The mists parted as a shadowy form appeared, footsteps muffled by the fog. It paused at the edge of the circle of light cast by the streetlamps. Eyes searched the shadows, as hesitantly it entered the light. Long silver hair gleamed in reflection of the lamps. A hooded cloak hid all else. A slim hand reached out from the folds to draw the hood closer; tucking in the strands of silver that had escaped its cover.
Swiftly the figure wheeled as a sound came from behind. Turning back, the figure hurried to reach the shadows on the other side. Yet the hesitation was costly as the sounds found an echo from in front.
Drawing back the figure took a stance in the center of the light. All around forms took shape at the edge of the shadows. Hands lifted and drew back the cloak's hood, revealing the form within. The sliver hair, the pointed ears and arched brows proclaimed a full-blood elf. The luminescent skin and delicate features proclaimed a female.
Her hands moved swiftly to the many pouches around her waist. Pulling herbs from first one, then another, she quickly mixed them. Uttering words in whispers, she spread the mix over the circle of light and withdrew again to the center. She whispered a chant as she made gestures. All around her the herbs began to glow.
The shadowed forms drew back muttering and cursing. Swiftly she was encircled, though the forms never left the shadows. Her eyes darted here and there seeking a way out. She knew that her spell would not hold long. She only hoped it would be long enough. There was but two hours til daybreak. They could not pursue her then and she was so close to her goal. She waited, drawing in her power, conserving it for the battle to come.
Yet nothing happened. The shadowed forms circled and muttered but none attempted to cross the line into the light. They but waited and watched. She knew this meant their master was close. She could sense him coming closer. His tainted power sickened her. Her head whipped around as she heard him speak.
"Well, well, what have we here?" The creatures parted before a taller form. She shuddered as he stepped to the edge of the light. Hair coal black, ears pointed, brows thin but not arched, all signs of Elvin blood. But the dark skin and long fanged teeth spoke of firbolg blood as well.
Yet his would have been a handsome face if not for the scar traveling from his forehead, down the bridge of his nose and across his cheek. A scar given him by she who bore him as he was birthed. His eyes shown a blazing white and his lip curled in contempt.
"Well, my servants have captured a beauty this time indeed. I must remember to reward them later."
"Be gone, Rystan. You know you cannot hold me. And when the elders find you have interfered with the call, they will hunt you down and end you once and for all."
Rystan flinched as she named him and hissed out her name, "Lythse."
"To late, Rystan. First naming is mine." She sneered.
Rystan withed in anger then as suddenly his face cleared and he smiled. "Indeed, first naming is yours. However, it matters not. As for interfering, why, I'm here to help."
He snapped his fingers and from further back, two forms moved forward dragging a third. As they stepped to the edge of the light she could see them more clearly. They stood but a bare five-foot in height. Coal black hair, eyes black as onyx, skin dark as soot. Full fangs drew their lips back in a permanent sneer. Their clawed hands and wide-splayed feet proclaimed full-blood firbolg. Dangling from their clawed hands, they drug a third. Height was hard to guess as he was pulled closer to the light. Head hanging limply, all that could be seen was the long brown hair and broad shoulders. What she could see of him was ragged and bruised, evidence of the struggle he had made.
Lythse tensed and then forced herself to relax. She could sense without being told that this was the one the call had been leading her to. The pull on her mental barriers was very strong. Yet she dared not reach out to him. She knew that Rystan was waiting for that moment. If she tried, he would seize control of her mind in an instant and force a bonding with her.
This is what happened to she who bore him. His firbolg father had caught her off guard when she had answered the calls years past. Though bonded to him, still she had sought to prevent the birth of the halfling, marking him but dieing in the attempt.
"So, that is what I'm called to," She sneered, "Pathetic thing." Rystan looked shocked for a moment, the firbolg around him muttering as the shifted. The two holding the human loosened their grip and stared at Rystan. This was not going as he had promised them. Unease circled amongst them.
"Pay no attention to her," He called out, "She but tries to mislead us. Make us drop our guard." He turned back to Lythse. "Good try. Almost believable. But you and I both know that the call is pulling you to him."
"Aye," She spat out, "It pulls me, but none have asked if I'm willing to be pulled. Let another fulfill the prophecy. I have no desire to bond with a human. Indeed you have saved me much trouble. No longer do I have to worry over how I can dispose of him without the elders condemning me. Even if I have to do it myself there is enough firbolg stench on him for me to lay it at your bidding. And who do you think they will believe you or me?" She asked with an evil smile.
