Top Story: Terror in the Northern Mists!

Soaring over the gleaming spires of City of Valor, our scene turns north-east, upon green fields in the morning mist... "Watch it, Trev'. He may be out-cold, but he gave me one helluva fight before I got em. If'n you see em stir, whack em good!" The two shepherds approached the feathered heap with extreme caution, crouched in battle stances and moving as silently as possible across the foggy, muddy field. Somewhere in the mist, the herd bleated madly, driving their anxiety to the point of panic. Treven reached out with his crook and prodded at the creature gently. No movement. "Damnit Trev' don't go wakin' em up!" Lorn hissed. Using his crook carefully this time, Treven pulled the great, mottled wing of black and ashen feathers over. The body rolled with it, and both men squealed as a pair of huge, reddish-gold owl eyes turned their fixed gaze on them. After running to a safe distance (some twenty yards away), they looked at each other and then quickly averted their gazes in embarrassment. Though both men feared to look back, knowing they'd see the great owl-demon-thing swooping down to rip their eyes from their heads, they steeled their resolve and slowly turned... "Whaddya see, Lorn'?" "Uhhh...I got somethin' in my eye. Can't see nothin'. You tell me." With his mouth in a frozen grimace and a white-knuckle grip on the crook he'd brought along, Treven slowly opened one eye and saw the creature still laying where it was, apparently sleeping with its eyes wide open. Letting out a sigh of relief he turned to see Lorn with both eyes still shut tight, in the same stance, with his broom handle thrust forward like a broadsword. "Ain't we a pair? Open yer damn eyes, ye git! He's still conked-out!" The men moved towards the bird again, this time noting the ritualistically mutilated sheep laying on the far side of it. It's entrails had been spilled, for some reason, and by the blood on the creature's hands it looked as though it had been done in a painful fashion. Standing right over their quarry, the men discussed what to do with it. As they decided on turning it in to the local authorities, Lorn began to walk away to fetch some rope. He turned and asked Treven, "Ya still got that rope in yer shed?" Treven turned his head towards Lorn, but already he was just a vague figure in the heavy twilight fog. "Aye, it's right next to the-...Agh! AAAAH! AAAAHHH HHHHHHHGGGGgggghhhhhhhh-gle-gl-gllllgglgll.....!! Lorn raced back as his friend let out a blood-curdling scream. He couldn't believe his eyes when he saw Treven's lifeless, frost-bitten body. To his growing horror, the owl-demon had a hand buried inside his stomach. After a few moments punctuated by a grotesque series of squelches and squishes, it wrenched its fist free of his friend, pulling his innards forth. Lorn fought hard to suppress the urge to vomit, but let out a terrified gasp instead. The owl's head turned impossibly fast, and in a flurry of feathers and talons it leapt towards him, screeching "THIRTEEN!! THIRTEEEEEEEN!!! AAAAAAAHHHHH!!!"

Omerta Hex

A pair of small, wrinkled hands turns to the next page of a Serin's mystique. After a moment, an excited voice speaks from behind it, "I think I've found a likely candidate. We need to leave at once." All around him, a bustling hive of activity carries on with its work golems of many shapes and sizes cut, shape, and fit sleek metal framing into a great, great, spherical building of some kind. Within it, eight completed levels, with five more under construction, are filled with curious receptacles which have been set set into its side-walls, each engraved with archaic runes and inset with a round, glass disc marked by an empty hole, apparently awaiting a missing component. The scene fades away as two short, robed figures are seen walking towards the one reading the newspaper. Three sets of tiny feet pitter-pattered down the hall, trying to keep pace with the Peacekeeper's long strides. As they reached the cell marked "WARDED - MAGES ONLY, the armor-clad guardsman removed the key tied to his necklace and placed; it in the lock with as his shaky hand caused it to clatter against the metal. ; With a somewhat sheepish expression, he turned towards the three cowled visitors and muttered. "Knock thrice, wait, and then twice again when you want out," he whispered. With a sharp turn of his wrist the lock clicked and he pulled the cell door open. When all three had entered, he closed it back in a hurry, locking them in with another sharp click. Clinging high up upon an arial perching pole, Zynzin observed his guests in silence as they pulled back their hoods, revealing them to be a trio of wizened gnomes. One stepped forward, introducing himself, "I am Glixengraggle, and these are my associates, Fligwurner and Obnibbin. But, you can call me Mr.Glix. You've never heard of us, I'm sure, but we've certainly heard of you. Ms. Twitterlark's article, Terror in the Seven Pines, drew our interest." With a curious hoot, Zynzin stared at them with his huge, unflinching eyes. Taking that as a kind of greeting (which it most certainly was not), Mr.Glix continued, "I know you have a lot on your mind, what with the impending execution and all that. So I'll try to keep things short and to-the-point. We heard the shepherds of the Valor tried to lynch you! How exciting!" he smiled, in earnest enthusiasm, seemingly wanting Zynzin to expound on the tale. After a few awkward moments, he continued, "Who can blame them really, after what you did to those two fellows. Oh my, how grisly!" again with an inappropriately jovial grin. "They say you removed their umm...innards?" Hoot. "Once we had heard from the townsfolk that you had been found examining them, we realized it must be some form of haruspicy you were practicing. But, to what end, we asked ourselves? Of course, when we investigated the scene of the action, so to speak, the peasants there distinctly recalled you carrying on about a rather horrific doomsday prediction once they had subdued you." Talons clenched upon the perching post for a long, tense moment. And then, "hoot." "That's splendid. I think you're just the person we're looking for. Fligwurner, if you would," he gestured with a cordial, yet formal hand to his associate. Stepping forward sharply, Fligwurner produced a scroll from his sleeve and opened it in a sharp, deliberate motion. "Hem hem hem! Zynzin Iro, of the East Darkhaven Aerie, you are hereby offered the position of Second Class Procurement Agent for the purpose of gathering specimens using necrogenic collection methods and apparati. Compensation includes all travel, training, and equipment costs plus a generous bi-annual deposit at a bank of your choice." Sucking in a long breath, he continued, "Employment is contingent upon acceptance of the Omerta Hex, which will prevent you from divulging the details of the contract, vis-a-vis nullification of communication methods and a 'painful deterrent.' Obnibbin?" Fligwurner stepped back with a quick snap, as Obnibbin stepped forward to speak. "Soooooo, basically you can take the job or we can leave you here, where you're gonna get stoned to death, or drowned, or plucked, or whatever the townies decide oughta happen. We're gonna pay you real well, but the risks are yours. If you get into a jam, you're on your own. Got it?" For the first time, Zynzin spoke to them, "Why? What purpose do these specimens serve, he cooed, casting a wary glance at Obnibbin. "That's above your pay-grade. We've got a lot of stops to make, so if you could hurry up..." Hoot. "So be it," said Obnibbin as he began weaving the Omerta Hex. His magic was so strong it cut through the cell's wards as if they didn't exist. After the hex was spun, the world simply vanished as Glix traced a rune in the air. When he reality materialized once more, he was standing in the middle of Seringale, holding a curious backpack stuffed with strange artifacts and a large tome emblazoned with the title "Necrogenic Procurement - Theory and Practice."

