Demetrius Wyverneye sat in the back of the darkest corner of the Shining Lantern Inn, mulling over his lambsbread and mead. He built and razed dozens of different formations from the potatoes and gobbets of meat in his bowl, each more intricate then the last. He was sure that the meal would have been one of the best he had had in weeks if he had been paying attention, but his mind was elsewhere.
In the two moonsdances since he left Hillville Junction he had seen more evil than in the previous thirty years combined, and each day now seemed to be bringing new levels of evil previously unknown. The plague of illness and death that had taken so many in Hillville Junction was only the beginning, he had found the same thing in so many of the towns and cities across the Realms and those lands in between.
He left home with no knowledge of how many people just like him he would encounter in his travels. People who had lost a loved one to the plagues without really understanding how broad the scope of the loss truly was. He had held his father in his arms as he breathed his last, and at that moment it was impossible to imagine that another life could be more precious than the one he watched slipping away.
"The evil goddess returns, Demetrius," the elder Wyverneye strained against his dying breaths. "An unbelieveable evil. I fear that none may stop it. But some must try." And try he would. But how? Where does one begin to look for the source of something so big? Armed only with his father's armor and greatsword and the same martial training he had imparted to tens of dozens who had entered the Wyverneye School, Demetrius set out to find a way to help.
Battle City seemed like the logical place to begin; the largest city within a week's ride of Byr would certainly attract those seeking to do the most damage as well as those seeking to do the most good, he thought. He was half right. His arrival in Battle City coincided with the first of the plagues to strike the city, and within days there were bodies lining the streets while hospitals, temples and sanitariums turned away droves more of the sick and dying.
The scene repeated itself in a handful of other towns and small cities he travelled to as he made his way south and west, with tales of similar settings in another ten to fifteen. Wyverneye had found some similarities in some of the cases, either by first hand information or by anecdotal record. But there was nothing substantial enough to piece together. Festivals, harvest celebrations, anything that brought people out and allowed strangers in without too cautious an eye being cast their way seemed to be a common point. But that was the extent of what he knew, so he continued to follow the trail.
News of a festival in Relfren had brought him to this region through the aptly-named Bandit Pass, and he had stopped here in Floxen for a night's rest before heading into town at the first light of morning.
Wyverneye began again to rearrange the morsels of food in front of him once more when the young tablemaid approached. "Is everything okay, sir? You've hardly touched it..." she motioned to the still full bowl. "Mother made it fresh this morning, I'm sure..."
"No, it's fine," he said with an apologetic smile, "it's better than fine really, it's delicious... I'm just preocc-" He stopped short as a brief shouting from behind the bar startled everyone in the quiet room.
"No, no, no! Not in here, not in here !!" shouted the barman. "We've nothing against you. But please, we're trying to run a family business here. Please, please, around back to the private quarters... You'll be served there."
The room returned to quiet as quickly as it had been disturbed as every one of the patrons broke into a whisper. "Oh, my," the tablemaid said with a start, "I'd heard talk that there was a half-ogre about, but I hadn't actually seen him yet."
As many things as Demetrius had seen in the time since he left HIllville Junction, he was still taken aback by something every now and then. The quickest flash of a huge creature retreating from the doorway at the sound of the yelling barman was enough to take his breath away for a moment. "A half-ogre?" he said in stunned disbelief, "and you'll serve him here?"
"He's been about for a few days apparently," the tablemaid explained "some of the sisters at the Temple of Flor have spoken for his civility, so he's okay. Just makes the place look a little rough if you know what I mean."
"Do you often ge..." Again Demetrius broke off, this time as he watched the huge creature's two companions enter the room and begin conversing with the barman.
The two could not have been more opposite each other in appearance, and it almost looked as though they had been paired together as part of some sort of comic irony. One was tall and extremely dark skinned, with a clean-shaven pate that appeared to have been recently bandaged. The other was much shorter, of elven stock it appeared, with milky white skin and equally white long, flowing hair. The elven one turned to survey the room and his blood red eyes caught Demetrius' attention immediately, stopping him in mid sentence.
He was taken back, he was unsure how many years ago exactly, to the strange man standing in his father's office. It was him, it had to be. Demetrius had been afraid of him then, a young boy hiding behind the door as the elf spoke in calm tones to his father. He was very friendly, and his father had seemed greatly happy to see his old friend, but still Demetrius cowered at the sight of him. The image of the white skin and long white hair were without significant detail, but the eyes had been burned into his memory forever. These had to be those very same eyes.
He rose from the table and excused himself to the tablemaid without taking his eyes off of the elf. As he approached, the tall, dark man caught his gaze first and stepped toward him. Demetrius realized that his apporach left a lot to be desired in terms of social graces, and momentarily considered himself lucky that he was not in the sort of establishment where people pulled daggers first and asked questions later.
"Can we help you, sir?" the man asked with a vaguely sinister smile, looking down toward his belt where he revealed a partially unsheathed dagger.
"Oh, oh, no, I'm sorry" Demetrius stammered as he pulled his gaze away from the elf, backing away as he tried to continue, "I mean no harm, I just... I..." He didn't know exactly how to explain, and instantly felt foolish for putting himself in this position.
By this time, the elf had caught sight of the exchange and stepped toward his companion quickly. "Huzair, what's the problem?" he sighed and rolled his eyes. "Why do we have to end up in a mess everywhere we go?"
"Fine, I'll let the crazed-looking whackjob attack you next time" he retorted quickly as his smile disappeared, eyes never leaving Demetrius'. "You're welcome, by the way."
Demetrius was somewhat embarrassed at being the "crazed-looking whackjob", but tried to explain as quickly as possible, which only seemed to make matters worse. "I was afraid of you then, but now I just want to... my father...
