[center][h1][color=bc8dbf]Ofnir[/color][/h1][/center]

Doors began to open and windows too. In black shapes of houses and in front of them now gleamed candles and lanterns as the villagers heeded to the bell sound. [color=00a651][i]The loudest night the village has ever seen[/i][/color], Ofnir couldn't help but think, putting the hot rings into his robe pocket. Also, he felt, a tug of depression and surrender was jerking him from the inside, feebly, outside his own soul. It was the accursed sorcerer's little power that was left, he at once realised, fleeing from the dead and passing over and around him on its return to the north as its vessels went in flames. Ofnir was not a nut easy to crack, and such attempts were futile; and he knew that his enemy understood this. It was not an attempt of his of damaging Ofnir as much as it was an invitation to a trial of might. Years before, Ofnir might had been unquestionably confident in his supremacy over the man who was now poking at his spirit; now, on the other hand, his earthly body had begun to wither, at large due to his own carelessness. But there was no time to waste. He went towards the stables where he found his mount safe; the rest of his company were running to and fro, [color=0072bc]making sure theirs were safe too.

”Alright!” [/color]he said. [color=0072bc]”Once you've, and hastily that is, made sure all's well and finished with your preparations, come to that watchtower from which the bell swings; Calariel will be waiting there.”[/color]

He turned and leaving added: [color=0072bc]”I'll go and settle the matters with the villagers.”[/color]