It had not been long before he was approached. A tall human, clad from head to toe in dark metal, blocked his path. Strong breastplates covered the man’s chest, and chain plate protected his legs and arms, whilst down the centre of the suit was a long, golden griffon sat loosely on a nest of bones. A well-made iron helmet was planted firmly on the human’s head, covering all the skin but his eyes and chin. The weak point, though, Mûriir noticed, lay at the neck. A swift slice or single bolt would kill the man in just one movement, but it would not come to that if the man were no enemy. Mûriir stared the town guard coolly in the eyes, his eyes flicking briefly to the longsword in his hands, taking each detail of this new figure into account. Mûriir was wary… like any mortal this man could be killed, but unnecessary trouble was not advisable on unfamiliar lands. The guard spoke in a cold monotone voice.

“Do you seek words with the High Officer of Lord Kralgar Bonesplitter, Lord of Griffon’s Nest, elf?”

Mûriir tilted his head slightly to the side, his eyes not straying from the guard’s; he did not take kindly to the condescending tone in this human’s voice. He knew to keep his tongue though, idle threats would only bring bloodshed, and he could do without a face-to-face with this guard at the moment. A forced smile crept across his lips and he nodded politely to the guard.

“Yes, I am. Perhaps you would be so kind as to direct me to his lordship?”

The guard examined the moon elf, and nodded slightly. He didn’t need much persuasion to do as he was asked; the lord welcomed ‘adventurers’ to his town. Ever in want of advice on combat, Kralgar Bonesnapper wanted more than anything to be lord of a large, fortified city. Until his dreams could be achieved, he was content to lord over Griffon’s Nest. His High Officer, Igischan, was currently in charge of the seeing to visitors; the Lord himself was too busy working on plans against Everlund to waste his time with ‘adventurers.’

Mûriir was lead to the house of Officer Igischan; marched through the town in silence by the guard, as many curious eyes watched him pass. A moon elf was not a common occurrence in this town, and was certainly a reason to drop daily chores to gawp and chatter between each other. The house of the High Officer was indeed a vast building, constructed with immense blocks of stone and ornamented with silver. ‘Quite a building for such a low human’ was the thought running through Mûriir’s mind as he stared up at the building from below, the guard moving on ahead to the doors; large double doors on solid wood. The guard knocked the door twice, and it swung open by the will of a second guard inside, dressed the same as the first. Mûriir watched from a distance, unable to resist smirking at the sight before his eyes. ‘How grand,’ the sarcastic thoughts washed over his mind as he watched on, allowing himself to step forward through the doors as he was now beckoned. The guard that had greeted him as he entered the town now muttered some words to his colleague, whom he left to see to the moon elf visitor. Mûriir followed his new guide through the tall halls of the High Officer’s house. Beautiful and flamboyant gold statuettes and intricate artistic canvases were commonplace in the residence of the High Officer. ‘Too much’ the elf thought as his eyes moved from one splendor to the next. He was unaccustomed to places like this; the lands north, his home, had been rough and savage, a land of harsh cruelties and a constant fight for survival. Such decoration was not of his taste.

Mûriir shrugged, averting his attention to the guard that led him through the house until they eventually entered a large hall. It was wider than it was long, but sturdy, stone pillars held the ceiling high above them, and the floor was of a polished marble. At the end of the hall sat a man at an oak desk, scribbling away at papers, adding signatures and tossing the sheets aside to move on to the next. Mûriir examined the man for the moment, observing the auburn hair that topped his head, the squinting, black eyes that stare in concentration at his paperwork before him, and the large form that sits beneath a flowing black robe, seamed with gold and tied to his neck with a thin cord. Mûriir was in no doubt that this man was the High Officer of Griffon’s Nest, and in this knowledge he approached him boldly. He knew that first impressions were important.

Upon hearing the moon elf’s approach, High Officer Igischan looked up from his papers. He raised a brow upon seeing Mûriir; the town was used to visitors, but elves were not common. Nonetheless, a faint smile flickered across his lips and he nodded a slight greeting to the visitor. Mûriir returned the nod with one of his own, welcoming Igischan to break the silence.

“Welcome to Griffon’s Nest, moon elf. You are new to this town, am I right to assume?”

Mûriir examined the dark slit eyes on the general before answering with a smile, hiding the curiosity to know what this meeting was all about that was burning inside him. He answered with an initial respect, something he had learnt to do since leaving home.

