The Moonrift  
Part One   
By: Chandar Dragon {chad_b@efn.org}   
 
Copyright Notice:  This story is public domain.  Distribute it to
the ends of creation and beyond, but I would ask that no one alter
it besides grammatical correction, or a similar form of editing.
This story is meant as a gift to the Ultima Dragons, and as such I
would like it to remain my creation.

  *Author's Note:  This is my first attempt at a story, so I expect
it will improve over time.  I am now writing this in a program with
a spell-checker, so I'll probably only be making grammatical
mistakes from now on :).  I will try my best to keep this at a
minimum.  Part One will not be nearly as long as Core of Darkness,
but I hope to eventually write a story that long.  I would like to
thank every dragon that has given me feedback about my writing,
those that inspired me to write this work, and those that helped me
create it.  There are many more things than this to thank these
individuals for, too many to list here.  I would like to thank (In
no particular order):

Marith Dragon  
Minstrel Dragon
Encomium Dragon  
Monomolecular Dragon (Why? For writing the Core of Darkness, of
course!)  
Buran the Silver Dragon  

(This list will undoubtedly be much larger when I upload the 'final'
copy to the Ultima Dragons FTP Site.  Anyone I forgot to mention,
please find it within your heart to forgive me :)
  
	Unlike the Core of Darkness, I cannot mention so many dragons in
this work, for I feel that I need to know them some small amount to
include them.  Do not take this wrong, I'm not saying Mono didn't
know all those Dragons well enough to include them, I'm simply
saying that I feel that I should know them before I include them,
and I don't know nearly that many (<- Major Understatement).  If any
Dragon desires to be in the story, feel free to send me an E-mail
basically describing your Dragon's personality and physical
description, as well as any equipment you might normally be carrying,
and, if possible, a description of your Weyr.  I might include a few
Dragons that I have not actually talked too, but post regularly to
AGUD, and hence I have a small idea what they are like.  Please do
not be offended by anything I write about you.  You may ask to no
longer be included in the story if you wish.
	Any Dragon name I include in the story is *not* intended to
reflect upon said person, I am simply using their name as a real
Ultima Dragon for the benefit of the story. Basically:
	This is a work of fiction.  All characters and events portrayed
in this work are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or
incidents is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1 of Part One
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The Razainshazzarian Space-Time, or Dimension
-------------------------------------------------------------------

	"This is insane, we're never going to find one!  The Circle of
Elders have finally gone off the deep end.  Actually, its that damn
Shuk'athor who came up with the idea, but they shouldn't have
listened!  What strange magic has caused them to start believing
myths?  There are no 'Moon-Rifts' to other places!  What an absurd
idea."  The Shifter in his man-form continued to complain as he
hacked through the dense jungle-like terrain of the Land of Rising
Mists.  He and his close friend, Quazaer, had been two of the people
chosen for the task of seeking these 'Moon-Rifts', things that only
existed in legends and tales as far as either one of them was
concerned.  But Quazaer, who had studied all the material there was
about them, wished they were real.  He had always dreamed of
traveling to new worlds, to go to strange and exotic places.
	"The Circle of Elders, may they have eternal wisdom, have most
definitely *not* gone off the 'deep end', as you so eloquently put
it.  There is more reasonable data than the Legends of 'Eld that
points to the possibility of gates to other Dimensions existing.
Take how we Mages blink to other locations.  Many of the scholars of
Magic that have studied this spell believe it to create a tunnel
similar to these Moon-Rifts, except existing only in this dimension.
And if these recently recovered scrolls are, in fact, the only
complete copy of the Legends ever found, then there is far too much
at stake to simply blow off the possibility."  Quazaer, who followed
Raduin the Warrior, stopped and adjusted his Mage's robe.
	"Have you regained your power yet?"  Quazaer asked, as he pulled
a long pipe from his robe, and took a seat on a nearby stone.
	"Almost, but not entirely.  I have regained enough for another
day of Shifting.  And you?"  The warrior answered as he cleaned his
blade with a special ointment that removed the plant matter from it,
and aided in its sharpening.  After wiping his blade off with a
cloth, he produced a whetstone and began to sharpen his Machete.
	"I have completely recovered.  I had more time than you did,
though.  Did you get that rock the prophecy in the Legend spoke of?"
The Mage lit his pipe with a small flame that burst from his
fingertip.
	"Yes, though I almost lost my leg in the process.  I am still
recovering from the injury.  Here it is," Raduin pulled a small
black stone out of his pocket, and handed it to Quazaer.
