A Detour in the Night

The dripping, irritated drow sits on the rickety wooden chair, lazily
scratching one bare foot with the other. He sighed contentedly--it feels so
good to have the heavy rubber boots off, if but for a few minutes. He pulls
the heavy cowl back, revealing wavy blonde locks streaked with blue and orange
dye, and smiled warmly as he handed the ancient woman across the table a few
pieces of gold. Flashing a gap-toothed grin, she sniffs the coins-presumably
to detect their authenticity-and then slips them into a fold in her billowing,
multi-colored garment. She wrings her long, bony fingers, the gold bangles on
her wrists clanging as she cracks her knuckles, then shuffles the Tarot deck
in front of her. She lays the cards out, and then draws one: the nearly-ragged
card has a picture of a Sun on it, and reads 'Wakefulness is the path to
life.'

"Now, my young friend, let me tell you what this means," she begins, her voice
slow, measured, and confident. "The central source of life... the sun for the
material world... consciousness for the inner world. The flight into the
source may be guided by entities in the flesh or out, living masters or
channeled, or accomplished alone by one's own strength and connectedness to
one's higher self, which is always ready and available. To tourists and
onlookers, however mighty they may look in this world, only drops fall from
the source of life. Their artificial light, represented by a candle, is almost
diminished by the One Light."

He nods agreeably, only half paying attention as the old gypsy attempts to
enlighten him. He did, after all, only end up here by chance. His weekly
stroll to the seedier part of town had gone much more quickly tonight, due to
the heavy scourge of rain beating down, causing him to practically run through
the dimly lit northeastern streets of the City of Bats. He was still about a
block from his destination when the skies broke into an especially fierce
display of lightning strikes. The ominous feel of the charged air crackling
around him encouraged him to quickly duck into the nearest door, practically a
shack, on Tin Street between Brick and Boulder.

He chuckled as he realized it was the den of a fortune teller! He was
civilized, after all. He grew up in Dragon's Leap, a fine and cultured city
near the metropolis of the Keep of Shadows. He was a student of the musical
arts. Sure, he dabbled in magic
but the insignia on his shimmering robe easily identified his interests in the
scientific and provable magics that civilized folk used-not the hocus-pocus of
some crazy old woman. Still, he wouldn't mind resting his feet for a moment.

As he pulled open his cloak, the hag's eyes lit up. "You are a merry
music-maker! A creator of divine sound! Ahh... my first and true love was one
of your ilk," she cooed at the mysterious drow. Then carefully eyeing the
curved ANKH hanging from his neck, she lowers her voice, "And a Loremaster at
that, why I am truly honored. A discount for you, gentle Bard!"



A Prophecy, Nearly Too Late

The old gypsy finishes her narrative on the Sun card, her bracelets clanging
as her hands add a flourish to her explanation. "So your theme today will be
Connection with the source, self-recognition. Now contemplate these words: Who
am I? Say to yourself..." The woman drifts off for a moment, then her eyes
open wide in terror and she gasps, suddenly losing the little color she had in
her face. "Nooo... it can't be..."

"What? Are you okay, madam?" he asks, raising a curious eyebrow. "What's
wrong?"

"I... I... you must... we are..." The old hag's eyes widen with terror, their
pale blue irises reflecting the flicker of candles in the dim room. An icy
chill penetrates the room, causing frost to form on the cheap wallpaper. The
young Loremaster feels a strange sensation, like some foul beast breathing on
him, but his acute senses tell him this is no corporeal presence. His body
tenses as the adrenaline pumps, preparing his body for fight or flight. In an
instant, all the candles in the room blow out, and a low, steady groan fills
the room. This is not an animal sound, nor is it a mechanical sound-it is as
if the very earth itself were groaning. A deep, haunting rumble of utter agony
chills the young drow to the bone.

The gypsy speaks again, her voice lowered to a whisper. "We are in grave
danger, gentle Bard... grave danger indeed."

"What is happening, woman?!? Is this some kind of trick to get me to pay
more?" He has encountered numerous scam artists in his years, and even as he
asks the old gypsy, he knows that she is not. It gives him a tiny twinge of
comfort to ask, nonetheless.

The wind outside the small building screams in the night, a banshee-like
sound that causes the hair on his neck to stand up. CRAAAACCCCKKKKK! A bolt of
lightning is heard not too far away, and the rain beats against the roof even
more intently.

The woman's bony fingers rifle through her pocket, pushing aside coins, a
charm, and a few pieces of lint, until she has found the tiny cylinder of
wooden matchsticks, then proceeds to light the candle in front of her. She
begins to speak again. "The danger is very near... and I fear it is
unavoidable."

"What do you mean? Is there a monster outside? Are shapeshifters near? Is
there a meteor storm coming?" Something about the tone of her voice, and the
look in her eyes, terrifies him.

"No, no... the danger is not to us. The danger is to the world." She squints
her eyes and focuses intently on her thoughts. "My vision is of the world
being... devoured... being ripped... ripped apart... many lives lost... many
thousands of lives already lost... it is... it is happening... it is..."

"What is happening? People are dying now?"

"The world... the world is... dying..."




Possible Salvation

Another massive groan causes the room to rumble and the candles are
extinguished again. The drow's eyes sharpen, normally easily able to see in
the dark, but he is extremely disturbed as the growing darkness even
overwhelms his innate abilities. "Dying? But, what can we do? Are we all
doomed?"

