Ascher waited patiently, silently. He heard the rustle again and knew where his quarry was. He could smell it when the wind shifted, the dry, dusty scent of wrongness--of death. A twig snapped and his grip on the spear tightened. Another step, maybe two. Then it would be in the clearing. He heard the footfalls, spun around the oak tree, and launched his agapite spear through the night. The leaf-shaped blade, a foot and a half of razor-sharp steel mixed with the reddish ore and covered with ancient runes, slid through the back of the Dark Elf's head, pinning the creature to the fir tree across from it. The beast twitched twice, then was still. Ascher strode over and pulled his spear from the tree roughly and the corpse of the creature fell to the ground. The stink of wrongness still wafted up from the twisted, bluish-gray corpse. Some deep, dark power had taken a creature normally beautiful, powerful, and majestic and tainted it somehow. The corruption coming off the body was so thick it made him want to wretch. There was another snap of a twig behind him, and Ascher spun, spear low and ready. "Easy, Watchman. I just wanted to see what the fuss was about." The Gypsy said, small silver bells making tinkling noises in his long red braids as he shook his head. "That an Elf there? Not like any I've seen, and I seen a few. Oh, it was way back in another life, but they were there. Tall, thin, silver haired most of them. Save the ones with black hair. Thems was the ones you always had to watch for too. Tricksy they are, elves, but never evil. And drive a harder bargain than a three-day sober horse trader." "Dorian, what are you doing out in the village at this hour? You know it's not safe lately." There was a note of defeat in Ascher's voice and his shoulders slumped as if saddled with a heavy load. "You're not losing faith, are ye Watchman? A dark night that would be, a dark night indeed." "There are ripples of darkness spreading through this world," Ascher said, his eyes seemingly far away. "I've seen it before. Waves of darkness, each higher and deeper than the last, until finally the Armies marched. Dread Lords at the front, driving all manner of creatures of evil. But even then there were no Dark Elves about. Something wicked is moving in the world, and try as we might we're losing ground to it. It's not enough, us standing alone against a rising tide of darkness. We need more. We need help." Dorian gave a small shrug. "I'm doing what I can, mate. I've reached out to the Lord of Shadowcove, and he's willing to talk... just not to you. Wouldn't tell me why, but had the feeling it went back some time. There are others I've reached out to, but no word yet. I wish the old Wizard was around again. He always knew what to do times like these." Ascher bent and wiped the thick, acrid blood from the blade of his spear on the robe of the fallen Dark Elf. "Whatever you do, do it fast. The ripples of Darkness are spreading, and I don't know how to stop them. And I fear if those of us willing to stand, willing to resist, don't stand together....when the Armies of Darkness march there will be nothing... no one.... to stop them." Ascher whistled and when his faithful gray stallion Stepper came trotting up, he swung into the saddle before the horse had slowed. "Where are you off to now, Watchman?" Dorian asked, stroking his long, oiled beard. "To keep the watch," Ascher said, pointing with his spear to the corpse of the Dark Elf. "Someone has to." Dorian watched as Ascher rode into the darkness, the sound of his horses hooves fading fast through the trees of the Spirit Wood. "He's right, you know. We're losing ground every day and the Darkness is spreading. We can't win this war alone." Zeddar, Lord of the Vale, stepped from behind the towering Elm tree where he'd been standing silently. "I know it's spreading. I've felt it too, just like you have. Just like he has." "What is it between you two? Some old feud? A blood debt?" Zeddar shook his head. "That's for me, and him. Not you." He turned and conjured his mount for the ether and swung onto its ghostly back. "And you're wrong," Zeddar called over his shoulder as he rode away in the opposite direction of Ascher, his mount blending with the moon shadow disturbingly. "You're not alone. You never were."
