The Stone

Leander flitted silently through the apsens that made up the Elven wood. He might not act like an elf, but his instincts were sharp and he knew these woods well. Deftly he maneuvered across a ridge, down into a valley, invisibly moving tree to tree and occasionally glancing over his shoulder to see if his stalker was still there.

Finally he stopped in a small clearing not far from Telrúya, the Elven tree village that he lived in. Placing his back against an old oak, he peered back in the direction he came. After several minutes, he felt confident that he had lost his pursuer. He could not get the eerie encounter at the tavern out of his mind and was amazed at the speed and agility with which the mysterious figure had pursued him. What did he want?

The elf kneeled down next to the quiet brook that flowed through the clearing and cupped his hand in the water, bringing the pure liquid to his lips. He could keep his eyes up and alert if he did not lean in to drink the water directly from the stream.

After refreshing himself, Leander stood up quickly and silently crossed the stream. He was going to go home and hope that tomorrow would prove that this was all a bad dream.


His head snapped around as he saw a dagger embedded in the tree limb next to his head. It was still vibrating and shimmered with some ungodly pale glow. He looked around and didn’t see anyone.

A thin, yet commanding voice hissed across the wind, “Graytorin.”

Leander shuddered at the voice. Why does he keep saying the name of our world? he thought. “Wh-h-ho are you?” he stammered.

“Graytorin,” came the voice. “I am Graytorin”

“Y-y-you’re.... Graytorin?”

“I am.”

“What do you, do you want?” Leander asked, his mind racing.

“The elves think they are the chosen of the gods. The gods will use others to kill the elves. Their arrogance smells bad and their actions do not benefit anyone but themselves,” the voice became bolder. “The music of the elves will be their demise”

With that a flash of lightning struck a rock in the center of the clearing splitting it down the middle. Lying in the middle of the ruins was a glowing stone.

“Pick it up,” the voice ordered. Then there was a flash and Leander was alone.

Slowly, Leander inched toward the glowing stone. On it, he could see etchings. What kind of magic is this? he thought. He peered at the etchings and then stood up alarmed.

The etchings were a drawing of a flute.

The End

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