“I am. I was just passing through, the times out there are hard, lord. Civilization is welcomed.”

“Of course. You travel these lands alone?”

“I do, yes.”

The High Officer’s surprise was evident, dropping the quill from his hand to lie flat on one of his many papers. He leant back in his chair, sitting up straight to examine the moon elf before him for a moment.

“You must then be both brave and skillful, else a fool. This town welcomes particularly those of such a skill. Lord Kralgar wishes his men to be better trained at the art of killing if his aims are to be achieved, as you can surely appreciate. What is your name, moon elf?”

Mûriir was surprised as the way the Officer was reacting to him, though it was certainly a compliment to be viewed in such a way. He let a smile light up his pale face vaguely as he introduced himself.

“My name is Mûriir as it has been since birth, lord.”

“Hmm…” Igischan nodded slowly as he pondered thoughts to himself. “How do you survive out there, Mûriir?”

“I use the art of stealth, lord. Only the foolhardy rush into battle thoughtlessly. An unseen killer is a killer than avoids being killed, for you cannot put a blade into that which you cannot see.”

A sly smile crossed the Officer’s lips upon hearing this; this moon elf visitor may be just the man to bring some order and tactics to his troops… and a promotion to the High Officer himself. His thoughts to himself, Igischan nodded appreciatively to Mûriir, who stood as still as ever, only his eyes moving as he scanned his surroundings ever cautiously. The Officer spoke again.

“Your skills would be much appreciated to myself and the ranks, Mûriir. Perhaps we could arrange to meet later this night, and you could tell me some more about yourself? You will be welcome to stay in this town as long as you choose, should you accept the offer.”

Never one to be rushed, Mûriir allowed himself time to think. He had no intentions of settling in a town, in particular not one so close to his home further north. The moving life was the life for him, now. However, a few nights’ accommodation and food would be well received… and perhaps there would be a reward if he could indeed help the armies of Griffon’s Nest. His mind made up for now, Mûriir nodded slightly to the captain, a warm smile on his lips.

“Thank you, lord. Your offer is most gratefully accepted.”

Igischan smiled back at the moon elf, retrieving his quill from the desk and dusting off his paper.

“I am glad to hear it, Mûriir. I will arrange a time for us to meet tonight, and you will be found a room to spend the night.”

Without any further words, Igischan went back to signing his papers, trying to hide the satisfaction he felt at finally finding an adventurer with the potential to aid his cause. The past few adventurers to come to Griffon’s Nest had been Fighters; all they could offer to the military was their services, which meant little more than another soldier for the army. But this moon elf was different; he was no mercenary.

Mûriir watched Igischan sign his name on the paper, and then turned to the guard at the door who now beckoned him to follow. The elf did not hesitate, and was led through the intricate passages of Igischan’s house and out into the streets of Griffon’s Nest. It was as he was gaited along the cobbled streets, towards the visitor’s halls that his ever-attentive eyes noticed a familiar face; walking the path in the opposite direction was a moon elf. He looked similar to Mûriir in all the ways that made moon elves alike, though his hair was a darker gray, almost black. He wore dark brown, padded leather armor, much like Mûriir’s but a darker shade and without the studs. The armor was designed for flexibility, presumably for use with the longbow that was strapped to his back, and the fletch of arrows in his belt. Around his neck there were several chains and necklaces; most silver, but a gold one was noticeable amongst them, with a red-flecked gem of some sort attached to a gold disk at the end as a pendant.

Mûriir blinked to make sure he was not seeing things, but indeed he was not. Instantly he recognized the moon elf to be an old friend from his homelands; one of the few he had had. The moon elf also noticed Mûriir, standing behind his guard escort, and he in turn recognized his old acquaintance. A smile lit the faces of both elves, and they walked briskly towards each other. Mûriir spoke calmly, despite the relief of seeing a familiar face in these distant lands.

“What a pleasant surprise, Ne’riallr.”

Ne’riallr grinned slightly in return at the calm attitude of his friend, stepping up so the two were face to face, his dark eyes meeting the light gold ones of his old friend.

“And you have not changed a bit, Mûriir.”

“Of course. Surely you do not expect a journey to change me, my friend?”

Ne’riallr could not help but laugh, and he nodded with a slender smile.

“No, you’re right, as usual. What brings you here, have you finally wearied of your parent’s ways?”