"You were afraid of him?" Huzair's raspy chuckle interrupted, "I can't possibly imagine why!?!?"
"You'll excuse us, Huzair. Would you go check on Feln" the elf motioned him away, "I'm sorry, sir. What were you saying?"
Huzair lingered for a moment, eyes still locked on Demetrius as he pulled a cigar from his vest pocket and lit it before slinking out the door. "Always with the babysitting the half-ogre" he said as he slipped away.
"Forgive my clumsy introduction" Demetrius said, "but I know that you know my father." He corrected himself quickly "I'm sorry, 'knew' my father. I am Demetrius Wyverneye. My father Arwold passed recently and it's still hard to refer to him in the past."
The elf's red eyes widened at the mention of the name. He extended his hand and introduced himself, "My name is Morier Thulien, your father was a great friend of mine and I am deeply saddened to learn of his passing. I learned much from your father. In fact," Morier paused while he pulled a chain from around his neck and turned the medallion on it so that its obverse side showed, "I think you'll understand this inscription better than most."
"Amin khiluva lle a' gurtha ar' thar," Demetrius spoke in flawless elvish, tears filling his eyes as he instinctively translated the phrase he had heard his father's students repeat thousands of times... "I will follow you to death and beyond."
"Goodman Wyverneye perhaps you could join me outside," the albino said, his red eyes flashing with intensity. "I think we need to talk."
Morier and Demitrius stepped out of the Shining Lantern onto the rutted earthen street in the brisk evening air of Floxen. There was a chill in the air that spoke of colder temperatures to come. "I've been searching, Morier," Demetrius said as they walked, "for something. Something that will guide me. My father spoke of an evil rising across the Realms... but he was gone before I could ask him to explain what he meant."
"Arwold was a wise man, and it seems that he knew much. I sought his counsel when my companions and I were in Hillville Junction last. When I left town Goodman Midzier said your father had ridden off to seek answers... Now I know why," Morier said, wondering how much Arwold might have known, and how much he himself had yet to learn.
"I want to be able to help, but it's difficult to know where to start when you don't know who you should be helping and who you should be fighting." Demetrius' voice was straining against his thinly veiled emotions.
"Believe me, I understand your dilemma..." Morier pondered the many thoughts that rolled in his mind about the things he and the rest of the VQS had encountered in the last many weeks. "Come and sit with my companions and me. We'll talk and perhaps we may learn something from one another."
"I'd like that," Demetrius admitted.
Huzair was in the middle of a story when Morier entered the private dining area via the back door. "And there he was standing buck naked in the woods looking suprised to see me!" he paused to laugh smoke and Feln was grinning at the humorous tale. The wizard caught sight of Morier and motioned for him to sit down. "Hey, nature boy! Come on in and join us. I was just telling Feln the story of how we met up in the woods there."
Morier decided that it wasn't worth taking Huzair's bait and he hurried to step aside allowing Demetrius entry to the cramped dining room where Feln sat surrounded by mountains of food. "Where've you been?" the half-ogre started. "We were about to start withou-"
"Out defending the honor of some fair maiden, no doubt," Huzair said with a disinterested tone. "Now let's eat."
"If you'll allow me, I'll make the formal introductions," Morier said. "Feln and Huzair, I'd like you to meet De..."
"So the nut job will be dining with us then?" interrupted Huzair. A frustrated sigh from Morier was the only acknowledgement that Huzair had spoken.
"...Demetrius Wyverneye, son of Arwold Wyverneye - the ranger I sought to speak with when we were in Hillville Junction last." Morier immediately felt a twinge of sorrow at the thought that he and Feln were the only two members of the group who were left from those days. In an instant it seemed like both ages ago and just yesterday.
"I remember the name," said Feln. "You thought the ranger might know something more about the creatures we found in the caves north of the village." Turning his attention to Demetrius he asked, "Do you bring news from your father?"
"My father has passed from sickness brought by a plague" Demetrius said, noting to himself that it got a little easier to say each time admitted the truth. "It is purely chance that I have encountered you this evening."
"Lucky us," said Huzair before stuffing a crust of bread into his mouth so as not to feel obligated to continue the discussion.
The three sat and talked late into the night; Demetrius explaining how his days at his father's training academy had turned into the chase for disease and rot he had followed across three cities, and Morier, Huzair and Feln decribing the chaotic scenes in Miller's Pond and the manor house. As Feln finished talking serenely about the epic battle that had laid two of his companions dead, his eyes suddenly brightened. "Morier, the conversation we had on the way over here... about the manor!"
For a long few moments the half-ogre and the elf sat in silence looking in each other's widened eyes as though they were having a conversation that nobody else in the room was privvy to. "Perhaps!" Morier said at last.
"Perhaps indeed," laughed Feln.
"Would the two of you lovebirds like to share your moment with the rest of us?" asked Huzair.
In a sudden flurry of sound, both Feln and Morier spent the next hour taking turns explaining their vision for the now empty Manor House: A fortress for the training of adventurers that might assist them in their constant fight against evil. Someone to turn well-intentioned men and women into fighting forces who could hold their own against the worst Aphyx could send at them. A place for the VQS to call home. It was all coming together now.
Demetrius, for his part, took in most of what was being thrown at him. He asked a few questions and then sat silently and pondered what the two adventurers were saying to him. "You'd like me to be the steward of such a place?" he asked, trying in vain to mask the incredulousness with some sense of confidence.
"It would be perfect," Morier said, "You've spent the last fifteen years helping to train students at your father's academy. What better way to serve his honor and to avenge the evil that took him from us than to use that experience to train more to be just like him?"
Demetrius looked down and fingered the pewter tankard in front of him for a moment before answering with a very simple, "Absolutely."
)