Worries of the Tiny Council

Inside the strange, spherical structure again, Mr.Glix, Fligwurner, and Obnibbin stand around a scrying pool, looking across an unknown, but undoubtedly vast distance in observation of their new employee. "I hope you know what you're doing, Glix," Obnibbin spoke in a worried tone. Mr.Glix responded, without removing his eyes from Zynzin's exploits in Seringale, "We all know what the plan requires, Ob'. In order for life to go on, even if it won't be in this doomed world, we need to use an agent of death." "I, for one, wish there was another way," said Fligwurner, as dryly as if he were reciting from a legal document. "Don't we all!" snapped Mr.Glix. "We've been over this. And over it. And over it some more! It would be utterly impossible to capture two of every living thing and feed it for some indefinite time while we seek out a new home. All we can do is collect their essences and reconstruct them once we arrive. It is the ONLY way." With a sigh, Obnibbin lamented, "I never thought I'd be unleashing a horror upon the world, though. Not to mention three. How are the others doing so far?" "Let's take a look..." The scrying pool ripples with incarnadine light as the scene shifts to reveal a dark- skinned, human woman. Though she's clearly shouting angrily, no sounds come through the pool, only sights. As the image pulls back, the three gnomes gasp as they see that she is tied to a wooden stake amid a pile of brush and timber. Her angry curses turn to cries of anguish as someone in the gathered mob sets the wood on fire. Before the image fades, the gnomes grit their teeth in anger as they see her backpack being tossed into the blaze. "Damnit all!" shouted Mr.Glix. "She had been in the field for three years!" "It's not a complete loss. I made a collection from her a little over a year ago." "Regardless...I think we need to step-up our collections. Six months should do." A lengthy silence ensued as they observed another Procurer - this one a half-elf man, as he was in the process of delivering a fatal blow to a kobold. Just as the creature expired, the man pulled forth a slender glass tube, sealed at both ends. After uttering a brief incantation, streaks of chartreuse, negative energy arced to the body from the tube. After a moment, the color faded from it, and the tube began to glow a vibrant red. "Ghastly," exclaimed Fligwurner. "And from that creature's sacrifice, his entire race may have a chance to survive what is to come. Changing the subject, Obnibbin asked, "What about this matter of the 'number?' Do you foresee trouble, Glix?" "I really don't know. Foresight fails me with this Zynzin, but I feel he has more promise than the others. Nor can I see much about his past. He's an enigma. All I can truly sense is that we need him. Whether we can stand it is another matter. I'm not sure he's entirely sane." As the three brood deeply over recent events, the image fades away..

