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[That one dead guy]

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His foot steps broke the silence cast by the night. Laboured equine breaths betrayed the presence of the pack horse that followed in his wake. Together, their dark silhouette cut through the cool night’s air. For a moment, he paused. A gentle breeze nipped at his cheeks, and his lips curled into a smile. Umbra. His home; so dark, so cold.

Mere months had passed since the young warrior had last walked the city’s night, though to any observer he would seem to have worn the aging of many more moons. He stood roughly six feet tall, and his body, lean and hard like a whip’s cord, was encased in studded leather, oiled and shadow-black. An unmarked cloth doublet covered his chest and warded away the wind’s bite. The breeze kissed again at his face, handsome and angular, and he lifted his dark-brown eyes to the sky. His dark cloak flapped lazily and he shrugged it aside to touch a hand to the symbol of the ankh that dangled from his neck.

Tay Thormear turned and rubbed the packhorse behind his ears. “Not long now, Meera” he smiled, “we’re close.”

The steady shuffling of his furred boots whispered through the black again as he cut deeper into the steady dark.

* * *

“Impossible to determine,” they claimed. The soldiers of Moonglow had assured Beowulf of their cooperation in the search for his daughter Braelyn. She had simply vanished, and without a sign of apparent struggle or any trace of a corpse, a kidnapping had been the logical assumption. The city of Moonglow had used all their resources to find the missing child of their retired Chancellor. After an unenthusiastic week of feigned determination, fuelled more by stuffy legal obligation than genuine morality and concern, the search had been officially closed, and Braelyn presumed dead.

Tay was enraged, and voiced his frustrations passionately to his family. Distant and detached, they listened and shook their heads sadly between hollow words. Atira, youngest of his sisters, emphasized deeply with her brother. Each day she listened with a fierce intensity that drew worrisome talks from her parents. One day, unable to sit idly any longer, she pledged to find Braelyn and go beyond where the soldiers of Moonglow had failed.

Atira wasted no time, buying scores of maps and plotting a wildly expensive journey across all of Sosaria. She left home and began a dangerous scouring of every dungeon and crypt she knew of. Tay insisted she come home, writing letters to her daily in desperate hope of deterring his sister from the self-destructive path he had set her on. A stretch of two weeks had passed without word when a young band of adventurers arrived at his mothers doorstep. They brought grim news, and Tay was distraught to learn his sister, Atira, had been found dead at the hands of a mighty daemon in the depths of the fabled dungeon of Hythloth.

Tay was crushed. Only three months earlier, Kohen and Kalis, his two brothers, had left to study under the scholarly masters of Moonglow. Suddenly, Tay was the only Thormear child in Umbra.

The Thormear family had endured considerable loss, and their minds, fragile from such loss, began to crumble. Their numb detachment and fleeting hopes quickly turned sour. Audrina, Tay’s mother, disappeared inexplicably, and Beowulf, his father, finally succumbed to the burning despair of his loss and was driven mad. He up and sold Audrinas glorious house in Umbra, and took his belongings with him to a small village in Fellucia.

In a few short months, one of the most anticipated families fell to ruins, but Tay persevered. He came to understand that he would grow from his loss, and that neither he nor his family’s memory would beget any good if he was content to dwell in self-pity for the rest of his days.

After his father’s exile, he packed his belongings and left Umbra without a word. Months passed, and through his travels and studies he acquired a working knowledge of facets and cities. His path led him from Grand Libraries of his father, to the doorsteps of great warriors, and back again, finally, to Umbra. At last, he would return.


* * *

Tay walked confidently across the bridge leading into Umbra. A brief visit to the Den of Sins had refreshed him on recent happenings. The girl he had shared his home with was now happily bonded to another. Ceinwyn, the Matriarch of Umbra, had fallen. Myrddin had taken the mantle of Patriarch. Much had changed and there were plenty of adjustments that he would need to make.

He dragged his bags from the stables to the nearest inn. He would live here, among these drifters and drunken shells of men, for now. He found his room, and produced a quill and parchment. The inked quill met paper and he began to work.

There was much to be done. There was much to prepare. This was only the beginning.