	The Mage rolled the stone around in the palm of his hand.  He
could almost feel a magical energy being generated by the stone, but
whenever he tried to focus on it, it disappeared.  He knit his brows
in concentration, to no avail.  It was as if there were a great
energy residing within the stone, straining to get out, but it
somehow was missing a link.  It was a trigger item...  It was used to
trigger some sort of magical effect, he thought.  From the hint of
power that the stone was giving off, it was a powerful magic.  Find
the stone's link, and we've found the Moon-Rift, Quazaer
puzzled.
	"How did you wound your leg?"  Asked Quazaer absently as he
puzzled over the stone.
	"Ohh, it wasn't even in the Dungeon that I found it in.  It was
on the way to meet you...  Actually, it's not far from here.  It's
kinda strange, actually.  See, I was just walkin' along, minding my
own business, when I come to this clearing.  In the clearing was
this little circle of stones, they were not over a foot or so tall.
My memory starts to get fuzzy here, I *think* I was throwing the
stone up in air and catching it, when it suddenly flew right smack
into the middle of those stones.  Upon hitting the ground, I seem to
remember a bright flash of light, but after that is nothing.  The
next thing I can remember is running through the bushes as if my
life was in danger.  I had a very nasty gash running down my leg, I
was losing a lot of blood.  I had the stone again, I must have taken
it back during that blank space in my memory, and I was clutching it
as if it were the most important thing in existence.  I used my last
magical healing patch on it, but it didn't quite heal it all the
way, so It's still smarting some.  Weird, huh?"  He stopped
sharpening his Machete and tested the edge with his thumb.
Satisfied, he slid the half-sword back into its sheath across his
back, and began putting his equipment up.
	"Hmm. That's a very interesting tale, frien...  WHAT?!?  Hey,
wait a sec, Raduin!  What was that again about the clearing?"
Quazaer was sitting bolt upright with a very intent look on his
face.
	Raduin recounted what he could remember of the incident in the
clearing once more to Quazaer.
	"That's IT!  Don't you see?  That circle of stones is the link!"
Quazaer was almost giddy with glee.
	"What?  What link?  What are talking about?  Does it have
something to do with these Moon-Rifts?"  Raduin said, confused as to
what was the big deal.  
	"Yes, of course!  The stone, when brought between the stones,
created a Moon-Rift.  I don't understand what caused your amnesia,
but I will erect a spell protecting us from such a fate.  Lets go!
Which way did you say it was?"  "Wait just a minute here, I got my
leg ripped open in there, and you want me to go BACK?"  Raduin
asked, already knowing the answer.  Mages.  They're all the same.
"Yes, yes, of course.  Could've been an unusually large thornbush.
Strange things in this jungle.  Come now, which direction?"  Quazaer
was already up with his pack on, impatient to be off.  Raduin
sighed, and said, "Well, I'm not going in there as a human, this
time."  Even as he spoke, energy began to sizzle the air around him,
bolts of pure energy leaping from one point to another across his
body.  Soon he began to glow, brighter and brighter until he was a
solid mass of liquid light.  He began to change shape, to shorten
and lengthen at the same time.  With a flash of light, an unusually
large wolf was suddenly sitting where Raduin had been only moments
before.  "Lets go," said the wolf, and loped off into the thick
underbrush.  A gray owl flew through the trees above him, and nature
noticed not the unusual creatures traveling through their midst.  In
fact, there was but one who noticed them, a giant shape that
cautiously crept into the trail cut by Raduin, by a large stone
where a small bag of tobacco was left, forgotten by its owner in his
urgency.  The creature's hands were too large to take hold of the
bag, so it simply lifted the small boulder that it was sitting on,
and took a deep sniff.  Normally, caution was not one of this
creatures usual attributes, and its baser instincts took over, a howl
filling the air, telling its hunting companions it had found prey.

	*What was that?* Raduin sent the mind-words to Quazaer.  *I do
not know the creature that would, or could, make such a noise, but,
needless to say, it is very large.  It is obviously hunting us, for
that howl originated near where we rested, by that rock.  Oh, dear.
I left my tobacco pouch on it!* Quazaer answered.
	*Well, that's just great.  Now it has our scent, and it can track
us no matter what form we take on.  Looks like we're going to have
to rid the world of this particular creature.* 
	*That was expensive Tobacco...*

	They arrived at the clearing shortly after.  Both had reverted
back to their natural human forms.
	*Let us communicate through Mindspeach, for, though it is
taxing, it will perhaps keep us from being detected sooner.* Quazaer
thought to Raduin.
