Ter`Air`Leth

Season 2 Episode 1 | Never Laugh at Outsiders

“As the sun begins to set over the lands of Ter`Air`Leth and the moons begin their ascent into the evening sky, a young orc – no more than a toddler, now exhausted from tears, wanders aimless within the mists of the dense forest wrapped only in the grey and blood stained cloak that once was his fathers. Sark puts foot in front of foot with naught else to do. A sudden burst of light and noise in the distance grabs his attention. Where there is noise there are people, he's learned. As a the earth begins a gentle shake, Sark takes his steps, dragging the overlarge cloak behind him.

Elsewhere in the Slips district, a silver haired elf leads a small group through the twists of the old smuggling tunnels beneath the city of Merest. He is stiff and shallow-stepped as he walks through the muck and filth from the runoff of the city. Left arm in a makeshift sling and a ivory cane in the good hand. He stops short and raises the cane, signaling the others to hold. Something seems off. Ahead the shimmer of an almost unseen flesh wiggles and inches closer. Quickly and quietly the elf turns the group around to find a new route. The sound of sloshing comes from ahead as bits of broken weapons, coins, and even the remains of a partially dissolved skeleton seem to float just above the surface. Trapped…

A knock comes on the sturdy carved door of the tavern. The hearth is warm and inviting and the food is filling to those whom seek the peace of the common room. Outside of the door stands a messenger in grey and green and displaying a golden sigil. Ziri opens the door to greet the stranger. A missive is pushed through almost at once when not more than a hands width of space is available. Clacking heels together and without a word the messenger turns to continue his duties reaching into his pouch to produce an identical scrolled missive as the one just handed over. The redheaded tavernkeep unrolls and takes in the clear message with phrases like Summon To Arms and  Protectorate boldened with heavy ironed ink. Rowan stands behind the bar and reading her husbands face begins to sob.

A group of heroes stands, beaten and bloody but alive, at the base a spired tower. They'd entered where none should save the Order – knowing that the penalty itself is death. Driven by the desire to recover a young girls Oopa, who had gone missing. Driven by the strange creatures and occurrences throughout Mearst. The Old Sage, Wolton, had told them that forces were in play on a grand scale with life energies and magics intertwined. Dharak had at least put a hold on things when he passed the copper orb through the spatial rift but perhaps has caused other more immediate concerns. As the rift closed, the final vision was of Crash and Thordis and 30 other Mearstians kneeling before the white haired snake lady. As the loud crack begins to fade away and the black and crimson wisps of smoke begin to dissipate, Dante, Sunomi, Dharak, Miramath, Milva, and Benji stand – possibly with more questions than answers. The tower itself is standing, but only just. Bodies of the Order of The Protectorate as well as corpses of several monstrous creatures, litter the tower grounds.
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