[u]The Hunter[/u]

Once Dan had left the confines of the city, the earth and sky began to refresh themselves and become cleaner with every step. The mud-caked concrete and asphalt, although suborn, eventually gave way to grass and a dirt road that wound its way into the countryside. The air around him changed for the better as well. Inside of the industrial walls of Einbroch the winds he'd conversed with had been foul-mouthed and rude, poisoned by the smog and pollution and reeking with a stench almost worse than the rest of the city. But out here, as he listened to the crossing breezes and soaring tradewinds, they began to cast off their soot fetters and fly freely, singing back to him as they passed. Moreover, as he put more of the urban landscape behind him by the day, the darkened clouds that hung over the city receded as well and gave way to a crystalline clear night sky. Stars, tens of thousands of them, dotted the ebony atmosphere in great pattern the likes of which Dan had never seen. Complimenting them were the twin moons of Guildaris, two great silvery orbs that hung in the sky and shed their light upon the world enough to see by. The picture that he witnessed as he crested a particularly large hill and saw the entirety of the landscape's shift from city to country, the image of the rolling hills and sweeping plains bathed in moonlight... it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

[i]Second[/i], he reminded himself, [i]The second most beautiful thing. You know full well what trumps this.[/i]

A pang of sadness struck him as his conscious sought to run him through with yet another lance forged of memories and regrets. He shook his head rapidly back and forth to clear his head, and then started down the road again. He had to keep moving. Three days had he spent in this world, in two of them voyaging out from Einbroch with no particular destination in mind. The road he'd chosen was one that twisted and turned through the petrified forest to the east of the city before turning to the north and passing through the large mountain range. Supposedly, if the maps he'd seen were to be believed, beyond those mountains there lay a wintery valley far from any city or conflict. It was sparingly populated, and those that did live their largely kept to themselves. Perfect, he had thought, for a man who sought only to be alone with his sorrows and lost labors.

And so it was that he trudged onward, making his way closer and closer to that place with every step. He had to go quickly; as he understood, the way into the valley would soon become blocked by snowfall, and even the hardiest mountain climber dared not attempt the journey in such conditions. As he walked, however, he could not stop his mind from wandering. Sometimes it hypothesized about the world he now found himself in, theorized about it based on the people and places he had encountered thus far. At other moments, it chose to contemplate the various magicks he was capable of, and when this occurred he would tap into his power to rehearse them when it was practical. But more often than anything else, his mind dwelled on the past. Memories often flooded his inner thoughts, memories in pristine clarity that brought him rushing back to the scenes he recalled. The Fealty Tower, and that dreadful room with the shattered door. The [i]Warlock[/i], with its hardwood deck beneath a full moon. Then the small cabin aboard the ship, where a crimson dress and white shirt lay thrown aside on the floor. The oceangoing library, complimented by the sounds of steel grinding on steel, of ice breaking, and the laughter of a madman. After that, the Warden’s Tower came swimming before him, with his window and a bookshelf that hadn’t quite thawed. Following that was the Forgotten Terrace, its doors flung open to reveal the damning prophecy revealed by a setting sun. And then the volcano, its magma boiling below as smoke billowed out to ensure that the survivors would never see the victim’s passing. And finally, the Great Gate, and the colossal, shadowy terror that lay behind it…

Suddenly, his attention was called out from his memoirs by a great crimson flash in the sky above him. Looking up, the source of the light was apparent immediately; high in the eastern night sky, a new star had appeared. It was larger and more luminescent than its brothers and sisters, much like On’Eman’s North Star had been, and it glowed with a red light that twinkled amidst the evening and set it apart from the rest of the nocturnal painting. Startling though it was, he could find no ill intent or malice behind the phenomenon. Nor did anything seem to stir at its occurrence; perhaps, he reasoned, that was how stars were born here? More curious, he noted, was how the flash seemed to have struck the clouds hanging over the city that lay multiple miles behind him. The bearers of black rain and vile smog seemed to recoil at the flash’s appearance, separating until roughly halfway across Einbroch as if the star had lashed at them with a whip. He found it fascinating that such things happened and appeared to be commonplace, but decided that investigation would have to wait until after he had beaten the winter’s wrath to the valley. And so, on he walked along the road, barely noting that the red star seemed to be lighting his path as it preceded him…