Prologue: The Mystic

In a distant land, deep in the midst of an ancient forest, he sat hunched over a large pile of dusty scrolls while his eyes scanned the beautifully written prophesies of the Maiden.  The scrolls were written in the ancient tongue of the legendary Mystics and masters of the sword.  The shadow of a small flame, cast off from the stub of a candle, danced on his wrinkly face as his long fingers swirled above him, sparking off bursts of Łiǵhʈ.  He wore a long, midnight blue robe that obscured him from head to foot.  Perched on his white head was a tall, wide-brimmed hat that completely covered his features, manifesting a ghostly look.  

Beside him, leaning against his high backed chair was a staff.  The beautiful, ancient wood glowed in the small light of the candle and a pale blue ball graced the top.  Energy, lightning, and power crackled within the ball’s glassy surface.

His name was Ffafgen and he was waiting for her—the Maiden—the one who would free his enslaved home.  He knew she would come, for the ancient writings said she would.  She would seek him out to learn from his extensive wisdom and skill.  And he would help her prepare for the difficult trials that lay ahead of her.

A gentle knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.  He looked up and peered through his wise grey eyes that sat underneath bushy eyebrows as a young boy of about fourteen entered.  The old Mystic beckoned the boy as he hesitantly walked through the massive ebony door frame.  He bore a wooden tray laden with a steaming cup of mint tea and two light cakes spread with wild honey. 

“You’ve been in here for hours Ffafgen,” he said, setting the tray down on a small stool.  “I thought you might be hungry.”

“Thank you my son,” Ffafgen answered while rolling up his scrolls.

“Lunar has returned with news from Tarius,” the boy said, stepping back near the door.  “Malcus has just—”

“My boy,” Ffafgen interrupted.  “Please do not speak to me of those matters right now, for I might lose control and set the roof on fire again,” he finished, smiling thinly.

The boy chuckled at the memory.  “Of course sir.”

After a moment’s pause the old Mystic looked up.  “Has there been any word or sightings?” he asked.

“No Ffafgen, there has been no word… do you think she will come soon?” the boy asked, taking a bold step into the chamber.

The old Mystic smiled.  “Oh yes, she will be here soon.” He paused, then slowly moved to stand by a tall window beside his desk.  Outside the window a light sheet of blue rain fell amidst a blanket of cool fog.  Ffafgen smiled again,  “Yes, she will be here very soon indeed…”