Heavy rain raked across the misty town of Aruun and strong winds whistled and howled as they blew past its sparsely build barns and homes. The night was cold and dark, streets empty, and the only light outside that of a tavern’s lantern hung above its door frame, just below a sign with two great steeds bashing foaming tankards togethers. Cupstallion, the last pitstop for those heading to the great seaside city of Kalashmaror from up north, had not seen many customers since summer days dwindled away into autumn.

Two wobbly farming folk resting on the counter, local rascals and well-known drunks, were head deep into their fifth pints as their argument grew heated. “Look, look, Jhoni, Jhoni… I ain’t saying it like, I mean, in a bad way, but, ain’t no one there, it be empty, that, that house over, you know where…”

“Bullshit,” the other opined, banging his cup onto the counter, “I seen it! A bloke lives there, I seen it… Leaving and entering and stuff, just tomorrow, once here even, with big freaking cloak and a--”

All heads turned towards the entrance and the farmers fell silent. A figure draped in a dripping cloak from the rain stood beneath the doorframe, hesitating to take the final step inside to the warmth and comfort of Cupstallion. All eyes were on her, even the keeper of the tavern stopping his polishing routine to take a closer look. Only after the newcomer took her hood off--revealing her dainty features and long, ragged hair--and stepped into the light did things go back to where they were.

“No, couldn’t have been,” the farmer named Jhoni said to his friend, “much too short, and definitely a bloke, he was…”

The newcomer walked to the counter and threw his hefty and soaked cloak onto it. Not too keen on having muddy pieces of clothing staining his tabletops, the tavernkeep was about to spill out a few angry words but decided against it after seeing that the woman was carrying steel at her hips, not to speak of her battle-scarred studded leather armor.

Waiting her to make a move and order something, the tavernkeep took few steps away from her and busied himself with organizing the already well-organized shelves at the back of the counter. She was not his ilk. Whenever adventuring types came across Aruun, trouble tended to follow suit, not to speak of the trouble they themselves caused with the local folk.

“What’s yer business here, lass,” the tavernkeep said, putting up an imposing voice as he turned away from the thrice dusted bottles of mead and wine to face the adventurer. “Cleaning ye sword and all, hope ye ain’t gonna be causing no ruckus. We here don’t like no ruckus. Did a dragon get yer tongue or this lass a mute one?”

“Passing through,” the adventurer said grinning, keeping her attention on her soon-to-be polished swords.

“Just the way I like it.” 

Pristine, clean, and sheathed, the adventurer put her two swords next to her cloak and began to scrape mud off of her boots with a dagger. Although the warmth of Cupstallion was a welcomed change, lulling and refreshing, she kept glancing at the door and windows and listening keenly to any noises coming from outside. Oppressive rattling of rainfall and darkness were all she could hear and see. 

“Missy,” yelled one of the farmers, Jhoni, who tried his best to get the adventurers attention by waiving his hands and winking furiously, “now that the pointy things ain’t, like, you know… join us! A drink, a jolly drink, with the lads!”

“Fuck off,” the adventurer said sternly, sticking to her cleaning routine without even as much as a glance devoted to the farmer.

“Ain’t that a prissy one,” Jhoni said, laughing with his friend.

The farmer Jhoni got up from his seat and made his way toward the adventurer, taking his time and keeping the counter close to him for balance. His friend tried jokingly to discourage him, but for naught, knocking over empty cups and a stool as he went, he eventually got over to the woman. He had not thought any further, though, as he could now clearly see for the first time who he had been goading and maybe why he should not have. The dagger in her hand was a one thing, but the sleeveless, dark-leather tunic and hands more muscular than his, a scar running through her lower lip all the way to the bottom of her chin on the right side of her otherwise feminine, albeit tanned and smutty, face. The ears shocked him the most -- hidden from afar by her long and dirtied titanium white hair but from up close he could see that they were cut off, and that they were not just any ears.

“By the Nine Hells,” the farmer muttered, taking a step back and almost falling down from the stool he just knocked over. “Here, a bastard of races, in our town of all places…”

“Bastard, eh?” The adventurer stood up and sneered. She had a thick skin, in her opinion, but there were things she did not let past her or forgive that easily. Throwing and catching her dagger from the blade end a few times over, she smiled, catched it for the last time and drew her hand back. The dagger flew across the air effortlessly and pierced into its targets shoulder, not that of the farmer’s, but into that of a dark hooded figure that had burst into the tavern with unnerving speed and purpose.

The figure got up in haste, ignoring the pain completely, but it was too late. The adventurer had yanked her swords out of their sheathes and ran up to the figure, slicing downwards with both of them into its neck and leaving a bloody mess onto the floorboards. Two other hooded figures were already busting through the door as the previous drew its last breaths, the farmers screaming in terror and the tavernkeep ducking behind the counter, praying that he was not going to be drawn into whatever was going on.

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More were coming, she knew as much, and battling them was not an option. Running away from the door, the adventurer braced for impact as she hastily threw a dagger at one of them which got easily deflected and then jumped out of the furthest window, rolling to her feet on the muddy ground as she scanned her surroundings--three figures at an swords length with thin, long blades dripping purple ooze and one further back holding no weapon. 

