The village shaman spoke softly,
"I'm afraid I cannot help your wife."
"Is there nothing you can do? Surely you aren’t done yet, can't... can't you..." Harmen broke down; tears trickling down his face.
"She is dying I'm afraid" responded the shaman as he left the cottage.

Well into the night she slept. Her pale face was even paler with sickness and her mid-night black hair was losing its shine. A knock came on the door, followed by another and another. Harmen opened it slowly, peering through the gap to see whom it was.

"The villages Idiots say your wife is dying."
"Have you come to plague us? Let her die in peace!" retorted Harmen angrily.
"I can help her." Countered the voice.

Harmen opened the door and a tall, dark figure stalked in. He turned his head and looked around the room and then over to Askant, as she lay sickly on the bed.
"We know you, you never do anything for nothing. What do you expect in return." Quizzed Harmen.
"It is a small price for the life of your beloved." He paused for a second then continued,
"I want your first-born child. I shall bring them up and give them everything they need."
"Get out! Just get out" Harmen roared angrily as the figure stalked back out of the little cottage.
"You know how to contact me if you change your mind."

And he did. Harmen could not let his love die. His life without her was nothing. And the figure was right; the price did seem small. He arrived in the middle of the night and done some of his magic on her and then left. It was a brief visit but it was soon to pay off. She began to recover quickly and eventually regained full health.

Many years had past before Askant fell pregnant with her first child. Harmen had neglected to tell her about her recovery and the price in which it held. Time passed and he eventually forgot it completely, pushing it from his mind.

Their child was born. He was beautiful. His eyes were as dark as mahogany and his hair like his mothers. His skin had a pale, unnatural hue but they did not care, to them, he was the most beautiful thing in the world: so innocent, uncorrupt and fragile.

Their happiness would soon end, but for now they cared for him dearly and grew closer to him and each other, more than they thought possible.

The door opened with a loud creak and Aalahk looked up, a startled expression on his face. He was now a young boy, his skin remained unnaturally pale and his hair the darkest black, with dark mahogany eyes to match.

"Master Enoch, is that you?" he spoke in his natural elven dialect.
"It is I." His demon-like voice confirmed.
Aalahk breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that his master had returned safely. Enoch strode into the room, leaving a large bag of gold on the desk.
"Did everything go well sir?"questioned Aalahk.
"Tarren had company. Some brutish warrior type, but he was little trouble. I disposed of both easily. Tarren tried to fight me with feeble words." Answered Enoch.
Enoch's dark figure was an intimidating one in the murkiness of the room. Aalahk swept his hand towards the candles, igniting them, giving him some light with which to see. At this simple gesture Enoch smirked.
"I am glad you have not forgotten the simple things, Aalahk."

This was a compliment, no doubt about it. Enoch was not one to pay compliments often, but when he did he meant them.

Enoch was of elf origin. He was constantly veiled in shadows that hid almost everything about him, but Aalahk knew he was elf, because his master once told him so. The only feature that was obvious were the deep, dark glowing eyes that shone through the darkness when he was enraged. Despite his corrupt nature he was rarely infuriated, he had suppressed all emotions up until the point that little motivated or discouraged him. There was only one thing he strived for: Ultimate power, and Aalahk was his key, his toy, his puppet.

The years passed by. Little love or embrace that a family offered was given to Aalahk, the only thing he received was teaching. Teachings that would eventually lead to his uprising or downfall. Enoch wasn’t cruel to him. If he could show love, Aalahk would be the one of receive it.

"Goodbye master." Aalahk said, with a lump in his throat and a tear in his eye.
"Do not cry. Warlocks do not shed tears." Stated Enoch as he used his cold finger to brush away the tear distastefully. Enoch may have felt some trace of sorrow or loss but only the gods themselves would have known it.

The night was pleasant, apart from a gentle breeze that held a spiteful chill. The moon shone brightly, lighting the road ahead of them. Each bump could be felt in the coach as its wooden wheels traversed across rough, badly kept roads and lanes.

They were far from the castle now. Enoch sat opposite Aalahk, studying a tome. Aalahk looked at him and poised his lips to speak, to make conversation but then decided against it.

They traveled in silence for some time, Aalahk glancing out the window to look at the scenery, the bright moon or the shimmering stars. The horses stopped dead, the whole carriage jerked forward then came to a halt. Enoch called to the driver, demanding to know why they had stopped. No response came. Suddenly an arrow bolted through the side window only to be stopped in mid air, inches away from Aalahks forehead by a gesture from Enoch. Enoch did not speak; instead he just dropped his hand making the arrow fall to the floor.

