Two Days Earlier...
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Five men sat around a small fire, warming their freezing hands. Each had a cloak wrapped tightly around their shoulders, but it did little to stop the chill of the night from seeping into their bones.

"We're running out of food." Said one of the them.

"The horses are tired, the game is scarce. We're going to starve."

The leader of the small group stood, walking to where the party's bags were sitting against the stone wall.

He rummaged around in his, finding only a few strips of dried meat left. Their water was running low, and they needed to find game.

But he didn't need to eat nearly as often as the humans he kept company with. He could survive.

"Take this," he said, tossing the last of his provisions to the man.

"Split it among yourselves."

"Thank you." Said the man, handing two strips of meat to the other three.

"Ryker," he said, addressing the man he had been speaking to.

The old warrior raised his head, his grey eyes locking with his.

"I need you and Sylas to see what you can catch. Stay close, and don't get lost."

He nodded, walking over to him. Sylas followed, both men slinging their quivers over their shoulders and taking their bows.

When they were gone he was left with Callum and Nix, the oldest and youngest of the group. Callum had been a farmer's boy before his village caught fire and burned. Nix was a warrior like Ryker, hailing from the Northern Kingdoms.

"You don't have to do this," said Nix, coming over to where he was preparing his bags.

"I do if these Kingdoms ever want to be free of their rein."

"Ninthalor," he said, his voice pleading with him to stay.

"No," he said, standing.

He stood about a foot and a half taller than the knight, and was the oldest out of all of them. He looked young however, as he aged like an elf.

"I have to kill them Nix. It is the only way to stop them. If their agents are dispatched their source of information is cut off."

"It will be dangerous. If they catch you they'll kill you."

"That's why I won't get caught."

"Your our only hope." Nix said.

"You are the last Elerian."

"I know," Ninthalor said, tired of being reminded over and over again, "that is why this task falls to me."

They treated him like a child, ridiculing him, reminding him. He was two hundred years old, had fought beside the other four Elerians, he had defeated the evil that had plagued the land two centuries ago.

He didn't need to be reminded of what the Devines did to his brothers and sisters. He looked up as Sylas and Ryker came back into the cave, a rabbit dangling from Sylas's hand.

"We managed to find something."

"Good," said Ninthalor.

"Rest and eat. After I am gone and you have rested go to Riverguard. There you will find others within the Brotherhood. They will lead you to the base we have created in The Ridges."

"And what will you be doing?" Asked Ryker.

The older man had a short unkempt grey beard that matched his eyes. He rarely ever smiled, his face akin to chiseled stone.

The battles he had fought shown in the lines tracing his face. Nix was much the same, stone faced and never smiling. The two knights had seen far too much bloodshed, far too much suffering.

Callum and Nix were the youngest, Nix was twenty five years of age and Callum only nineteen. They could both fight, hunt and survive in the wild. They were also aware that something wasn't right, unlike the citizens of the Kingdoms.

"When are you leaving?" Asked Callum as Ryker skinned the rabbit with his dagger.

"Now," said Ninthalor.

"You will leave at first light."

The Elerian turned to leave, but Sylas caught his arm.

He turned to him, his navy blue eyes boring deep into the younger man's brown ones.

"Stay safe," he said.

"I'll try."

With those parting words Ninthalor walked up to the cave's entrance. He took a deep breath, listening to the rain that had begun to fall, to the soft whinnying of the horses.

He walked up to his stallion, Dawnfyre, and packed his saddle bags with what little food and clothing he had. Ninthalor then slung his bag over his shoulder, untied his horse and mounted him.

He took the stallion's reigns in his hands and wheeled him around, his hooves splashing in the mud.

"Wait!" Cried a voice.

Ninthalor turned to look behind him and saw Callum. The nineteen year old came up to him, putting a hand on Dawnfyer's flank.

"Please don't go," he said.

"We need you."

Ninthalor smiled sadly.

"If I didn't have to leave I wouldn't, but in order to protect you and those around you I have to."

Callum hesitated, suddenly seeming shy.

"Then can you give me your Blessing?" He asked, his voice soft.

The young man was asking a lot of him. A Blessing was magical protection placed on a certain individual, a loved one or friend. A Mage had the option to bestow a Blessing on anyone they chose, but they could only Bless one person. They Blessing protected the individual from forms of harmful magic such as curses and mind manipulation.

The Elerian considered this decision carefully, looking into Callum's eyes. Ninthalor had been with Callum for five months now, had ridden through storms, been chased by guards and explored with him by his side. He had known him for far longer than that, practically since he was born.

He was a loyal friend and was there when Ninthalor needed him, eager to work. He had lost everything at a young age, but had pulled through and come out the other side stronger than he was before.