	*Agreed.* Came his short reply.  He had his magical Scimitar
out, its curved edge glinting in the noonday sun.  He kept all his
senses to the jungle around them, keeping track of their hunters
location in his minds eye.  *It would be nice if I had something to
give a perspective on their whereabouts* Raduin thought pointedly at
Quazaer.
	Quazaer took the hint, and threw him a gem.  *Thats my last, so
don't waste it!  OK...  Here we go.* He threw the black stone into
the midst of the circle.  Nothing.  *What?  I can feel that the link
is established...  Where is our Moon-Rift?* Quazaer stroked his chin
in thought.
	*Maybe you can't see it?* Thought Raduin.
	*No. Its very clear from the Legends that it is visible. Hmm...*
	As Quazaer and Raduin pondered the strange absence of a
Moon-Rift, a enormous creature suddenly burst from the jungle.  It's
twin heads roared, and it thrust its huge cudgel into the air, dried
blood could be seen on the spikes that thrust out of it at uneven
intervals.  The axe in its other hand whistled through the air,
biting deeply into Raduin's shoulder as he attempted to dodge the
weapon.  Had he hesitated a moment longer, it would have cleaved his
head in two.  The force the Ettin had put behind the weapon was
incredible, it picked Raduin off the ground and threw him into a
tree on the far side of the clearing.  The clearing filled with the
sizzling of blue light, and a bolt of thunder struck the Ettin
squarely in the chest.  It didn't seem to make it much past the
Ettin's thick layer of chest hair, charring the skin behind it, but
it was not a mortal wound to this great creature, simply an annoying
one.  Quazaer turned worriedly in the direction of Raduin, seeing him
lying limp under the tree.  He focused his mind, and manipulated the
element of Ether, bending it to his will.  The huge axe removed
itself from Raduin's shoulder, as if someone had plucked it out of
him.  His shoulder wound stopped bleeding, and his head wound
closed.  He opened his eyes and jumped up, but his left arm was very
weak.  Quazaer ducked as the Ettin swung his cudgel at his head, and
pointed at his spiked weapon.  A loud popping sound filled the air,
and the cudgel burst into a million fragments, many of them
embedding themselves in the Ettin's skin.  It roared in rage and
frustration, and gripped a large boulder at the edge of the
clearing.  Ripping the boulder from the earth, he hurled it at the
stunned Quazaer.  Surprise dulling his reactions, only after the
boulder was in the air did Quazaer notice it was hurling toward him.
He jerked his hand up, and a sizzling bolt of blue energy hit the
boulder.  The bolder fractured into fragments about three feet
across, but the immense momentum given it by the supernatural
strength of the Ettin kept the fragments flying toward Quazaer.  He
only had enough time to blast one or two of the fragments before he
was buried under almost a ton of rock.
	As the Ettin looked in search of a new weapon, he did not notice
the absence of Raduin, not seeing his healing by way of Quazaer.  He
took his axe, and looked for any remaining prey.  A reptilian
creature shot out of the jungle surrounding the clearing, the claws
on its hind legs digging into the flesh of the Ettin's back,
achieving a stable foothold.  Screaming a piercing war cry, the
creature ripped the jugular out of the Ettin's left neck, while
the Ettin tried urgently to strike it with it's axe.  The agile
fore-leg of the Reptile grasped the Ettin's right head and, jerking
is viciously, broke its neck.  The Ettin fell to its knees, and the
Raptor-like creature climbed to its shoulders, and it screamed its
victory out for all to hear.
	Just then, three more Ettins burst from different parts of the
clearing, charging toward the Raptor.  The Reptilian creature leapt
horizontally toward the nearest Ettin with incredible power, its
two hind-legs extended, each one hitting the twin faces of an Ettin.
As the Ettin's heads snapped backwards, and it began to fall, the
Raptor-like creature used the downward momentum to thrust itself at
the next Ettin, its claws digging into it's chest.  As the Ettin
screamed, Raduin, in his Raptor form, looked up, and saw that there
were now five more Ettins in the clearing, waiting to battle him.
His Shifting energy would not last that long after his wound, he was
doomed.  *Oh, well.* He though.  *I had hoped to go down fighting,
and it looks like my wishes have been answered early.* A growl rose
deep in his throat, as he looked into the face of death and was not
afraid.
	*Fear not, little brother.* A voice came to him in his mind.  He
laughed, thinking it strange to hear his best friend's voice before
his death.  *Why am I thinking of him instead of my family?* He
wondered to himself.