Aalahk watched in horror as Enoch opened the door of the carriage and stepped out into the night. Peering out the window, he saw Enoch confronted by three masked men, all dressed in black and wielding various weapons. Two of them advanced towards Enoch, their sharp blades pointed at him. He glared and them and insisted that they go no further. They only response they gave was an option: "Your gold or your life." Enoch sniggered at their request and shook his head seemingly amused at their ignorance. The men continued to advance and Aalahk couldn’t turn away from the window. Afraid for his master and afraid for himself, he wasn’t sure how to react. What could he do, he was merely a young elf?

"Aalahk, come see this."
Aalahk cautiously left the safety of the carriage and stood beside his master looking at the statue-like men, struck dumb with awe.
"This is just a taste of the power within your grasp."
Enoch pulled a blade from one of the highwaymen's hand and swung it around forcefully, penetrating his flesh with his own blade. He repeated the step on the second and they both fell to the ground, soaked in their own blood: dead.

The driver was dead. The highwaymen had shot him in the center of the forehead with a sharp, metal tipped arrow, but this was only a setback. It was not much of a problem. Both Enoch and Aalahk mounted up front and rode the horses to their destination without any more interruption.

"You must make the rest of the journey alone." Enoch said as he lifted Aalahks pack to the ground.
"Very well master." Resigned Aalahk as he jumped from his seat and pulled the pack to his shoulders, ready to set off through the wood into the portside town. Enoch handed him a ticket for the ship, Ankara and spurred the horses on, leaving him alone on the road.

A thick wood extended to the west, its dark silhouette menacing yet inviting. Deciding it was best that he made it to the town before first light, Aalahk set off across the small trail, which led deep into the wood.

The trail was almost indistinguishable as the moonlight was blocked by the ever-increasing plant life that grew above his head. Leaves rustled and twigs snapped beneath his feet: the only sound he could hear. The silence was eerie; nothing seemed to be moving apart from him, no bat was fluttering, no wolf was hunting, there was just silence.

Fumbling around in the darkness, wandering lost for the best part of an hour; Aalahk stumbled across a large clearing. Trees grew in a circular formation, leaving a soft grassy area open to the sky. As Aalahk moved closer to the center of the glade an intense whispering echoed around.
"YOU ARE NOT ONE OF US, LEAVE NOW." The voice was feminine, but harsh and commanding.

"Hello? Who's there?" Aalahk questioned, not heeding the response. He continued to wander further and further until he reached what was the center. Mushrooms and toadstools formed a perfect circle ahead of him.
"LEAVE AT ONCE!" continued the whisper with a greater sense of necessity in its voice.

Sharp jabs, like bee stings began to plague him. Flailing around with his arms to repel the un-seeable bugs, Aalahk decided that perhaps he should heed the warning and retreating back into the thick woods. As soon as he had left the clearing, the painful piecing had stopped.

He eventually stumbled back unto the trail and made his way to the outskirts of the woods. Following it closely he made it to the seaside town

Aalahk hurriedly passed numerous buildings such as the infamous Orc and the Ogre Inn, renowned for its large collection of undead customers, the Immaculate Talisman, a magic shop that could sell any number of wondrous goods, for unholy prices, and The Mule, a butcher shop illustrious for using its employees for products when other meats ran low. Without glancing behind, Aalahk walked into the Dye Inn, which, despite its ambiguous name that could be taken for something more sinister, was one of the safest places to be in this roguish town.

The wooden door pushed open easily but upon entrance, every face in the waiting area turned to look at Aalahk. After a brief moment of cautious gazing, those waiting returned to their previous actions, some reading scrolls and newspapers, others sipping patiently on a cup of tea or something stronger.

The waiting area was welcoming. In the corner against the wall stood a small hearth wielded an equally small fire that gave both a warm glow and a pleasant heat. The reception was directly opposite the door, allowing the receptionist to easily glance at the entrance and a small, wooden staircase led upwards to the comfortable rooms followed by a sturdy handrail intricately carved with much skill and fortitude. Various, makeshift seats lined two walls and all were taken.

