would save him. The army of spirits closed in on him then and had already reached the other side of his steed, ready to strike. Oddly they paused, seeming to hesitate in their attack, as if the horse was not their concern.

"The air...", thought Raven suddenly, "mist is partially air...?"

Raven opened his eyes quickly, raised his left hand and began his casting, trying to concentrate. The ring he wore on his free hand began to glow a bright reddish hue, releasing it's energy, and fueling it's owners spellcraft. The wind began to pick up and Raven slured his words a bit as he rushed to finish the incantation. Time was not a luxury he still held however, and before he could finish his spell, another strike from a nearby enemy made contact with his body. The magical claws tore at his plate armor, sundering the iron claps that held it together, as well as the flesh that lied benieth it's surface. Raven shouted out in pain, as the blow threw him against the side of the steed he still clung to. Through the corner of his eye he saw another of the creatures hovering above him, an apparent smile on it face, as if it was enjoying watching him struggle. The ring still glowing heavily, pulsed in a sporadic manner, begging to release its charge. Moments later it produced a high pitched sound and then suddenly exploded in a shokewave of wind and flames.

A hurricane seemed to encompassed them then, throwing debris from the forest floor throughout the air, and Raven found himself unaware of his surrounding for quite some time. He was still conscious he knew, although the only sensations he could recall were the seering pain of constant burning, and the pull of his body ever forward. There was a time he thought he was being guided downhill, and felt the cool rush of flowing water washing over him. A river possibly, he thought, and then everything went black.

He awoke to a whispering of hate and death through out his mind, spoken in a language he had never known. The same voices that had plagued him throughout all the time of his life, or at least the second life he had been blessed with. It was the sound of the dark lord, inside him again, compelling him to do his will, and reminding him that his slave life could be easily ended at the command of his master. For a moment, Raven wished it would be...

He looked around and found himself laying on his back in the grass at the bottom of the slope of a hill. It was almost morning and the sky was clear above him. The heavy breathing of his steed told him it was nearby and he struggled to move. He stood then, or at least tried to, before realizing the grave situation of his injuries. He was covered in blood and dirt, and although he felt no pain he was sure his back had been broken by his fall. He looked for his steed then and found it just a few feet away, it's gaze still dim and void of reaction, revealing that his spell still had hold over it. He willed it to come to him and it did as he asked without hesitation. propping himself up on one arm, Raven place the palm of his hand upon the horses snout, as it bowed its head to meet him. He paused for a moment, perhaps from guilt, and then closed his eyes and began to unleash the dark art. The beast moaned quietly, as it's life force was slowly drained from it, and into the crippled body of it's master. It sank to it's knees moments later, looking trapped and afraid, then finally collapsed, ceasing to breath.

Raven rose to his feet, coughing and chocking from the blood still in his throat. As he gasped and spat upon the earth, he turned about, dareing to glimpse at the forest once more, and found the fog had returned. it was but simple mist again and he saw no other sighn of pursuit. He recovered swiftly and as he absorbed a decent breath of air, he was suddenly filled with purpose and new determination. He could sense the witch again. He looked north, in the direction of her aura, and was dismayed at what he found. Before him laid a vast desert, stale and lifeless, stretching onward to the brink of the horizon. To the east there was nothing but the same and to the west, a series of mountions and rugged terrain. Raven new that the mysterious women he tracked was out there, but as he peered across the landscape the glare from the rising sun upon the sand denied him of finding anything of value.
It was there he must go he was sure, but now was not the time.

He looked over himself then, taking inventory of what he still retained. The sheath that had held his blade was empty now, and his armor was ruined, the breast plate missing entirely. Only his greaves and leather remained, and he discarded them now, considering them to be more of a burden then anything else. Thankfully most of his injuries had been healed, except for his left arm, which was now badly burned and resembled that of a statue, taking on a grayish color. He clenched his fist tightly with the damaged hand and found he could barely feel it touch anymore. His side pained him greatly as well, more on the inside than otherwise and he feared if he didn't find further healing then it could soon be the end of him. He wondered then how far from civilization he had strayed, and whether there was any sort of settlement close by. The desert before him looked harsh and difficult to traverse, and although there was nothing he wanted more, he could not survive its passage at this time. Thinking about it caused him to realize how famished he had become, and so he returned to the corpse of his late steed and began searching through the sack that still dwelt there. Unfortunately, it seemed a great deal of the contents inside had been lost during his escape from the forest, but thankfully one wine skin of water still remained. He unfastened it immediately and began to drink. It was refreshing and seemed to give him more strength than he had hoped, but was also followed by an internal pain that was constant with every swallow. Finished, he sat upon the earth and rested, contemplating his next move.

While he waited, he was surprised to hear the shriek of a nearby bird, and turned to the desert to follow the sound. It was a small flock of mynocks he realized, heading his way, intent on feasting on the fallen horse that lay beside him. They swarmed above him for a time as he watched, and soon after, descended upon the dead creature next to him. They went to work quickly, stripping and pecking at its flesh, filling themselves on what was left of the poor animal. Raven eyed the creatures actions in amusement, thinking about how much they were alike, both profiting from the living as well as the dead, to keep themselves alive. Although he was sorely weakened, he new an opportunity when he saw one and tried to invoke his dark magic and enslave a nearby mynock. The creature left its prey without a second thought, hopping about on the ground cautiously toward his direction. Though slowly, It finally came within an arms length of where he sat, obviously eager to understand its calling, and when it was close enough, Raven seized it within his grasp. It did not resist, the magic seeming to take hold, and Raven looked at it closely as it twitched, rolling it's head from side to side. He smiled, content with his new pet, and the bird apparently sharing his emotion, chirped cheerfully. While holding the creature, Raven slid his hand benieth his shirt and removed the amulet he wore about his neck. Carefully he fastened it around the bird and then threw it into the air, willing it to fly, and survey the area for him. Hopefully it would find something or someone that could help him, Raven thought.