	His time had come.  He was perched on the body of a dead Ettin,
with six others circling him.  He had many wounds, and his energy
was nearly gone.  As the Ettin facing him raised its great, jagged
sword, he noticed the air behind it was blurry, like the air above
cobblestones on a very hot day.  *Strange I notice these things
before I die* He thought.  Suddenly the air condensed and
solidified into the form of a Great Golden Dragon, who was speeding
down at breakneck speed, in what the Dragons called a 'Powerdive'.
He hit the Ettin with such force that its body sunk below the
surface of the ground, and the Dragon's long, serpentine neck swung
back and forth, fire flowing from his maw.  Many of the Ettins fell,
burnt to such a degree that when they hit the ground a great cloud
of ash rose into the air around each.  The Dragon's wings beat the
air, causing many to lose their balance and making them unable to
fight back.  Incidentally, the wind created by the Dragon caused the
small black stone to fly out of the circle of stones, skipping along
the pile of rocks under which Quazaer was buried.  It fell between
the cracks, falling down so far as to come to rest beside Quazaer.
Immediately a pulsing red Rift sprung into existence, hanging above
the circle of stones.  This event went unnoticed in the mists of the
conflict.
	All but a few of the Ettins were now dead, and no more poured
from the forest to assault Raduin.  As one of the Ettins fell, it
used all of its remaining strength to hit Raduin with his spiked
cudgel.  Because of the power of the Ettins blow, Raduin, still in
his Raptor form, flew through the air, unknowingly toward the
Moon-Rift.  A crystalline note filled the air, even over the sound
of combat, and everyone there saw the last of Raduin flying through
the Moon-Rift, which was already beginning to waver and sway.  As
soon as Raduin was through, it collapsed in upon itself.
	The Golden Dragon bellowed in rage, and superheated flame shot
from his maw, frying the remaining Ettins.  He looked toward the
circle of stones, and bellowed in anger again.
	He had lost his best friend through this Moon-Rift, and the key,
the black stone, was buried under a ton of rock.  A speck as tiny as
that would be nearly impossible to find in such a mass of rock.  He
thrust himself into the air.  He knew not what to do, but first
thing was first...  Chandar must report to the Circle of Elders that
the Moon-Rifts were no longer myth, they were a reality.  And the
only thing that had come through were hostile creatures that wished
nothing but to kill.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
End of Chapter 1.  Chapter 2 will come soon:  "A stranger in a
strange land, Raduin arrives in Britannia"
-------------------------------------------------------------------
The Moonrift
Part One
By: Chandar Dragon

Chapter 2 of Part One
----------------------------------------------------------------
A Stranger in a Strange Land
----------------------------------------------------------------
	A frozen wind blew down through the peaks and around the
mountains in a dance of unparalleled beauty that was seen by none.
Raduin shivered, and pulled his shredded clothing tighter around
himself.  He had shed his Plate Mail, for he was already half frozen
when he had awoke.  He knew not where he was, but he figured someone
had left him here to die.  He wondered what reason someone would
have to take him all the way to a mountain-top to leave him to die,
though.  His half-frozen brain didn't consider any other
possibilities, he was more intent on survival.  He knew not that he
was in fact not only removed from the Land of Rising Mists, but he
was not even in Razainshazzara anymore.  His power was completely
depleted, and he felt, for some strange reason, that it would take
nearly twice as long to regain it than normal.
	He trudged along through the snow, ever downward, and soon he
could see that he had woken almost on the very tip of a fairly high
mountain.  He would have to hike for many miles before he reached
the end of the snow that was slowly freezing him to death.
	He hiked for what seemed like days, always downward, always more
snow on the horizon.  He had figured out that he was in a basin on
top of the mountain, and that the mountain was a dormant volcano.
None of this meant anything, of course, since he was about to perish
from hunger, cold, and thirst.  Not to mention the gaping hole in
his leg, where the Ettin's spiked cudgel had run it through with one
of its bloody spikes.  The cold had, luckily, stopped most of the
bleeding, but it was already becoming severely infected from the
bloody spike.  This slowed him even more, having lost almost all the
use of his right leg.
	Finally he came to the edge of the basin, and looked down from
his great height at what lied below.  He gasped, and rubbed his eyes
furiously to make sure what he was seeing was not an illusion.
	Below the mountain was a land more beautiful and alien than
anything he had ever seen, even more alien than the Land of Rising
Mists.  It was unlike his homeland, the land of the Shifters, the
Land of Deepest Shadow.
	More mountains capped with white stretched to the east and west,
forming a crescent shape on the large island in which he was located.
