The oddity of light dissipating around nothing, locked in an eternal struggle with the darkness of night. Shadows danced upon the ground like entranced people whose bodies seemed to move of their own accord. Sun blocked by spiraling masses of stone reaching for the light as if to escape their darkened fate, imprisoned deep within the stygian tunnels and cave systems. Rumor brought footfalls along the softened ground, each one carefully picked and each movement well thought. The sound of shifting leather, creaking softly in the darkness, barely seemed a whisper compared to the ever-present sounds of tiny claws on the stone. 

Thalen held the hilt of his sword over his shoulder, prepared to draw in defense of a monster which may or may not lurk within the darkness. He’d tracked the path for days, following it up through the ravine and into the depths of the cave systems. Rumor brought him here, and now in the darkness the low light seemed nearly impenetrable darkness. The soft, amber glow of his eyes – a magic pouring into them which enhanced his vision in the dim light of the cavernous pathway. His ears reached out to latch to any sound, any noise in the distance. Any kind of foreboding or hope of finding the subject of his search. 

He kept his movements slow, careful – methodical. He tracked beings he knew little about, and rumors only gave so much information before they faded into myth. His hand eased his sword, the metal-backed leather gauntlet tightening on the hilt. Dark brown armor, nearly black (especially in the dimness of the caverns pathway). The ultimate destination of this foray into the cave seems far away. The pathway opens into a cavern of nothing, and from that point the trail ends. Sighing, his hand released the hilt of his sword. “Nothing again.” His voice seems solemn, quiet.

It took him twenty minutes of retracing his steps before he stepped out into the brightened morning, the sun shining its blazing rays down on the mirror-like lake nearby. He set about himself, casting out to find another trail, another pathway. It took him another twenty minutes to find it, footsteps leading away from his current position. He took up the trail and began again, walking cautiously – his eyes and ears always seeking sound of threat. 

He happened upon a thin slit in the rock and peered inside – his vision adjusted to the lower level of light immediately. A star engraved upon a rock caught his attention, and the scattering light seemed to make it shine brightly before him. ‘Bingo’, he thought to himself – and pushed through the thin slit, barley fitting his body – and in fact having to remove his sword to press between the two pieces of stone properly. 

Reattaching the longsword to his back, he reached to his side and pulled up something from his pouch – fingering the eyeholes in his mask, he slid it on. Yet more leather seemed to be his motif, the blank-faced mask a solid piece of darkened, worked leather which he saw through with his magical vision.

Inside he saw the remains of what they were, the burned sacrifices of many. His fingers tightened into a ball, fists clenched against themselves – covered nails barely held back by the material of his gauntlets. He stepped further in through the shadowed vault – his body melding as one with the shadows, his footsteps quieter than should be possible on the stone – and the darkness surrounding him like an old friend. “Port Solt lies in ruins,” he heard the voice of a woman say, and his anger flared beneath the surface – boiling like water on a campfire in his blood. His hands clenched as he sneaked further inside, looking for the source of the voice.

There she stood – her gown flowing down her body, and her hair dancing. He listened to the sound of her movement, the tinkling of her gown with each step. Who was she? What was her goal? He wasn’t sure, but rumor brought him here. He sought only to find out what was going on, and so he settled into the recesses of the room, hidden among the shadows and listened.