The Elerian turned Dawnfyre around and dismounted, walking up to Callum. He raised a hand, placing his thumb on the middle of his forehead.

"Äya iyon frënya en étoiles cirça sodre, en iyon vendaväl esse tua detra."

There was a faint aqua glow and when Ninthalor removed his finger a small, intricate Rune adorned Callum's forehead. It shined bright, then vanished, invisible protection.

"You are now Blessed and protected by Ninthalor, the last Elerian."

"Thank you," he said, embracing Ninthalor in a tight hug.

The Elerian, taken by surprise, didn't immediately hug back. After a second he smiled, wrapping Callum in a tight embrace.

"Come back." Callum said.

"I will," Ninthalor answered as he mounted Dawnfyre, finally ready to leave.

"Until we meet again."

Callahan nodded and Ninthalor spurred the stallion forward as lightning split the sky, riding into the night. The wind in his ears and the pounding of Dawnfyer's hooves were the only sounds that greeted him. Rain hit his skin like tiny needles, the wind whipping his cloak out behind him.

He quickly Etched a series of Runes in the air, creating a small invisible barrier around his eyes to keep the rain from blinding him.

He needed to get to Illandre, but first he needed stop at at a small village outside the Kingdom. It was along the Whispering River and had one of many inns and taverns where he could get something to eat.

The journey there was cold and wet, by the time he got there his cloak was soaked and he was chilled to the bone.

He slowed Dawnfyre to a walk as he entered the little village. The residents gave him wary looks, shying away from the midnight black stallion and his cloaked rider.

He dismounted outside the stable, his boots splashing in the mud. The stable boy approached him cautiously, glancing at his armor. Ninthalor extended Dawnfyre's reins to the young man.

"Feed him and water him, that's all I ask." He requested.

"He has travelled a long way."

The boy nodded, gazing in wonder at the black stallion. Ninthalor smiled as he watched the boy lead his horse to a stall.

It was clear to him that the young dark haired boy had never seen a Zeallian Stallion before. They were rare, powerful horses bred in Zeallae, one of the Western Elven Kingdoms.

Ninthalor left Dawnfyre to the care of the young man and walked towards the tavern, trying to stay out of the deepest puddles. When he entered the tavern he was met with the noise of drunken men and the clink of glasses.

Two men were having an arm wrestle in the corner while several others were arguing about one political view or another.

Drunken voices rose as the chorus of 'A Tankard of Ale' was belted by several men in the corner. It had been a long time since Ninthalor had heard any of the traditional drinking songs but it had been even longer since he had participated.

Ninthalor spotted an empty table in the far corner of the room and walked over to it, trailing water behind him as he did so.

"Hey you!" Yelled a voice from somewhere behind him.

"You can't just come in ere' trackin' mud into my tavern!" Yelled the voice.

Ninthalor ignored the man, sitting at the table. He watched as the squat man came waddling up to him, huffing, his round face shining and red.

"I'm goin' to make ya clean this mess up." He said, fixing his beady eyes on him.

Ninthalor smiled wryly, removing his cloak. He saw the man's eyes widen when he saw his armor. It was black with sea green runes Etched into the Elven metal, marking him as a Mage.

"I only want food and drink, I seek no trouble."

"Of course of course," rambled the man.

"What would you desire?"

"Ale and a meat pie." Answered Ninthalor.

He reached into a small bag he had on his hip and withdrew several Silver Moons, handing them over to the man.

"For your trouble."

He thanked him and waddled off to get Ninthalor what he had asked for. While he waited the Elerian watched the room, trying not to fall asleep. The past few nights had been sleepless ones. They had traveled far, hoping to reach this point before the storms came and the trails became impassable.

The man came back about ten minutes later with his food and drink in hand. He set them on the table, muttering to himself about trying to get the mud off the wooden floor.

While he ate Ninthalor took out an image. It was a sketch of one of the Advisers within Illandre, one who stuck close to the King. He was his first target.

He drummed his fingers on the table, thinking about how he would get into the castle unnoticed. By the time he had finished eating he had a fully formed plan. Ninthalor put his cloak on and walked back out into the rain.

When he got to the stables the boy was waiting, and he thanked him and gave him seven Silver Moons for his help.

The boy's eyes lit up and he thanked Ninthalor, running off to, he guessed, show his family his new treasure. Dawnfyre was waiting for him, and he swung up into saddle, turning him around.

The Elerian rode towards Illandre, spurring Dawnfyre into a gallop. Villagers stumbled to the side as he barreled through, heading out to accomplish the first part of a grim mission.

Ninthalor took a deep breath, preparing himself for what lay ahead.