The opening between opposite ends of the crescent was only large
enough for a small harbor, which consisted of a raised wooden
platform with a few short piers extending from it into the water.  A
strangely dressed fellow was talking with another next to a large
black object.  Raduin had no idea that it was a cannon, or why there
was a large pile of round balls(cannonballs) piled neatly a short
distance away.  The opening in the object was pointed toward the
sea.  There was a single ship moored at the pier, and as Raduin's
eyes crossed over it, he stared in wonder.  In the Land of Deepest
Shadow, there were lakes in abundance, and they had ships which were
used to catch the armoured creatures that crawled along their
bottoms.  The large creatures skin was used in the making of armour.
But the largest ship that he had ever seen would have fit in the aft
cargo bay of this beauty.  It had three masts, the two on each end
being of uniform size, the middle mast being much taller.  On the
side of the hull was square holes, with more of those strange black
cylindrical things protruding from them.  A small black flag flew
from the mainmast, the symbol of a skull and crossbones upon it.
	Inland from the small harbor was a surprisingly large community,
filled with humans that followed the strange code of dress the two
on the harbor exhibited...  Some had patches over their eyes, all
were armed to the teeth, they wore strange curved hats that more
often than not had the symbol of a skull and crossbones emblazoned
upon it.  Many wore strange jewelry, earrings of many different
types, gold chains strung between pockets sewn onto the front of
their shirts.  Some were missing a leg that had been replaced by a
wooden peg, others had a hook instead of a hand.  People in
gold-laced clothing walked side by side with hardened warriors that
owned little more than what they carried on their own backs, not
appearing to notice the difference.
	Then his eyes strayed beyond the harbor, and once again he
gasped.  The bright noonday sun shone off the sparkling waters,
which reached out in all directions to touch the horizon in the
distance.  Raduin had never seen nor heard of so much water gathered
in once place.  The Land of Deepest Shadow consisted mainly of land.
Although there were numerous lakes, some very large, there was
nothing even remotely resembling an ocean or sea there.  Then, with
an almost physical impact, the memory hit him.  He remembered what
was before shrouded in darkness from the Ettin's blow.  He had flown
through the air towards a strange, pulsing red Rift after the blow,
and had entered it.  He remembered falling from a great height
toward the snow, twisting and turning in the air.  He had hit the
snow hard, and had lost consciousness at this time.
	He was no longer in Razainshazzara.
	A sudden feeling of loneliness swept over him, and he reached
urgently over his shoulder, and felt the reassuring hilt of his
Machete, or Half-Sword, as it was commonly called.  His hand then
felt the opening of an empty scabbard next to it, and he cursed.
His magical Scimitar, a heirloom of his family, had been lost in the
battle with the Ettins.  He stood up for a moment to take stock of
his situation.
	He felt at his boot-tops, and smiled, for he could feel five
hilts protruding from each boot, his throwing knives.  On each leg
was a short sheath tied, containing his moderately long fighting
daggers.  He examined his belt next, to see if any items had been
lost from there.  He still had most of his Shurken, which were
small, round, razor-sharp throwing stars used in combat.  He opened
the pouch on his belt, and dumped some of its contents out onto the
palm of his other hand.  Though it mostly contained Firegems, he had
some various magical rings and other trinkets in it.  He still had a
couple Light-Rings left, which were used instead of torches for
lighting your way in a cave or dungeon.  He also had a mostly used
Invisibility Ring, for which he was thankful.  His pouch contained
no money, having taken none for his trip into the Land of Rising
Mists in search of Moon-Rifts.  His right pant leg was gone, having
ripped it off and tied it around the large wound on that leg.  His
left pant leg was severely shredded from the battle, and had become
more of a hindrance than a help.  He ripped the rest of it off, and
tied a strip of it around his forehead to keep sweat and his hair
out of his eyes.  His thick, but flexible, tunic was made out of a
material native to Razainshazzara, similar in its resistance to
penetration as leather, but similar in consistency and flexibility
to cotton.  He had no food, but he could go without that for about
two weeks.  His water supply was the snow, which would only last
until he reached the snow-line, because he had nothing to carry more
of it in.  His biggest problem, though, was the biting cold, which
was sapping his strength more than anything else.  He knew he must
keep moving or he would freeze to death, so he leapt over the edge
of the basin. 
	And onto solid ice.