Mûriir let a roguish twinkle in his eye answer his friend’s question before his words did the same.

“I have. We both knew it was a matter of time before they stepped the line, Neri. And now my father lays dead by his own blade.”

Ne’riallr did not miss Mûriir’s eyes glancing to the rapier that hung at his side, and he raised a brow, the only hint that gave away the surprise he experienced. He allowed a playful grin to hover on his lips as he remarked:

“You always had a temper on you, Mûriir. That part of your father lives on in you.”

Mûriir’s reply was blunt, the friendliness lost in his voice for a moment.

“I am not like my father.”

Ne’riallr was quick to cut in, realizing he had hit a nerve in his old friend. Seemingly some things were easily forgotten over time.

“I know you’re not, Mûriir. You are a better elf than him, I know it and you know it. I was just commenting on your temper, nothing more.”

His tone was reassuring, and he leant forward and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, as he did, the gold pendant dangled down in front of Mûriir, clashing into his armor absently, yet enough to draw the moon elf’s keen senses to it. Mûriir grabbed the pendant firmly between his fingers, examining the crimson of the gem as the light reflected off its multiple surfaces.

“What is this?”

Ne’riallr glanced down to his own pendant, now held in the hands of his friend, before looking up to meet his eyes.

“My grandfather gave it me when I left the camp. It has protective Elven magic to make its wearer more resistant against damage.” Ne’riallr paused as he caught Mûriir’s curious stare, fixed on the small pendant in his hands. “You just press the gem in the center in, and give it a turn… that activates the magic. It doesn’t last very long though; I’m saving for an emergency. Who knows when I might get jumped by a fog giant, eh?”

Ne’riallr let out a soft chuckle, which Mûriir hastily echoed, his eyes not straying from the curious magical pendant hung around his friend’s neck.

“That’s quite a gift.” he said softly, to which Ne’riallr nodded and smiled proudly, looking down to the pendant still held in Mûriir’s grip. The moon elf was stroking his fingers along the gem, but catching Ne’riallr’s glance he let go of the pendant and it swung back to rest as his friend’s neck where it belonged. ‘That would be a useful item’ he thought to himself quietly. ‘He is a lucky elf to possess such a thing.’

Suddenly he clenched his eyes together as he began to hear something; something deep in the back of his mind. A sound that was nothing more than a faint murmur, a whispering, echoed around his head. Ne’riallr watched in a curious surprise as his friend put his hands to his closed eyes, moaning softly under his breath. He did not hear the whispers that Mûriir could hear now; growing louder and louder in his subconscious.

As suddenly as they had started, the stopped.

Mûriir opened his eyes, breathing in heavily through his nose, and he caught his friend’s inquisitive gaze as he spoke.

“Are you alright, Mûriir?”

“Yes… yes, just a bit tired. The journey has been an exhausting one.” Mûriir lied. He didn’t want his old companion to think he had gone mad during the time they had been apart.

“You should get to your room then, my friend. We can meet again tomorrow, I am staying in Griffon’s Nest for a while also.”

“Yes, this time it is you who is right, Neri.” He flashed him a smile. “I will find you again on the ‘morrow.”

Ne’riallr nodded, said his farewell, and the two parted their separate ways. Mûriir made his way back to the guard that was meant to be escorting him; he had waited patiently for the moon elf; it suited him better than returning to his post outside the Officer’s halls. Before long, Mûriir was sat in his room. A fine room it was, almost certainly a V.I.P guest lodge. He had time before trancing to think on the day’s events; he had gone from traveling the cold vastness of the north to being in a guest room in a small military town. And the following day he would be giving military advice to the High Officer for a good sum of riches; and meeting again with a long-lost friend. Things were happening.

That night Mûriir did not trance well; it had been the same way for the past few weeks. His dreams were haunted by dark, overwhelming shadows, vast lands of black and white and the visions of all the faces of his past, though warped into beings of undead, decaying and rotting, their flesh hanging from their bones, each one wanting his blood; again, all in black and white. He could not shake off these images, or that of a colorless mirror image of himself, staring at him with deep black eyes, calculating and cold, which did nothing but watch him intently, muttering a single word over and over. “Di’thang.” It meant slave in his home tongue, Elven. “Slave,” repeated over and over. And then the mirror image turned into a shadow that rose above him, an empty form of darkness, and washed over him, jerking him violently from his trance, and bringing him back to the cold reality of the real world.