Prologue

In a puff of black smoke, a man appeared in the main hall of a dilapidated inn. The ceiling creaked as the winds of the world tested the wood’s remaining strength. The stone wall was damaged, looking to give way at a moment’s notice. He brushed back his long black hair while gazing up into the rafters. His black filled eyes roamed the rafters until they fell upon a shadow that seemed out of place.

“You are late,” the shadow spoke in a harsh whisper.

“Bite your tongue, lowlife. I am employing you; you have no say in this arrangement other than how you get the job done. Even that you will carry out as I specify, should such an occasion arise.”

“Who is it this time, my lord?” The shadow filled out, becoming a body kneeling on a wooden rafter.

“It is not merely a who, but a what. You are to bring me the Vlamir and its bearer alive. Unconscious or risen are acceptable, but spoiled or poisoned and even the shadows will not be able to hide you from my wrath.”

“I swear it will be done.”

At these words, the black haired man vanished in a billow of black smoke, leaving only a small sack of coins where he once stood. The shadow man dematerialized into the shadows. A shadow extended out from its position into the light cast by the slots in the rotting roof unfazed until it arrived underneath the small sack of coins that is swallowed up. The shadow then drew to a corner of the room before slipping through the wall and disappearing.