Jeff Inlo - Nightmare's Shad

Magical energy inundated the land of Uton like water. It pooled in the valleys and swept across the plains like a flash flood. It drifted across the sky like swollen rain clouds and rushed beneath the surface through caverns like an underground river. It was in the soil as well as the leaves of every plant. It was the steam from heat and the ice of cold. It could reflect the sky and the mountains like a clear lake, create illusions as incredible as any dream. Disturb it and it would send ripples of turmoil as far as the eye could see.

Ryson Acumen sensed such a disturbance-something in the wind, something off to the west. A mix of impressions fell upon his delver senses. He could smell fear, hear haste, and feel desperation. Definite physical properties defined each sensation, but the magic wrapped itself around each and added mystery to the mayhem.

He tried to understand the magical energies that flowed over, across, and through the land, but the concept remained mostly foreign to him. He was no spell caster, and although Enin insisted that magic was inside every delver, the energy seemed to move beyond his instincts. It felt both natural and unnatural at the same time, like a familiar face that arrives uninvited at a late hour.

His inherent delver abilities, however, allowed him to hone in on even subtle changes to the land. His heightened senses fed his curiosity, but they also often warned him of danger.

The west was a constant source of upheaval for him lately. The magic casters experimented with spells of unknown power in the isolation of the desert. It seemed easier to control the magic in the barren land, as if-like water-the energy hastened to leave the sand and rock to its own devices, and thus-unlike water-it was easier to collect.

And yet, the wind that carried this new sensation did not seem to originate from the sands of the LacobianDesert. The direction was true, but not the distance.

Ryson placed greater attention on the anomaly, focused his senses on what he could not quite see or touch. One of the attributes became very clear to him. He actually smelled a desire a wish to leave the forest that surrounded him.

Odd.

DarkSpruceForest had become a haven for creatures that utilized and depended on the magical energies. Most beasts viewed Dark Spruce as the ultimate sanctuary.

Ryson, however, could not dismiss the sensation. It was fear mixed with the desire to flee, as opposed to the gripping terror that might leave one unable to move, frozen in a dazed stupor.

The delver leapt silently to a small clearing among the trees and narrowed his sight to the shadows off to his left. He held his breath and his ears quickly picked up the rustling of leaves and the snapping of twigs.

Something was moving in his direction, but he was not the target. Whatever it was seemed to be running at a constant speed with escape being the one true objective. The form coming at him was fairly large-he could tell that just from the sound-and somewhat nimble, moving with an agility somewhere between the effortless grace of an elf and the persistent forward thrust of a shag. The movement matched the desire of flight that Ryson could almost taste. The motivation for such emotion? still unknown.

The delver focused on the shadowed form that finally came into sight, and he matched its outline with his growing knowledge of dark creatures in the area. The size and motion made the identity clear. It was a swallit-a powerful creature that combined the features of a buffalo with those of a human, but instead of hair, it was covered with thick strands of matted vines. Swallits could run swiftly on all fours or maneuver with great mobility on just their hind legs while standing upright.

Swallits remained rare in Uton; very territorial and more secluded than river rogues. Not many had crossed over to the land, or at least Ryson had encountered very few. They did not pose much of a threat to humans, but they remained dangerous. It was difficult for humans to outrun such creatures, but delvers were much more elusive than humans and Ryson did not fear the charge of the beast.

Unwilling to dismiss the situation as a random encounter, Ryson remained more concerned over the monster's intentions. Most predators did not openly hunt swallits, and for good reason. Swallits were not quite the most cunning of dark creatures-nowhere near as daring as serps-but they were leagues ahead of most goblins in the areas of critical thinking. They could also cast spells, or so the lore revealed. Ryson had never actually witnessed a swallit utilizing magic, but the lore had proven accurate in its descriptions of other monsters and Ryson found no reason to doubt this particular attribute.

Still, the delver knew he could communicate with the beast. He just had to get its attention.

Ryson unsheathed the Sword of Decree and the forest lit up around him as if noon time. The blade reflected starlight a thousand times over and the delver stood at the center of the light. He called out and demanded the creature acknowledge his presence.

"Swallit! I'm a delver and I want to talk to you."

At first, the creature veered away, but as if realizing it could not escape a true delver, it swerved back around and quickly circled the figure holding the blazing sword.

"Ryson Acumen?"

Hearing his name uttered by a beast of the dark lands caught him by surprise, but Ryson recovered quickly.

"You know me?"

"You hold the sword."

As much as he didn't want to admit it, Ryson's exploits were becoming well-known by human and dark creature alike. With the Sword of Decree in hand, he had destroyed the Sphere of Ingar, which ultimately unleashed the magic across the land. He had saved the dwarf city of Dunop from shadow trees with the glowing blade and cleaved the dark wizard Baannat in half. He could not deny that the shining weapon was becoming legendary.

"Yes, I hold the sword, and I need to know where you're going."

The creature would not answer at first, but Ryson would not accept silence. The creature was headed east-toward Burbon, toward his home-and Burbon was now somewhat vulnerable. Creatures like the swallit would normally avoid Burbon for it was the home of a wizard who was becoming much more legendary than the Sword of Decree. Unfortunately, that wizard's attention was currently divided.

On that night, as on many other past nights, the wizard Enin remained in Connel, helping to rebuild a city that had seen two major conflicts. Connel had fared badly in the return of magic. Dwarves had almost decimated the city, and what was left intact temporarily fell into the hands of a goblin horde. The city endured both hardships, but not without great loss, and the wizard vowed to guide the city back to prosperity.

Still, Enin had not abandoned Burbon, had not simply left it to its own devices. He had cast many spells to serve as mystic barriers against invading hordes, and he remained ready to return to the small town if the need was urgent. He would not leave Burbon-so close to Dark Spruce and the last true town before the LacobianDesert-defenseless.

Ryson understood that these defenses might keep away most invaders, but not all. The most cunning and cruel creatures sensed the presence of magic casters. They would know of Enin's departure, and though Burbon was protected by walls and towers, as well as a finely trained militia, it remained a ripe target so close to DarkSpruceForest.

"You're headed east, toward Burbon. Is that where you're going?"

The swallit released a throaty cough as if to grumble.

"I will bypass Burbon."

"Then where are you going?"

The swallit finally came to a stop. It rose up on its hind legs and walked slowly toward the delver.