	His left food hit the ice and kicked upwards, causing him to hit
the ice hard on his back.  He slid down the side of the mountain,
which he could see now was completely ice beyond the basin.  He
twisted and turned, trying desperately to grab hold of something,
anything that would stop him.  He saw an upthrust of rock right
on the edge of the ice-line, and he rolled towards it.  As he shot
off of the huge sheet of ice covering that side of the mountain, he
grabbed hold of the small upthrust of rock.  The rock was covered
in a thick layer of ice that Raduin had not noticed before, so all
the rock served to do was slow his descent down the mountain, as his
fingers slipped off of it. 
	It was enough, though.  Instead of shooting off the icelayer and
away from the side of the mountain, he was now falling directly
downward along the side of it.  Directly below, he could see a small
outcropping of stone that was barely two feet wide, and only four
long.  He was spinning so fast he had no control over his direction
anymore, so he resigned himself to fate and waited... for about two
seconds, and then he slammed into the stone outcropping.  He felt
bones crack, and then nothing.
						    
						    * * *
							
	"Ha!  Didn't think I had it in me?  We'll...  It appears you
were wrong, sir!"  Ryan slammed the now empty mug down on the wooden
table, and gathered the pile of gold coins he had earned and put
them in the small pouch at his belt.  The pouch had been 'borrowed'
from a Mage, and it was said it couldn't be filled.  He only put
large things in his pouch when no one was watching, or when they
were too drunk to notice, which happened to be the case right now. 
	"Well...  I think it's time for me to retire, before I fall
down right here, and ye all rob me blind," Ryan said as he pushed
his chair back and stood.  This was answered by many drunken cries
and laughs, but the laughs came only from those too wise to bet
against Ryan.  
	Ryan was a short, wiry fellow that looked so normal, you tend to
not notice he's there unless something directly calls your attention
to him.  He had bright, merry eyes, an easy-go-luck attitude, and a
big smile.  This generally made people feel at-ease when they were
around him, made them lower their guard.  This helped serve his
profession, for being unnoticed and having a natural ability to have
people trust him was an ideal environment for a thief, and he
prospered in it.  Ryan was extremely intelligent in his work, he
could take small things at times when people didn't know who he was,
for he had learned the art of disguise so well, that you could almost
say there wasn't any true Ryan, because he never stopped wearing
masks.  Ryan's favorite mask, of course, was the mask he donned at
night, when he would sneak along the street, relieving people of
their jewelry and making their sacks of gold a lesser burden.  He
could enter someone's house and take subtle, but valuable, things, in
such a fashion that the victim often found himself thinking he had
simply lost something, or 'I could've sworn this bag of gold was
heavier when I left the Tavern'.  But, who could a aspiring thief go
to sell his wares?  The best price was always to be had at the
most vile lair of thieves and villainy in all Britannia, Buccaneer's
Den. There were underground establishments in all the townes and
cities of Britannia, but here the price was best for selling, and
buying, for these establishments also sold the tools of Ryan's trade,
that could be had nowhere else. 
	Ryan wished everyone a good night, and was out the Tavern door,
and into the cool night air.  He breathed deeply, and sighed, for
the night was his domain and hunting ground, and he loved its
cloaking darkness dearly, for without it, he would not be the thief
that he was.  He began to whistle a sea shanty, when his sharp eyes,
always scanning the scene ahead of him, noticed five figures
crouching in the dark.  He casually bent down to check the laces on
his boots, whistling all the while, his outward appearance showing
nothing Ryan wished it not to.  He was actually taking stock of the
situation, as he studied the men hiding in the shadows on either
side of the road.  They were professional assassins, and they knew
their trade well.  Someone wanted him dead bad, for five hired
assassins of those in the shadows caliber was an expensive
undertaking for their employer.  He turned ever so slightly as he
stood, and saw four more approaching him from the road behind,
walking with slow, measured steps toward him.  He could tell from
the way they walked they were also professional predators.
	The situation had turned from interesting to dangerous, and
Ryan's mind raced as he considered a course of action.  He decided
his usual subtlety would get him dead fast this time, so he thought,
*To Hell with it*
	Ryan burst into action, two daggers streaming through the air
towards two of the assassins in the shadows ahead of him as he ducked
and rolled away to the right, towards the Tavern.  He leapt out of
his roll in a smooth motion, grabbing hold of the edge of the
Tavern's roof, and flipped up onto it.  He saw two of the assassins
begin to rise, then jerk awkwardly, as a dagger pierced each of
their respective hearts.  He heard the curses of the other assassins,
and saw a crossbow bolt dig into the roof inches from his face.  He
ran across the rooftop, and leapt onto another adjacent building,
running as fast as his legs could carry him.  He leapt from building
to building with no pattern at all, hoping to lost the assassins, but
every time he thought he had lost them, another bolt would strike
a wall or roof right next to him, and he would be off again.  He
wondered if it was that Hook character.  He had acquired the man's
gold hook, but he had always heard Hook prized his silver one more.
