[GreldorEQ]

A dull and pale light filtered by the canopy filled the Faydark grove with a shadowed morning. The moisture seeping from the branches to the forest floor filled the air with a thick damp air. Grelwin turned aside a matted greasy mat of hair from his face with no mind to its condition. Mutterings trailed away with his breath in the chilly air as he tended to a small cookfire. The wisps of smoke gathered in the air, a cloud shielding his view from outside the grove. With little care to his surroundings he prepared and drank a blend of roots and herbs to sooth his tired mind and body.

As the potion gave him renewed strength he became aware of the hour and his condition. Tattered clothing and dried blood stains riddled his belongings, reminders of his narrow escape through the mountain passes the night before.

"Butcherblock Mountains...bah!" he grumbled irritably, wondering to himself if the name butcher fit better the goblins who dwelt in the passes or any who cut them down and made it through alive. "Were it not for business with the elves," he thought "I may have tarried and shown the goblins a few near-forgotten tricks from an old druid."

With a raise of an eyebrow and a mumble under his breath, the fire was extinguished. Grelwin gathered his belongings and set off into the woods, following a narrow game trail barely visible in the morning gloom. His thoughts turned again to recent memories as he wound his way through the forest.

"The Heartwood Master must be made aware! This message is of the greatest urgency!" declared Mayor Grubbin. Grelwin cursed his decision to stay at the Inn on his way through the Vale. He much preferred the company of things that walked on four legs to that of his kindred. "I care not of your news or your politics" Grelwin growled.

The Mayor steeled his tone, "Then I command you as a Druid of the Vale, you are bound to deliver this message." Despite his disdain for the dealings of the city, Grelwin could not avoid his duty without risking exile. "I will take your message, and nothing more" he said.

That was weeks ago, and as he neared his destination, a sense of foreboding filled him. Grelwin's thoughts betrayed his guard, and his daydream ended promptly with a cold metal sword blade pressed to his neck. Frozen in his step, he turned his head.
A Tier'Dal sneered at him, his dark skin blending into the shadows of the path. Without hesitation, Grelwin focused his thoughts on the face, feeling with his mind the dark skin of the elf. The layers of skin on his face pulled tightly over muscles winding around vessels of blood that flowed black as the night sky. "The blood" he thought "will boil with the heat of the sun!" In an instant, the braches above moved to create an opening in the canopy. As the dark-skinned face bathed in the morning sun, the sneer turned to a choking gasp. Blood seeped from the pale eyes and the tight-lipped mouth formed a snarl, steam rising towards the opening above. In an instant, the Dark Elf was dead.

"A Dark Elf in the Faydark," Grelwin thought as he hurried down the winding path, "that stuffy fat Mayor was right, Kelethin must be warned!"