The morning sky was heavy with haze, drifting across the valley like smoke curling from chimneys over rooftops. Isabel had left the island of Tabnoth by sailboat, venturing to the shore in search of food. Her father had warned her against leaving the island; after all, Tabnoth lay on the border of Lizrogan and Vistor, two nations locked in a brutal war.
Isabel was a forest gnome who had fled south to Tabnoth with her father after her home in northern Vistor had been ransacked by ruthless soldiers. On that day, she had lost her mother. The only keepsake she had left was a pendant with her mother's portrait, which she wore close to her heart.
Kneeling before a tree, Isabel inspected a yellow mushroom that sprouted delicately through the moss blanketing its roots. She traced her finger along its surface, feeling for any bumps. Suddenly, a thunderous clap echoed in the distance. Panic gripped her at the thought of soldiers nearby.
Another clap followed, then a series of them, strangely rhythmic. She meant to run but found herself rooted in place, her ears straining to decipher the sound. Then came the faint huffing of an accordion, the shuffle of feet, and the jingling of bells. Isabel knew better than to stick around when there were strange sounds in the forest after all there could be fey about. She got up and slowly crept through the forest back to the shore. Every step she took was accompanied by the crunch of leaves and the scratch of dirt under her shoes as they touched the ground. Isabel had the strangest feeling that something was following her, as though a giant invisible man loomed over her as she crawled between the trees. Every so often, she glanced back to check, but her unease met no confirmation. Each time, she saw nothing but trees and mist stretching endlessly behind her.
As she neared the edge where the forest met the shore, she began to crawl faster. That was when she heard it—a footstep directly behind her as she reached forward with one hand and dragged a leg forward. She rolled over swiftly, pulling a hand axe from her side and hurling it in one fluid motion. After the blur of movement, her focus sharpened, and the shadows behind her coalesced into the menacing form of a large figure.
A scream and then silence breaks through the cold morning air...
(a separate dialogue):
I must admit, in truth, that had I foreseen all that was to come of us, I would never have hesitated. It is I, and I alone, who hears the resounding words of the great voice of God. Through me, God weaves the threads of destiny, setting His divine will into motion.
I, of course, take up the role that no other could fulfill as profoundly. Through me, the two shall meet, and through me, the story unfolds. I am the quintessential catalyst—the performer, the composer, the orchestrator. It is I who will sound the final gong, ringing forth tomorrow from its enigmatic distance, where pink and orange hues paint the sky that rests upon the broad shoulders of a mighty horizon.
Kyhaber was a giant of a man. He often was seen wearing a brown cassock and his skin was a leathery tan, white like the insides of an animal hide.