No time to be thinking of anything besides survival, Ryan though as
he pushed his speculations from his mind, and concentrated solely on
his situation.  He had been running at full steam for nearly an
hour, and he was beginning to tire.  He would have to find a way of
escape soon, or he would be overcome.  The only reason he wasn't
dead yet was because the Assassin with the crossbow wasn't an
excellent marksman. 
	He could think of no place he could hide anywhere inside the
towne, so he began to think of alternate escapes in the wilderness.
He spied a field with very high grass, at least four feet tall, from
the roof of a farmers house.  He leapt onto the tool shed, then from
that to the ground.  He hit the ground running, and sped away into
the tall grass, which he could hide in if he hunched over a little.
He ran for about ten minutes, then stopped to listen for any signs
of pursuit.  Hearing none, he cautiously peered above the grass, and
saw the shape of four men silhouetted against the moon.  He crouched
and ran once more through the high grass.
	He had been running all night, and it was only a few hours until
sunrise when he reached the side of the mountain.  He cursed his bad
luck, which had been plaguing him all night long.  He peered above
the grass, and saw now that the seven remaining assassins were
surrounding him, trying to trap him against the face of the
mountain, which rose like a cliff behind him.  He couldn't possibly
run fast enough to be out of their circle before one of them shot
him, and climbing the face of the cliff was out of the question, for
in the bright moonlight he would be an easy target.  Knowing of
nothing that could save him, he laid down flat against the ground,
and began crawling along the side of the mountain.  He would take
most of them down with him, he thought, before they get me.  He
pulled a long dagger out through the collar of his shirt, where a
sheath was tied across his back underneath it.  No one could see
that it was there, because it laid in the crook of his back, and he
never removed his shirt in public.  As he crawled along, he suddenly
felt a cool breeze coming from his left, where the mountain was. He 
looked, and saw nothing except the weeds that were thick along the
bottom rim of the mountain.  He looked away and started to crawl
once more, when he felt it again, the unmistakable feeling of cool
air on his side.  He reached through the weeds, but felt no stone.
Curiosity overtaking him, he poked his head through the weeds, and
saw that there was a small, rectangular opening, about a foot and a
half high, and two and a half wide.  The opening was completely
concealed by the weeds.  Thanking the virtues silently, he crawled
through the opening, and into a fairly long tunnel.  Spider webs
choked the small passage, and large bugs began to crawl over him.
Disgusted, he crawled as fast as was possible, until he came to a
huge cave.  He stood, and started a strange dance as he attempted to
fling all the bugs off of himself.  He brushed his arms and legs
furiously, dislodging all the overgrown bugs that still clung to
him. Then he actually looked at the cavern.
	It was enormous, about a hundred yards high, and almost twice
that much in circumference, for it was decidedly round in shape.
Ryan stood on a small ledge the circled the roof of the chamber, for
Ryan could touch the ceiling.  A sheer cliff shot straight down
along the edge of the ledge, a drop of almost three hundred feet
before you hit the stone below.  The noise in the cavern was
deafening, for a great waterfall shot over the ledge far to his
left, cascading down the cliff until it reached the underground lake
below.  The lake dominated the floor of the cavern, but a large
portion of dry stone was still left.  Ryan looked at the cliff, and
saw that it had many foot and handholds, providing the next best
thing to a ladder down the side of the cliff.  Ryan's night vision
was excellent, but the reason he could see so much was the strange
glowing moss that covered the stalactites that hung from the
ceiling, and some parts of the cliff.  The moss seemed almost to be
moving, but Ryan was sure it was an illusion borne from the strange,
pulsing light they gave off, and anyway, it was no where near where
he stood.  He decided to climb down to the lake below, just in case
one of the assassins found the weed-choked entrance to the cavern.
He swung over the side, and began his long climb down to the stone
below.

							* * *

	Raduin awoke to great pain.  He was lying on the small
outcropping of rock he had struck so hard, and he was hurt badly.
His left arm was crushed under him, clearly broken, and he could
feel at least three broken ribs.  The left side of his hip was
shattered, and he couldn't move his legs.  He vaguely noticed the
opening in the mountain next to him, as he reached into his pouch
with his good arm.  He pulled one of his most prized possessions, a
ring that was perhaps the most rare of the magical rings made by
Shifter smiths.  He weakly slid the Regeneration Ring onto his
finger, then let the darkness take him once more.