Suddenly the voices returned, tearing at his mind and flushing out any thoughts Raven had beside those that his master deemed worthy. Raven clutched his head in torment, screaming aloud, and the remaining mynocks fled instinctively, scattering like the wind.
Returning to his feet, Raven headed west and traveled until nightfall awaiting his pets return. It was dark, and he had laid to sleep for the night when it arrived, fluttering gently to land beside him. He felt it its presence as it came close by and was already awake when it landed.

"Ah..., good to see you my friend...", Raven whispered, releaved that his eye in the sky had remembered his position. Normally using his spellcraft he would be able to see through the amulet that the creture wore as if he was there with it as it traveled. But he was far too weak for that at this time and had to settle with viewing the history of it's flight only after it had returned. Carefully he removed the gemstone and began the scrying, as the bird waited patiently. He saw the continent from an over head view, and followed the mynock's path to the west, into the large mountains that dwelt there. Within the hills he found a small community of villagers, working diligently to better them selves. They did not to seem to be a war like society, having little defense beside the natural earthen walls that surrounded their location. This night it the citizens appeared to be celebrating for some reason, drunkenly dancing about and laughing wildly. Raven watched them for few moments more and then ended his magic. He waited as reality slowly sank in around him as smiled. He had found a place to resupply himself with weapons, food and perhaps a new identity. He would go there as soon as morning came he decided, but tonight he was too tired to travel anywhere.

Morning came soon enough and the night had passed on rather uneventful. Raven headed west on foot, staying at the edge of the desert and stopping to rest as little as his body would allow. At his current pace, he estimated his arrival to be more than a few days away at best, and filled his time with something useful. Although his body's condition withered over time, his mind became stronger with each passing day, and he sent his scout free to roam the sky's and give him knowledge or what lied beyond. Time passed however, and he gained nothing of value from its recon. At least not until he felt the presence of the other.

At first he thought it to be her, the witch that had passed through Cazic-Thule, the one he had been tracking for more than a week. But oddly he sensed this ones aura from the far south west, no where near that of his target. The smell of the creatures life force was different indeed, but shared the same pattern as the others the dark lord willed him to follow. During his travels the next day he sent out his slave bird once more, heading to where he had felt the disturbance, seeing through through its eyes and seeking answers. There he discovered more there than he could have hoped. More than a hundred men who had fallen back and set up a small defensive camp against the ridge. They covered they're weaknesses perfectly, holding the line on their front in formation, with sentries combing their paremeter and guarding their blind spots. Raven wondered who they were and what they were up to. It was obvious that they were a formidable group indeed, with battle field to their south littered with enemy corpses. On the birds return pass he spotted the one he had felt from afar, their leader it seemed.

That night after his pets return, Raven decided he wanted a closer look, and prepared himself. He was sure there was no way he would penetrate their security on foot, not even in good health, so he decided to take a different approach. He silenced his mind, building up the intensity of his magic, sending his mind forth, far into the south. The first time he misjudged his location, and had appeared elsewhere, but after a second attempt, he arrived at their camp. He was standing in there midst then, surrounded by armored men and steeds. He walked among them looking things over, noteing that his presence was lost to them entirely. He saw the one the dark lord was interested in shorty after, sitting by a large fire. He approached her and sat down, and to his surprise, she could see him. He sat down across from her and stayed there for quite some time as she watched him. He sent his magic out to her, trying to get a feeling of what she was about, and learned that although she was interested enough to examine him, she was cautious and refused to give up anymore information. He kept a hold on her feelings while he changed his image repetitively, trying to find a form that she would trust. finally he settled on that of an unclad female, becoming the same sex and race as she to make her comfortable and showing no weapons so he was no longer seen as a threat. The woman seemed less bothered by his presence then and he tried to delve into her mind once more. She was too strong however, and all that Raven was able to determine was a name, Aeyliea... He could not speak with here in any way other than in the mind, and because she was to wise to let him in he trying to deceive in another way. He sent out a thought of importance and pointed in the direction of the desert and the mysterious location that lied within. She noticed, and looked to the north, a look of confusion on her face, wondering perhaps what he was trying to tell her. When her gaze returned to him, Raven was already gone.

Hopefully she would go there, Raven thought, and after he returned from the village in the hills, he would cross the desert and find them both. It was weak plan indeed and though he felt it would work, things had a way of changing the future in ways he could never guess. With a deep sigh, Raven stayed the night with his slave bird grounded, watching the moon rise to its peak as he thought to himself before falling asleep. tomorrow he would continue his travels west and hopefully reach the village there in time for healing before his body gave out...

The rising sun is an awesome sight, thought the bird with glee. It's multicolored rays and sheer Intensity so sublime, when viewed with his new gift.
It was happy.

It's new god had sent it away earlier this day in search of the one who's aura filled all of its senses, and made them stronger the closer it got to it. Flying high above the desert had been hot, but it did not get tired or thirsty. It no longer grew hungry or felt the need to sleep, since it met it's new friend. He could even see and smell things much further than he used to be able to, and they were wonderful. His knew companion was very generous.

Everything was better since he found him. He thought about the evening earlier when he was flying above the ground creatures and watching them. He remembered it very clearly and wondered why he had never been able to do so before. It seemed very strange to him, but he did not care. She was very near now.

The amulet around the bird's neck dangled slightly during it owners movement. It's slim silver chain leading down to encompass a solid black gemstone. It's material radiated magic, silently revealing to those inclined about its dark nature.