Peeking around one side of the World Wall, the world's sole moon looked over the dusty badlands of the Pauper's Shoal, its placid gaze shooting jagged shadows over shattered ridges and toppled peaks. The lifeless stretch of wasteland now shimmered and crawled at the pace of the climbing moon, each rock and crag casting its own dancing shade under the uncaring regard of that ancient satellite.

It was a land that had been bared to the ungloved touch of this world's many aeons and their elements. The deep-ocean drifts once forged the texture of its bedrock, even as its shape was wrought by the ever-advancing landmasses. Then the coastal currents had their say, then the crashing waves. And even when lifted fully from the tides, the abrading touch of water did not relent—rivers and rivulets meandered over those coastal plains for an age or three, leaving them striped and pitted. And now, when moisture of most every kind had fled from this side of the Wall, the heavy winds still ground rock to sand and scuffed away at this bitter land.

Now the moon was setting, creeping across the sky alongside the black silhouettes of those impossibly tall mountaintops, its pale shine bringing shadows to life with its ever-inching angles. And the dance of these skittering shadows was the only movement that could be seen in this portion of wasteland—no creature, no monster, not even the stray troglin that so often blemished its unloved surface would dare show an inch these last few moons. But in time, as the waxing moon toppled back toward the horizon, there was something… something moving quickly, quickly but very carefully. It weaved between large shadows along an ancient riverbed, making its way northwards as if chasing the desiccated waterway toward the sheltering obscurity of the steep canyon that loomed there.

It was a tiny carriage of sorts, drawn by two lotch; a large-wheeled buggy with space for only the driver and a passenger. And it was fast—even empowered by divine blessings, a well-bred lotch would be hard-pressed to keep up that pace on that kind of terrain. But these two were hardly winded as they raced across the last band of moonlight that separated them from the shadows of the canyon mouth.

⋯

The carriage wheeled into the canyon, quickly coming to a stop upon the smooth, level sands at its base. The darkness should have been total, but a pair of lanterns off to one side illuminated two awaiting figures, as well as two identical carriages parked by the rock wall.

A third lantern now poured out into the darkness as the new arrival stepped off the carriage, illuminating a masculine figure clad in fitted plate. The Storm Emissary stepped down onto the cavern sands, sweeping a measured gaze over his surroundings.

Despite the lack of visible embellishments, the lightning-imbued nature of his armor was plain with every crackling step as purple-white sparks and streaks threatened to fly into the surrounding darkness. Lightning mana continually and visibly coursed throughout whatever exotic material his equipment was made from, surely worth several small towns in gold. The jagged shapes of his vambraces and sharp overlapping shoulder plates completed the theme, and the faint purple glow from the eye slits of his close helmet made it all too obvious that this being was not on a tier with any human soldier or adventurer.

But, plainly visible in the lamp light, the two figures awaiting him looked even more extraordinary.

Perched upon a small rock, the presence of the Flame Emissary dominated the scene, not least because of the warm incandescent glow of his scarlet light plate. A gold-horned helmet of exotic style was met by a tall, sturdy collar-guard forming the top of his breastplate; nothing was visible through the generous visor of that gold-embellished helm. His double-layered shoulder guards were swept like soft flames, and in this dim lighting it would be an easy mistake to assume they were still forge-hot. He sat upon a shoulder-high ledge in what should have been a casual posture, but his confidence and authority radiated brighter than his lantern and hotter than the blaze of his flame-enchanted plate.

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While his figure was lithe and noble, the blue-clad warrior standing to his side was burly and war-born. Adding to the contrast, the Ice Emissary's accoutrements were covered in a fine but ever-present rime, and his breastplate itself wore a veil of thick frost even in the torrid air of the Shoals. His custom-shaped bascinet bore a gloomy aura of blue light, accentuated by shifting shimmers of cerulean that escaped its eye slits.

The Storm Emissary's long strides quickly brought him before his awaiting comrades.

The figure in red spoke first. Whether it was a deliberate effect or the result of the many layers of enchantments on the helmet, the voice that came through it was heavily modulated—sounding anything but human. It was an ominous roar, and simultaneously an echoing, raging howl. "Shadow's late, but let's not delay. Where's Earth?"

The Storm Emissary's voice was like a storm in the distance, serene but inevitably threatening. "Shadow took my place with Earth. The wards were not finished yet, and Earth wanted to stay. You said you wanted me here."

"I do," came the reply—rumbling with deadly portent. "Or so I expect. Let's get to that later. It'll just be us tonight, then—Ice?"

The frost-encrusted figure took a moment to speak, all too aware that his words had a weight he was reluctant to share. When his voice came, it was smooth and massive, like a cruising glacier grinding over mountainsides.

"…Groz is willing to work with us."

The other two Emissaries took in the news with a silent breath.

"And the gift?" the Flame Emissary pressed.

"Not needed," the Ice Emissary rumbled. "The victory at the Tanglewood was enough—he's been seeing blood for the past few years. The Southern Mission has both frustrated and fueled him… But like you said, I doubt the others will be so eager."

"Regardless, well done," the Storm Emissary interjected. "I did not expect success tonight, much less a resounding one."

"So you still have the gift—and they don't know about it?" Flame asked urgently.

The Ice Emissary's nod was slow and certain. "It's at location C."

Whereas Ice's masked voice seemed to roll from beneath the very ground, the Storm Emissary's might have been coming from the skies beyond. "You've saved us a month at least, I'd say," he said evenly.

The Flame Emissary turned to Storm. "And the plan? What about Earth?"

"It's… well, I'll quote: The Leyline should cooperate." The Storm Emissary's voice echoed from behind his visor like thunder breaking on the horizon.

They both stared at him, allowing themselves another breath.

The Flame Emissary grunted. "…Hm. That's as close to a 'yes' as we're going to get, I assume."

Storm gave a simple nod.

"So, that's it, then…" The Ice Emissary said solemnly.

The Storm Emissary's reply thundered with rational serenity. "…Yes. That's it."

In silence, they shared a moment of heavy thoughts. Then the Flame Emissary stood up, towering over the others from on his rocky perch.

"We will do this. We do this right, we do it all the way, or we die in the trying. That's the promise we made, the path we chose, and tonight that path is nailed to our future." He hopped down onto the sands beside the others, the light of the three lanterns flaring along the outlines of his armor. "Storm. You and I will finalize the details here, over the next few days. Ice, stay with me tomorrow while I rest from the journey… then take Shadow's place with Earth. Tell Shadow to report to the leadership in the north, then come straight back to me. Their turn will be up first…"