Deftly dodging one of the swings and with her two swords deflecting the others, the adventurer pushed through the encirclement with relative ease before a glowing lance of pure ice came hurling at her. Too late to block, she decided, and instead tried to dodge it but as she dashed aside a rogue slash from behind caught her left hand and send her sword twirling into the ground. Biting her teeth, she had no time to pick it up and begun to run towards the woods, hoping that she might be able to lose her chasers in the thick mist and rapid rainfall in the nightly Aruun forests.

The adventurer had speed on her side for now, but whatever poison was on the blade that struck her, although diluted thanks to the rain, was already seizing the muscles in her hand and would without a doubt spread further. Throwing her other sword onto the ground, she patted all of her pouches and a satchel that hung from her belt and continued to push forward. The only plan she could think of was to go as far as she could before succumbing to the poison, hide under anything feasible, and hoping to gods that she would not be found before recovering.

After few minutes of intense and painful running, the forest grew sparse and a field opened up. The pursuers were catching up to the adventurer, she could hear the snapping of twigs and unintelligible yells getting closer and closer. An old farmhouse stood middle of the ghastly opening, abandoned most likely as its sloppy stonework was crumbling away and covered in moss. In utter desperation, the adventurer began to head towards it. What once was agile and nimble was now slow and sluggish as she waddled across the open field in an final act of unseen hope. If nothing else, she was going to get to that house and die knowing she at least tried.

Just few more steps and bam!, a chromatic orb of pure arcane energy slammed into the adventurers back and send her flying into a large wooden door with an ornate bird head as a knocker.  “Open up,” she screamed and pleaded after coming back from the shock of the impact, but no one answered. “Please…”

Crawling to the closest window, a broken hole with rotting wood cross beams, she pulled herself up from the windowsill and peeked inside to find anything or anyone that could help her out, but no--the house must have been abandoned centuries ago if not a millenia. Few scraps of wood barely holding together and an empty bottle were the only things inside, no signs of life recent or otherwise, nothing to help her in any way. Getting back to the door, the adventurer hit it a final time, rested her back onto it and watched as her enemies drew closer and closer. She had nothing left in her, the poison had eaten her from the inside, blood let out, and exhaustion and blunt trauma dazed her mind. With her last breath awake she saw the hooded figures drawing their blades as they savoured their victory by walking slowly toward her. Then they stopped, she fell backwards and hit her head on a fluffy mat and lost her consciousness.

A human wearing a silken, gold-trimmed, emerald dressing gown and a moonstone circlet tossed the unconscious woman inside of his abode, came back out and closed the door with an owl knocker once more. His bare feet sinking into the damp grass as he took a step forward, the man’s deep, winding voice exuded confidence and carried far and wide. “Intruders… no, hunt has commenced on my grounds and I have the prized prey in my cage. Tell me and you may live: why is this fragile il’ai, half-elf of no import, of interest to you?”

Eight hooded figures had gathered around the man, keeping their distance. The loud silence was broken after the one who casted the bolt of ice came forth and spoke, his voice raspy and gravely, still heaving from the chase. “We do not wish harm for you, outsider. Give her back to us. She has entered our holy sanctuary, stolen what is ours and mocked and disparaged our god and our people! She is ours to judge!”

“Stolen.” The man stated with a smile. “And for you to chase that half-elf all the way to my lands, into the middle of nowhere, to speak of your god and people, now that is just perfect.”

“Perfect?” The hooded caster, agitated, clenched his fist.

“Yes, perfect. I appreciate it greatly when sought after artifacts of any kind just invite themselves in to my remote abode and make themselves comfortable. Spares me the trouble of seeking them out, you see. And if you still did not understand -- whatever it is that the half-elf carries along with her, all of it now belongs into my beautiful collection.”

“Kill him,” the hooded caster yelled in an enraged fervor, “make him suffer for his sins!”

Before the hooded figures had a chance to advance, a red beam of light swiveled through the air and exploded, sending a shock wave that shook the trees on the edge of the clearing and tore asunder four of them, pieces of charred human flying all across the fields of Aruun. The hooded caster prepared a spell as fast as he could in the frantic chaos as his comrades closed in. The wizard in the green gown let his enemies come closer, took a step back, and like blowing a kiss into the air summoned a raging blizzard that froze the oncomers on where they stood. One of the bodies now solid as ice fell from the air and shattered into thousands of pieces in front of the man in charge of the massacre.

Finishing his spell, the hooded caster released surge of lightning from his hands, or tried to, but nothing came. All the magical energy he built up had dwindled just like that and he stared at the man who, whilst organizing a chaos as wild as this, could have countered his spell as well in the meantime. He had to escape no matter what, but as he tried to turn, his legs did not respond. Looking down, he saw that his cloak had begun to turn grey and rigid, just as his legs had.

“Living life as a statue, how bleak and dull it must be,” the wizard in emerald gown said mockingly as he watched the hooded caster be turned to stone, “do not worry, if the need arises,I will turn you back, but for now, you can entertain the crows and bluetits of Aruun.”

“That… that Crown…” the figure whined before completely turning into stone.

“Oh--did not expect that. The half-elf might prove more interesting than I thought. Stay there whilst I see that she will not die of her wounds, it seems that we have a lot to discuss about this god of yours.”