Theric tossed the potion lightly in the air. Snatching it and then shaking the small vial of red, bubbly liquid.

“I wish we had the materials and money to get more of these. Healing 20 health and granting increased speed could do all of us a lot of good, not just myself,” he said with a sigh. He shrugged his shoulders and tucked the potion away in a pouch.

“If we had the money we could have done well to get the bandage also, but my healing spell will have to suffice until we can stock up on items,” said Aeslin.

Xeveon brushed his fingers over the many dents and scratches that covered his leather chest piece. “We should keep our eyes open for spare leather too.”

The scattered sunshine peeked through the canopy of leaves as the party strolled through the Oakenheim forest. They traveled onward to the Misty Monastary to research more information on the Irethorn’s location when they happened across a tall road sign at the split of the road.

Aelsin reared her head to read it. “It says, South: Erinton, North East: Oakenheim Fortress.”

Theric stroked his chin. “Erinton? The druids told us the monastery was beyond the forest, well east of the village.”

Xeveon removed his hood, revealing his dark, golden eyes. “You are from Phelom, Aeslin. Is the village the druids speak of Erinton?”

A distorted howl echoed in the distance. Aeslin’s face curdled as pale as Xeveon’s vampiric flesh.

“Aeslin?” Xeveon asked again.

Aeslin remained still, frozen in a trance of fear.

Theric placed a calm hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Are you alright, Aeslin?”

Aeslin swallowed a lump in her throat. “I-I… will be.”

“Alanna’s black wings,” Xeveon whispered. “You have Death herself running through your eyes.”

“And my soul…” Aeslin muttered. She shook away the stiff emotions in her thoughts. “Yes, Erinton is the village the druids spoke of. Come there’s a tavern there that fries a good breakfast.”

A moment of worry passed silently between Theric and Xeveon, but they followed their elven friend all the same.

The tiny village of Erinton served as both a logging camp and safehaven for wayward travelers lost in the Oakenheim forest. Situated several miles south of the Oakenheim Fortess and just shy of fifteen miles north of Wavecrest Bay, it was the ideal rest stop for any wanderer looking for a quick bite to eat and a place to restock supplies.

Led by Aeslin, the three adventurers pulled a seat at the bar inside the Sleepy Elm Tavern.

The barkeep put aside a glass and washcloth and pulled out a small notepad and stick of charcoal. “What’ll be, friends?”

Theric looked at Aeslin. “What’s good here?”

Aeslin held up a set of fingers. “Three Heavy Haulers and some apple cider. We have a long road ahead of us.”

“Eggs, ham, and pancakes, comin’ up.”

Xeveon tapped his finger on a wine bottle stowed in his bag. “Make that two, I brought my own meal.

Aeslin’s eyes sank. “Is that blood?” she whispered.

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Xeveon pulled the cork with his teeth and gulped down a quarter of the bottle. A thick crimson liquid ran down the side of his lips. He let out a satisfying sigh, before answering Aeslin’s question. “Would you prefer me to hunt Erinton’s villagers?”

She quickly shook her head. “No it’s just… I just didn’t… “

“Know how I fed,” the vampire finished Aeslin’s response. “I don’t like feed on the living unless I have to.” He stuffed the cork back into his bottle.

Aeslin turned her attention to her steaming breakfast passed to her and dug in.

“I saw an altar in town before coming in here. “Theric said through mouthfuls of runny yolk and morsels of ham. “We should pay our respects.”

“I didn’t take you are the religious type, Theric,” Xeveon said with a thin smile.

“I may worship the dragon gods, but in a journey to the unkown, we could use any help we can get.”

Aeslin held silent before speaking quietly. “We lost you once, Theric. Alanna let your soul return to us.”

Theric glanced at the elf.

“A blessing from the local deities could be the least we could ask for,” she finished.

***

“Angels above, bless us for whom we face

Evil below and denizens of the Night

In our prayers we ask for grace

So that we may survive our fight”

Theric lit an incense at the small wooden effigy of an angel and kissed his Agaas medallion.

“May Erinth bless your soul, traveler.”

Theric turned around to find an old monk sweeping the stone steps of the shrine.

“Erinth?” Aeslin said. “I never heard of any angel called Erinth.”

The monk rested his broom against a tree and stepped forward. “There are five villages in Phelom. Each worship a captain of Thorton’s flight.”

“Thorton I’ve heard of. Angel of luck and chaos,” Xeveon said.

The monk nodded. “Wielder of Thell Yol’Roth O’blivis.”

Xeveon narrowed his eyes.

Theric scratched his head “I’m sorry, I don’t speak angelic.”

“Weapon of the Sky Destroyer,” Xeveon translated.

“The Skyripple,” said the monk. “A most terrible weapon, for a most terrible war.”

“But who is Erinth?” asked Aeslin.

The monk held his hands in contrition. “Erinth was Thorton’s enforcer. He wasn’t afraid of anything—the mightiest of the five angel captains. Which made it even more mysterious when he disappeared during the battle of Phelom…”

“Phelom was a battlefield?” Aeslin pressed further.

“Phelom was the final battle that Thorton’s five angels were together, after Kayla fell, they split up.”

Theric stroked his chin. “Who was Kayla?”

“A story for another village, my son,” the monk answered. He turned to a young man running to the shrine.

“Help! I need help!” the young man collapsed at Aeslin’s feet.

She reached down to pick up the villager. “What troubles you, sir?”

Please,” sobbed the man. “My brother Armon, he hasn’t returned from the Spiderweb Forest.”

“Spiderweb Forest?” Xeveon folded his arms. “What’s that?”

“A forest east of the fortress. It has the best trees for lumber but…”

“Crawling with giant spiders. I know the place,” explained Aeslin.

“Please. You’re a soldier, I’ve seen you here with your patrol when I was younger,” the man continued.

“That was a long time ago…” Aeslin trailed off.

“Can’t Oakenheim Fortress send aid?” offered Xaveon.

“They are preoccupied with the crisis at the anomaly,” answered the man.

Aeslin sighed and gripped the man’s shoulders tightly.

“Aeslin, this man needs your help,” said Theric.

“We must continue our quest to the Misty Monastery.” Aeslin’s voice turned stern.

“We can not abandon Armon.” Theric argued.

“He isn't our problem!” Aeslin snapped.

“Why do these woods haunt you so?” Xeveon prodded.

Aeslin stepped backwards and lowered her head. “It is a story that I wish not to tread on again…”

“Xeveon. You make the decision. Do we continue to the Misty Monastery? Or do we rescue Armon in the Spiderweb Forest?”

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