Though there was no cloud to obscure the sky, the night, undefied in its black dominion by anything beyond the pale luminescence of the stars, was as dark as any autumnal celestial pall might have warranted. On such a night, when even the most harmless shrub seems to harbour menaces of subtle danger, the forest, though by day it was no more than solemn with great antiquity, appeared more forbidding than a wind-battered mountain peak jutting over a barren wasteland. Its great oaks spread their mighty limbs at an awe-inducing height, casting vast and strange shadows in what little of the starry glow reached the soil. Their leaves whispered in a soft, warm breeze; muffled replies arose from the undergrowth, as though a host of conspirators were quietly gathering among the towering trees' roots.

Yet the lone figure which was slowly, yet steadily making its way through the woods seemed to pay no heed to this furtive exchange, nor to the oaks' looming shadows, nor to the gentle touch of the wind which made the ragged edges of its cloak sway in its wake. It forged ahead almost blindly, as though its mind were wandering far from the forest it was traversing, and perhaps from the world itself; an observer who might have been watching it from the circumstant shadows, however, would have been unable to determine whether this was effectively the case. Impenetrable in the best of lights, its garments presently made it almost indistinguishable from the blackness surrounding it; it was as though a living patch of night had woven itself into a vague shape and set about some purpose with the resolve of an elemental force. Anon, the rustle of fallen leaves beneath the traveller's feet grew slightly fainter, and soon it stepped from under the oaks' reaching branches into a small clearing of roughly circular shape. Now, though the best part of it remained akin to a living shadow, it was possible to distinguish certain of it features: the gnarled, almost claw-like hand firmly gripping a wanderer's staff; the bag slung near its chest which shook as though endowed with a life of its own; and the vague stirring of the veil before where its mouth might have been, which, though not accompanied by any sound, indicated that, whatever the being could have been, it was alive.

 Having moved a few steps into the glade, the figure stopped in its tracks. It remained still for some moments, as though listening intently; then it cast back its head and stood with its veiled features turned upwards, toward the stars. It stood thus for a few silent minutes, during which even the restless bag did not move. Then, lowering its gaze once again, it reached into its second repository and produced thence a small, leather-bound and somewhat worn volume. The figure turned a number of pages, seemingly seeking a particular passage. Having presumably found it, it bent over the book for some moments, then abruptly straightened itself and, casting forth its empty hand, exclaimed in a loud, yet hoarse and hollow voice: [color=008B8B][i]N'uraith yuulhieh vuul.[/i][/color]

The soil at the centre of the clearing began to shimmer with a sinister, flickering light of a vaguely purple-bluish hue. This luminosity grew in height, reaching the size and faint shape of a bonfire; nor did it stop at that point, but blazed ever taller and brighter, until it gained the semblance of a radiant column reaching far into the night sky. Great tendrils of flame sprouted from its bulk, coiling in a dazzling spiral wherein was reflected the eternal, unfathomable game that was the growth of an universe... 

And suddenly it was gone. Where the colossal apparition had stood not a single blade of grass bore any mark of its passing. The cloaked figure stood for a while, gazing at where it had been; then returned the book into its bag and, casting a final glance at the stars that had impassively witnessed its doings, disappeared once again into the shadows of the forest.