The low hum of chatter brought the old tavern to life, accompanied by the crackle and pop of smoldering pine. Overhead, the wooden rafters creaked and groaned, while the shuttered windows rattled in the wind.

Few took notice, as their calls for more mead and food resounded through the air. This kept the handful of young maidens quick on their feet, their dresses swishing as they swept through the room with cluttered plates and brimming mugs.

Arven watched the procession from his stool, scratching the grey stubble along his chin. After a moment, he waved a wrinkled hand, summoning the bartender.

A portly man slid over, his rosy cheeks spread by a wide grin. He wore a finely stitched grey tunic, and a decent set of trousers, while light bounced off a dagger he carried at his hip. A thick coin purse hung not far behind it, clinking as he moved.

"Arven! Another drink, I take it?"

The bartender grabbed a new mug, and filled it with mead. From a pouch nailed to the wall, he took a pinch of fresh cinnamon and sprinkled it across the top, then slid the drink to Arven.

"You know me well, Perin," Arven said. He swirled his mead, then took a sip. The taste of honey filled his mouth, with just a hint of spice. Delicious.

A sudden gust blew open the tavern door, and howled through the room. Several men jumped to their feet, and worked together to push it shut. Perin wrung his hands, worry etched across his face.

"Looks like the storm's almost upon us," he said, arching his brow. "Might be wise to spend the night here. There's already a room ready on the second floor, if you want it."

"No need," Arven said. He glanced towards the window as the shutters clattered shut then blew back open. "I've endured worse during my voyages across the Arcoldian Sea."

He finished the last of his mead with a swig, then slammed the mug on the counter with a thump. His face flushed red as he slid off his stool and staggered to his feet. With a grunt, he tossed a few coins over to Perin.

"There. That should be enough to cover my tab."

Perin sighed as he swept the coins into his pouch. "You're more stubborn than an old mule. Very well. I'll await your return next month. Do your best to get home safe."

"Yes, yes. You've no need to worry." Arven waved farewell as he stumbled past the warm brazier, and out the door. Behind him, the wooden boards creaked shut, and the chatter faded to a mutter.

Free from the gazes of others, Arven straightened his back and raised his hood. A heavy gust blew through the streets, buffeting his cloak, and he glanced to his left with a frown. The small fishing vessels rocked in the harbor, and their masts swayed with each squall.

Overhead, a wall of dark clouds descended towards the small seaside village, outlined by flickers of light. The dull roar of thunder rumbled in the distance, and the rolling waves crashed against the shore. 

Arven shivered and tightened his cloak. 'At least it's not raining yet. I'd best get going.'

Stepping off the stoop, he hurried through the empty streets, towards the stables. Candle-lit windows and flickering lanterns illuminated the cobblestone homes, while plumes of smoke rose in rhythmic puffs from the chimneys.

Arven slowed his pace as he neared the stables. A man stood outside the doors, his back turned towards the street. Despite the cold, he wore neither a jacket, nor a cloak, and stood completely still, as though frozen. A broken lantern laid at his feet, surrounded by a puddle of whale oil.

"Galis, is that you?" Arven called out, furrowing his brow. "What in the blazes are you doing out here? It's freezing. You'll end up sick without a coat."

Arven stepped closer, and tapped the man's shoulder. It was stiff and hard, as though he had reached up and knocked on a statue. 

"Galis…?"

Arven hesitantly walked around the man, and froze, his eyes widening. A flash of lightning brightened the sky, revealing the man's grey face, and petrified appearance, forever etched in a look of disbelief.

A passing breeze pulled at the man's tunic, parting a tear in the fabric. Arven hesitantly reached out and spread the cloth. A wet sticky substance coated his fingers as he found himself staring at a gaping hole in the man's stone chest, encircled by a spider web of cracks. 

A second flash of light illuminated a crimson stream, dripping from the wound. The blood drained from Arven's face, and he staggered back, slamming into the stable's wall. His body trembled as he stared down at his hands, dyed dark red. A convulsion wracked his stomach, and he fell to his knees, retching into the grass.

'To the gods! What's happened to him?' 

Arven wiped his mouth, and raised his eyes. Galis's haunted gaze stared past him, into the depths of the stables. The building itself remained eerily silent, and the stench of rotten meat poured through the doors. 

Arven's heart pounded in his chest as somewhere within, a stall door creaked open, and the thump of hooves sent a shiver down his spine. A moment later, a young man emerged, his sharp blue eyes narrowing beneath his unkempt black hair. 

