Drawn to the Flame: Darkness Returned

[Flicker of Darkness]

In the middle of Stormport's Town Square, a shadow rises from beneath the flagstones, waits, and then sinks back below them again, biding his time.

A few moments later, an elderly elf walks through the Town Square, leaning heavily on a walking stick. As he walks slowly through the square, the shadow rises once more, whispering an ancient incantation.

Instantly, the elf is gripped, as if by a dark hand, unable to move. The shadow begins to engulf him, his wrinkles begin to disappear, his skin regaining its former lustre. The thinning grey hair atop his head returns to the long blonde mane of his youth, the sinews and muscles underneath his skin spasming and tensing, renewed once more with the strength they once held. In the powerful maelstrom of magic, his walking stick is ground to dust, his clothes ripped and torn from his body.

Having restored the elf to his youthful vigour, the dark force begins to transfer its essence into this new vessel. Suddenly, the wind begins to howl, the force begins to flicker, weakened by some kind of trauma, losing its power by the second.

Soon, the shadow is no more, drained of whatever semblance of life it once held. All that's left is a teenage elf, curled up in a ball in the middle of Stormport's Town Square, naked, with no memory of his life before, or even of what just happened. All he knows are a handful of spells. And a name. He keeps hearing a name, over and over in his head. He assumes it must be his.

Standing up, he casts a fireflames spell, gazing at his hand as it becomes engulfed by fire. He stares at the flame almost hypnotically, watching it dance on his fingertips. A young shamaness is walking through the Town Square when she stops, taken aback by the sight of this naked elf. Before she can say a word, however, he gestures at her, sending an arcing flame in her direction, the blaze quickly overwhelming her slender young body.

He stands there, watching, as the corpse burns, captivated by the flame. When the dying embers flicker, he notices a singed wizard's hat, and a woolen robe in the pile of ash. They weren't the finest of garments, but given his current state of undress he wasn't about to complain. Putting them on, he notices they're still warm from the fire that consumed their former owner. He smiles, and walks off into the night, the shadows' embrace almost as comforting as the warmth of his new robe.

[Coireatie]

Coireatie wished Quesilbeth a good evening as he made his way out of the Guild and into the Stormport night. The Arcane Master's Quarter was typically quiet, one of the many reasons he considered this his home, even if it was just a mere outpost of the main guild in Moorgate.

Heading to his favourite haunt, the Grinning Horse, he walked through the Town Square and for a moment was reminded of that fateful night. He couldn't remember how he'd ended up there, and certainly couldn't remember why he was naked, but the rest of the night, the smell of her burning hair, the way her skin bubbled as the flames licked her body, that was etched indelibly on his mind.

The contrast between the Arcane Master's Quarter and Merrivale's vibrant tavern could hardly be more pronounced. There was plenty of raucous, drunken laughter as well as the occasional squeal of delight as the barmaids pretended to enjoy it when their patrons groped them, hiding their disgust in the hopes of better tips.

Coireatie orders himself some food and a glass of the chamare '43. He sips his wine while he waits for his food to be prepared, and ponders his future.