Journal of Lady Shal

[Prometheus]

Journal of Lady Shal (XX Month, XX Day)

My brother departed quickly that day, wasting no time in donning his armor, stuffing his reagent bag, and making arrangements with his servants. He said the Emperor had instructed him to speak nothing of his mission, not even to me! But ... I have other ways of finding these things out.

[Three weeks prior]

Prometheus double checked all his equipment. His armor felt stiff after all this time, but he knew it was in good repair.  He glanced around the upper room of the Trinsic Royal Bank. It was at one point the office of the guild treasurer, Colin Mor, a close personal friend of the Emperor's.

"Thank you, Charsi," he said, fidgeting a tad. The new leather made from the dragon hides was light, flexible, and very strong, but it still didn't feel as comfortable as a nice flowing robe, the typical garb of most mages.

"You are welcome, M'Lord," Charsi said. "Good luck with your travels. Be safe!" She bowed slightly, and descended the stairs to the first floor, heading back to the inn where she currently resided.  Prometheus gave his surroundings one more glance, and sighed. The instructions from the Emperor were clear, this mission was of utmost secrecy. Even his sister was not to know where he was going.

Prometheus reached into his pack and found the Etheral Horse statuette by touch. He concentrated, and a few seconds later, the fine, transparent steed appeared beneath him, elevating him suddenly. It was still a strange feeling to get used to, but Prometheus would manage.  He opened his traveling runebook and selected the page marked "Trinsic Moongate." He visualized the area in his mind and cast the Recall spell.

"Kal Ort Por"

He appeared seconds later, just a few paces from the swirling blue vortex. The Emperor had given him a vague direction of where he was to go once he reached his destination ... Ilshnar. Prometheus nudged his emotionless mount towards the moongate and again visualized his destination: The Shrine of Compassion.

-----

Shal sat at home, staring blankly at the crystal in front of her. Her brother had followed Borg's orders and she was not mad at her brother. But her instincts had won the best of her. Knowing that she couldn't follow her brother to wherever it was he was going, she at least wanted to know if he was safe or not. So she came up with a plan. In addition to his reagents, Prometheus carried a variety of magical potions to help augment his strength, cure poison, and heal his wounds. These potions were carried in a special padded bag, to prevent the bottles from breaking, and Prometheus had asked her to prepare these potions for him.  Thinking quickly, she hid a communication crystal at the bottom of the pack, behind one of the folds of protective cloth. Her brother, trusting her to stock the correct number of potions, had not bothered to double check in his haste to leave.

Now Shal listened carefully to the crystal. She had heard his conversation with Charsi, his conversations with the bankers, and had heard him cast the Recall spell. A short time later, she heard him speaking with someone else, a voice she didn't recognize. It was most definately human, however.  They had spoke of many things, but one name stuck in her mind: Lord Blackthorn.  Prometheus' mission had something to do with the man who was once Lord British's best friend.  But now the crystal was silent. And it had been silent for nearly 3 hours now.  

---

Prometheus stepped out into Ilshnar, breathing deeply. The air was so much purer than that in Britannia. Perhaps it was due to the lack of human population, as the only permanant cities were occupied by monsters. Only bands of roaming gypsies dared to stake claim to a few small areas. And it was one of those areas he now approached. As he rode throught the forest he heard the squeaks and trills of ratmen, natives of this forest.  He glanced around as he rode, but Prometheus was unable to see them.

'Perhaps they know better than to attack the Imperator of the PGoH Legion,' he chuckled softly.

After a short ride, he was safely behind the makeshift walls of the gypsy camp.  He bowed slightly to the inhabitants, as they pointed and whispered among each other.

"Hail and well met," Prometheus said, approaching a man near a small makeshift forge.

"Hail there, stranger," the man said. He eyed Prometheus strangly. "Most unusual hair you have, M'Lord."

"Indeed," said Prometheus, smiling slightly. "I am only passing through, and I simply need directions. It is my understand that your group unearthed a cave nearby that leads to the castle of a certain Lord Blackthorn."

The man winced noticably at the mention of that name, and then spat.

"Aye indeed, and I wish we had never found that cursed place. We are under constant attack by the animals from the other side, and those savages who ride them!" He spat again. "If ye are going there, be prepared for a fight, lad!"

"Aye indeed, I am prepared, sir. Thank you kindly for your directions." Prometheus bowed, and then tossed him a small pouch of gold. The man caught it, weighed it in his hands, and smiled.

"Blessings to ye lad!"

Prometheus nodded, and spurred his horse towards the cave. The entrance was well marked, but he couldn't see any deeper inside. It was almost is if the light was being devoured.  Thinking quickly, he cast a Nightsight spell and then, taking a deep breath, entered the cave.