Flashes of Insight

Mr.Glix was practically beside himself with excitement as a curious wisp of cerulean light descended from somewhere in the vastness of the evening sky. Several years ago he had conjured it forth to retrieve information about the enigmatic Zynzin, and since this particular entity could traverse time as easily as others might travel distances, com harm was certain much of the cryptic owl's past would be revealed, at last. Humming softly, the glowing orb came to hover before Mr.Glix, and in a brilliant flash instantly conveyed its information. What it had discovered was as grim as it was fascinating... -= Flash =- The fledgling owl had begun to test his wings. Though he couldn't yet take flight, he was getting very close. Only one of the other twelve chicks was on part with his strength. But, Zynzin wasn't going to be outdone by his brother. As he watched him scoot to the edge of the nest, high-up in the warm, life-giving limbs of the great hearthwood tree, Zynzin realized that if he didn't act immediately, he'd always be second best, even though he was first to hatch. The scene began to fade away amid flashes of blue, green, and white light. But, before it did Mr.Glix could see the broken body of the fledgling owl upon the cold snow. High above, victorious hoots and chirps echoed through the forest. -= Flash =- Talons ripped into the mouse, the weight of the owl's body crushing its bones, snapping its neck, killing it with the explosive speed and power of a lightning bolt. It was Zynzin's first hunt, and he had already proved to his parents and peers that he retained all of the bestial instincts of their true, avian ancestors. Despite his success, he found he wasn't particularly hungry, and after a few pecks at the carcass, moved to fly away. Before he could, a great, shadowy figure descended from the heights of the forest and touched-down in front of him. Zynzin looked to his imposing father, Serusu, fearfully, but did not balk as the great owl stared him down. "Zynzin," he said, "Never take a life unless it serves a purpose. To kill without cause is an affront to the spirits who sustain us. Do you understand?" After a moment, he nodded hesitantly, questions and doubt clearly visible in his eyes. -= Flash =- Flies buzzed incessantly around the pumpkin patch, feasting upon the dead beasts which lay strewn about unceremoniously. Zynzin, now several years old, looked distinctly different from an owl, and was quite a bit larger. In one hand he held an old, yellowed tome, and in the other was the still-beating heart of a rabbit. After a moment of careful examination, com harm tossed it into his mouth like a piece of candy and then plunged his hand back into the animal's opened gut. Pulling forth the entrails, he spent considerable time looking over them, hooting curiously all the while. Serusu's shadow heralded his arrival once more, but this time he crashed into Zynzin, sending the tome and the guts flying in different directions. As he pinned his son down com harm boomed angrily into his face, "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING!?" Less fearful than before, Zynzin glared back for a moment, and then began a strange, warbling laugh. "Be calm, father. I've killed them for a cause, as you once said I must." Angered by his son's disrespectful joviality, but clearly curious, Serusu demanded an explanation. "I found that book in the Keep of D'Kaldar. It speaks of the common ancestry between druidism and necromancy...it shows how to use the dead to peel back the very skin of time..." Growing horror lit Serusu's great eyes with inner rage. "It is forbidden! We live by The Way, not the twisted seed of darkness that fell from its great limbs long ago! Speak no more of this! With a leap, Serusu took to the winds, setting down for a moment to pluck the ancient tome from the ground. Breathlessly, Zynzin stared into the night sky. After a while, he began to laugh again. -= Flash =- The venerable Harkener was dying. She was an ancient, wise owl who served as healer, mediator, ambassador, and most importantly, the priestess of The Way. The flock had gathered to sing beneath the light of the full moon as she began to pass into the shadow of the Crone. Zynzin took the opportunity to sneak into the Hollow and retrieve the tome his father had reclaimed a year earlier. Knowing he'd most likely be killed or banished if he were caught with it again, he had already packed his things and intended to depart the East Hardan Aerie once and for all. The deep roots of mysticism among his people would lead them to craft a tale about how Zynzin Iro, eldest son of Serusu, had been called to fly the Harkener's spirit to the moon, which they called the Face of the Crone. But, Serusu alone suspected the truth - that his son had a taste for death, and chased after forbidden knowledge. He mourned not for the loss of his first-hatched, but for the world which would have to endure him. -= Flash =- Zynzin was more happy than he had ever been as he perused the shelves of the Enclave. So many things he would have never known of if he had remained with the flock, and this place was proof that he'd made the right decision. Though he clearly had a fascination with the macabre, Mr.Glix felt a curious breed of relief, and even hope, overtake him as he saw Zynzin's gaze come to rest upon an unnamed book embossed with the number 13 on its binding. It was strangely logical that this deadly owl, who so cherishes the accumulated wisdom of the world, would find himself enamored with a faith which holds the very same concept as something sacred, and even holy. Mr.Glix held onto a few of the key, defining moments of Zynzin's past, and as they wisp began to drift away, he reflected on the curious luck they'd had in recruiting a follower of Resatimm for a mission of preservation. It occurred to him, briefly, that this owl was still quite dangerous, and shouldn't be fully trusted. But, he still felt a bit better now than he had before. ...Sometime before all this occurred... Zynzin released the curious, cerulean wisp from his grip after making certain his instructions had taken hold of it. As it began to ascend into the sky, preparing to traverse time itself and bring Mr.Glix a cache of valuable information, he spoke the command one last time, "Bring me everything he knows about the Omerta Hex, and my mission. And, don't forget to find out _exactly_ where they are..." He laughed that eerie, warbling cackle into the misty woods.