The wind whipped back his tattered cloak as he stepped out, unveiling a chipped sword, sheathed in a worn scabbard. Arven noticed a silver pendant hanging from the man's waist, forged in the shape of a withered rose, wrapped around a broken blade. A jagged amethyst flickered from the center as the man pulled on the reins of a grey stallion.

"S-stop there! Who are you? What have you done to Galis?" Arven asked, his voice shaking. He struggled to stand, but his knees gave out halfway, and he dropped back to the dirt. 

Overhead, a crack of lightning split the sky, and the first few drops of rain pelted the ground. In seconds, it grew into a heavy downpour, and puddles filled the wagon ruts in the street. The young man ignored it, and crouched in front of Arven, his clear eyes flickering with disdain.

"Tell me. Have you seen a man with red hair and green eyes? He wears a golden pendant around his neck, bearing the form of a tree."

The man's voice flowed forth, drawing Arven in. It felt as though a warm blanket was draped over his shoulders, luring him into answering the man's question. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, but the words spilled from his mouth without any prompting. 

"No… I haven't seen anyone matching that description."

The man stood with a sigh. "A shame. Your death would have meant something if you had."

Rain streamed down Arven's face as the man raised his hand, his bone thin fingers curved into a claw. "Wriese steone."

The ground beneath Arven trembled as pebbles and rocks floated into the air, and swirled towards the man's hand. His eyes glowed with a faint grey light as the stones broke down into dust, which reformed into a jagged shard.

Arven fought to move, but his body refused, still rigid from the man's words.

"Galis? Where did you go, dear?"

The soft call of a woman's voice slipped from the nearby street, and the man frowned, and glanced away. For a second, Arven's body returned to his control. With a start, he clambered to his feet, and scrambled away. Adrenaline surged through his veins as he broke into a run, racing back towards the tavern as fast as his legs could carry him.

"Warlock! There's a warlock in the village!" Arven cried at the top of his lungs, till even his throat ached from the effort. He risked a glance over his shoulder, but the man remained beneath the doors of the stables, his hand outstretched. 

The stone shard began to glow as it spun, like a pale golden lantern. Arven squinted, trying to make it out through the rain. From the corner of his eye, he noted the man mumbling to himself. Then, with a crack, the stone flickered out of a view.

Arven cried out as a sudden pain blossomed between his shoulder blades, and flung him off his feet. The sharp taste of iron filled his mouth as he slammed into the mud, while the heat of his blood warmed his back.

Arven gritted his teeth, and tried to get up. A second passed, then another. Not a single inch of his body moved. The sound of crunching dirt grew closer, but he couldn't turn his neck to see. Only then did it dawn on him that he was paralyzed. 

"H-help! Perin? Galis? Can anyone hear me?" 

The roar of thunder drowned out Arven's desperate pleas, and his voice grew raspy with each call. Soon, it took all he had to even muster a whisper. Gasping for breath, he strained his eyes to see the young man, but they stopped just beyond his view.

"This land. It's different from what I know. Where are we?"

Arven shut his mouth, and glared at the shadow of the man, flickering with each flash of lightning. The man stepped closer, and drew his sword.

"If you don't tell me, I'll be forced to find another."

Arven bit his lip with a scowl. His pride meant nothing if it costed another their life. "Delford. We're in the village of Delford, along the east coast of Delahost. If you travel a month's distance southwest, you'll reach the sands of Erath."

"I see. So his betrayal has led me to another land, beyond the Edge. Who could have imagined such a place existed?"

Arven watched as the man sheathed his blade, and walked away. A coldness spread through his body as he shifted his gaze to the sea. The white crests of the waves crashed into the sand, dragging the small particles out to the depths. 

A constant movement. In. Splash. Out. Just like life. Arven allowed himself a small smile.

'So this is it, huh? Deaths come to take me to the Halls of Osyras. Heh. And here I always thought I'd die at sea. Hmm. I suppose this will have to do.'

Arven closed his eyes, allowing the waves washing against the shore to lull him to sleep. As the seconds passed, he felt his muscles stiffen, hardening into stone. Bit by bit, the sensation spread across his body, until even his eyes could no longer open. To his relief, his hearing was the last to go. 

The splash of the waves. The howl of the wind. The rumble of thunder. The sounds faded one by one.

And then, all was silent…