The woman continues, "Great danger... you must go... help others... help them
to the Keep of Shadows... help them to safety... danger... danger..." her
voice trails into nothing. The whole building seems to shudder and expand,
then contracts suddenly. The boarded over windows seem to shatter, but no
light enters, only rain.

"Get everybody to the Keep of Shadows, will we be safe there?" No response
from the gypsy, though he hears a staggered breathing, and quiet gasps.
Suddenly, a gurgle from her direction, then nothing but silence in the room,
contrasting the thud thud thud of the heavy downpour outside.

"Madam, are you okay? Are you still here?" The drow strains, but can see
nothing. He fiddles with a ring on his finger, but not even the magical light
contained therein helps his vision. A terror fills him, and he tries to stand,
but in his panic the chair he is on trips him and he falls to the ground.

Just as suddenly, all the candles in the room are burning again, and his eyes
are pained at the sudden brightness. When his vision clears, he sees the woman
slumped in her chair, blood spurting from the wound in her neck, the large
shard of glass still lodged in her flesh.

Panic! The drow jumps to his feet and throws the door open, running out into
the night. Immediately he is drenched, splashing himself even more as he runs
barefoot through the cobblestone streets. Underneath the steady rain he can
hear the low grumbling continuing. It seems the entire city is growing and
shrinking at the same time. He feels a terrible energy all around himself.
Windows shatter in other buildings. The water seems to be getting deeper and
deeper, now it is past his ankles.

The earth suddenly heaves massively, and he is thrown from his feet into the
muddy water. He feels rumbling and sees a peak starting to rise outside the
city walls. It is as if a volcano is being born right by him, as the water
continues to deepen. What is going on? An explosive sound is heard as the
water continues to drown the city.

The bard begins to sing, "Fo fu fe fum, Lord of the Winds, I know Thy ways, I
know Thy names, I know Thy rest. Fo fu fe fum, show me paths or slay me now.
Fo fe fi fum." He feels himself lifted on the winds and starts to drift away
toward his home in Dragon's Leap, wanting to warn its residents and usher them
to safety. Something is wrong with the threads of music and magic though, and
he finds himself thrown off course.




Another Detour

He quickly realizes he is in Lorenchia, and is filled with terror when he sees
parts of the city collapsing into the see. The erosion has been going on for
some time, but this continual rain along with the intense energy in the earth
seems to be causing the city to crumble. He quickly rubs wax in your feet and
chants "Jeeeeeeeeeeeesuuuuuuuus". He starts to walk on the water, trying to
determine what is going on. Hundreds are running and swimming and crying out
in the devastation.

"Go to the Keep of Shadows! There is safety there!" he shouts out. "The world
as we know it is dying! Go to the Keep!" He cast spells at others, helping
them to rise above the drowning power of the waters, but still, so many are
drowning.

Some run, some swim, some climb onto makeshift rafts and dinghys. All hope to
escape death as the city continues to go under water. He has thoughts of
Atlantis-will Lorenchia be next? The rain only gets heavier, and the groaning
of the earth continues. He sees a family of gnomes struggling to stay afloat
on a board, so he hops on both legs, flaps his arms and chants
"buuuummbzdiiiiiibummm". Hopefully, he has cannoned the family to safety, but
he is not certain with the disturbances in the weave of magic, time, music and
space tonight.

After helping a few dozen with music and magic, he is feeling drained. "Must
get... out of here."

Again, he sings the song of the Pathfinder. Luck smiles on him as the winds
take him off just as the enchantment on his feet gives way and he starts to
plunge into the icy waters below.




Safe at Last?

He arrives in the Conservatorium, home to his beloved Guild of Bards. He hears
noise, and is relieved to see hundreds of people, huddling and shivering,
gathering in the Amphitheatre. Bards are singing songs to heal their wounds,
feed their appetites, and raise their spirits.

He ducks back behind the curtain and runs down the corridor to the
Loremaster's Lounge. He is relieved to see his brothers and sisters in the art
gathered together.

"Brother Szilard! Good to see you made it!" Typhos greets him.

"What is happening here! I met this crazy gypsy tonight, but she seems to have
known the truth. Is the world really dying?"

The wise elf Daria responds, "We have all had mysterious encounters, visions
or dreams. It seems something catastrophic is indeed happening."

The group banters for a moment, all sharing their tales and terrors.

"Where is Amarth?" asks Szilard. "Maybe he can help us!"

"He is gone missing from his tower, we don't know right now," says Puhuri.

Even in the noise of the masses inside the Conservatorium, the drow can hear
the pounding rain outside. And that groaning noise continues to build. The
hallowed guild hall starts to shake and tremble, and a great shrieking noise,
the cry of nature and earth is heard. Everyone is jarred as they feel like the
building starts to rise.

The gathered Loremasters head down the corridor and climb a ladder, exiting
through a manhole covers into the streets of ShadowKeep. The rain seems to be
less severe, but the trembling, groaning and shrieking continues. The cadre
heads out to the west gate, where the dutiful guards stand, jaws dropped in
wonder.

"Sirs! The Keep is rising... it seems as if all the land around us is being
torn from the earth!" the stunned protector reports.

Quiet until now, the eternal Master Bard, Qurp Blitzkrieg, quiets the group.
"Listen, my companions. Do you hear that? It is the sound of dying... yes, it
is. But perhaps it is also the sound of birth."

END