Aalahk proceeded to the reception, fleeting looks curiously around the lightly crowded room.
"Greetings, May I enquire… " he started
"Aye love, there be a few rooms left. The ship nae goin out cause of dis incoming weather den?" the elderly human interrupted.
"No, it seems it is much to dangero- " he began again, but was promptly interrupted, "Dangerous, aye, tis indeed. Ye nae wannae sail if the weather is gonnae be bad. Anyway love, tis a thousand gold per night up-front fer the room."
Aalahk thought about it for a second then decided it would be best; it's unlikely the ship would be sailing tonight.
"Are these people not waiting for a room also?" Aalahk questioned, whilst gesturing around to those sitting in the pre-defined waiting area.
"Ack, nae love. They are only me security."
Aalahk was a little shocked but its possible to see why this was one of the safest places to stay: now he understood why it was such an expensive stay. Looking around again, Aalahk noted that all those who were waiting were strong, ferocious and warrior like, a fact that seemed obvious now he noticed. Aalahk pulled the gold from his leather purse, handed over to the elderly human lady and made his was up the stairs.

He left his pack at the entrance to the door, just inside the doorway and closed it behind him. Unlit candles were barely visible in the receding light as the storm, with its dark clouds and strong winds drew closer. Aalahk gestured absent-mindedly at one of the candles, igniting it.

Shadows danced against the pale painted walls, a small draught keeping the flames of the candles in motion. The room was simple. A small, dark wood table with a candle upon it stood beside the single bed, covered in a light looking sheet that would barely keep anyone warm. A few more candles decorated the walls on simple bronze brackets. The room was kept clean; the bed was made and the wooden floor had little dirt or dust on it. A lone picture that looked remarkably like the receptionist temporarily caught the attention of Aalahk. After studying it for a brief moment, he lay back on the bed, his head against the expensive swan-feather pillow. After moments of contemplation he drifted off to sleep.

The weather outside worsened. The gently bobbing of the ship turned into a violent rocking that would make many sea-hardened sailor sick, putting incredible strain on the ropes that held it there. Rain began to pour down heavily and forks of lightning on the horizon illuminated the landscape for a few brief seconds before the intimidating rumble of the thunder followed.

Aalahk awakened to find the rain still beating down, pattering on the roof and against the windowpane. The lightning and thunder stopped, but the strong wind continued. Aalahk pulled off a large blanket that someone placed over him while he slept. The same person who placed the blanket so thoughtfully over him had long since blown out the candles too.

"Where would you recommend for a good breakfast?" Aalahk put to the receptionist after he proceeded down the stairs.
"Well pet, I'm nae sure ye wannae go anywhere in this awful weather. Tis lashing down from the heavens. But if ye insist, ye can try the Café round the corner, the Merry Meet." she responded.

Water ran down the street, causing little rivers to form that eventually ran into the dock and then the sea, or into the limited manholes and sewage grates. Aalahk rushed down the street and turned the corner making his way for the café, the rain pouring unto his clothes, soaking him through to the skin.

Aalahk tugged at the door of the café a few times only to find it firmly shut. Darting back around the corner and up the street, he paced back into the Inn.

"Ack pet! I fergot! I am so sorry. She closes the Café today. Yer like a drowned imp." the receptionist said apologetically.
"Here, get out of those wet things and put this on!" she continued, handing a woolen robe over the counter. Aalahk responded thankfully, taking the robe and making his way back up the stairs to his room.

The patter of the rain began to ease off as the human knocked on his door.
"Here, gimme yer wet clothes, I'll 'ang em over the fire tae dry." she called. Aalahk opened the door and handed her his clothes, feeling a little insecure in his robe that chafed his skin.

Lying on the bed, his dark wet hair passed its moisture onto the expensive pillow as he drifted off into a little nap.

Uttering a quick 'Goodbye' and 'Thank you' to the receptionist he made his way back to the dock.

A few stragglers were still boarding the ship. Aalahk flashed his ticket to the sailor on guard and boarded too, ready to set sail to his new life.

The Ankara had a rough journey. Unpredictable weather, vicious sea-creatures and the sheer length of the journey made it both dangerous and uncomfortable. After stopping at various ports along the way the Ankara pulled up to the final one. Aalahk eventually finished one of the longest and most dangerous stages of his journey.

There he was, disembarking from the Ankara and stepping for the first time onto the island of Cosrin and the town of Moorgate. The last town he saw was the cheap shantytown of Eiobva and now he was in Moorgate, a buzzing metropolis that smelt of fortune and adventure.

The realization dawned on him that he had nothing but his robe, his dagger and his now empty pack, having eaten all the food he carried but the over-whelming ambition for fame, fortune and adventure was all he really needed for now.