	Raduin awoke choking on and spitting out snow.  Wind screamed
around him, threatening to rip him from his precarious position on
the small outcropping of rock.  The blizzard was furious, and all
Raduin could do was hold on for dear life.  Then he saw the opening
in the face of the mountain, and crawled through, using his good
arm.  He stopped once he was all the way in, and shifted his feet.
His precious ring had healed his shattered hip, and given him
control of his legs once more, but it was already more than half
used up.  His hip was still severely bruised, and it was incredibly
painful to move his legs, but he was healing.  Once again he let
sleep take him.
	Raduin awoke feeling rested and almost good.  He looked at his
ring, and saw the gem had lost all of its glitter, the sign that the
ring had been used up.  He pitched it out into the blizzard, which
was still raging outside.  His hip and legs were completely healed,
and his left arm, which had been broken, was now only very sore.
His ribs still smarted, but he didn't think they were broken
anymore.  He was starving, not to mention thirsty.  The small alcove
was strangely warm.  He shifted and looked around, and saw that the
alcove continued into darkness farther into the mountain.  He
twisted the gemstone in his light-ring, and a sourceless light
filled the small alcove, which Raduin now knew to be a tunnel.  He
crawled along, and saw that the tunnel was slowly shrinking.  He
reached its end, where it became a hallway.  He managed to squeeze
through the small opening and into the hallway.  He stood and
stretched his cramped muscles, then looked around.
	The hallway he was in was definitely not natural, for one thing
the corners were too square, and he had never heard of a natural
hallway with torch-holders in the wall.  All the torches had been
burned out long ago.  He began walking down the hallway, his caution
keeping him alert.  Soon he could see side passages branching off of
the hallway he was in, which seemed to be the main one.  The hallway
was definitely pointing downward, for when he looked back, the crack
he had crawled out of was above his head level.  He kept walking
along for about a half mile, and then the hallway was so steep he
had trouble keeping his balance.  He came to a large opening, this
time ending the hallway, and he could see beyond that stairs began,
going down.  Bones littered the floor near the entrance, and he saw
scratches in the stone floor, made by some clawed creature.  He
noticed that amongst the scattered bones lay a perfect skeleton,
still equipped with helmet, chainmail shirt, leather leggings, and a
Scimitar.  The Skeleton had a sack heavy with something hanging
from its still intact belt. 
	*Uh-oh* Raduin thought.  *So they have animated skeletons here,
too* He flattened against the wall, and inched along it.  As he
neared the top of the stairs, he really looked at the skeletons
equipment for the first time. 
	The horned helmet was made of solid silver, and glowed blue
faintly, evidence that it was enchanted, which increased its value
tenfold.  The chainmail shirt was in mint condition, no gaps or
misfigured links visible.  The leather leggings were in similar
condition, and woolen pants could be seen under the leather leg
armour, which was held together with steel clasps, showing that they
were of the highest quality.  The Scimitar was what Raduin
considered the prize possession, even more than the Magic Helm.
It's hilt was gold, and its blade of Dwarven Silver, sometimes called
Mithril.  It had no defects, and the symbol of a dragon was carved
into the crosspiece, reminding him of Chandar. 
	Raduin smiled, and slid his Half-Sword out of its scabbard.  He
leapt toward the skeleton, ripping both of its legs off and throwing
them down the hallway, and struck the skeleton's sword hand off at
the wrist, ripping the Scimitar out of its now unenchanted grasp.
The skeleton grabbed his leg with its good hand, and yanked hard.
Raduin fell to the ground, and the skeleton bit him in the calf.
Now wielding two swords, Raduin decapitated the skeleton and kicked
its head down the hallway.  He stood and sheathed his Half-Sword.
He grabbed the collar of the chainmail shirt and tried to pull it
from off the skeleton, but its arms held firm.  Its sword hand had
reattached to its right arm, and it grabbed both of Raduin's legs
and yanked him to the ground once more.  Raduin chopped off its left
hand this time, causing sparks to fly when the Silver blade struck
the stone floor, and threw it down the stairs.  He sheathed the
Scimitar in his empty scabbard, and grabbed the chainmail shirt with
both hands.  He kicked his foot through the collar of the shirt,
trying to dislodge the skeleton from it.  As he wrestled with the
skeleton, pain suddenly exploded in his left shoulder.  He jerked his
head around, and saw the skeleton's skull had somehow come back down
the corridor and bitten deeply into his shoulder. 
	Raduin became irritated, and, ripping the skull from his
shoulder, smashed it against the ground repeatedly.  Soon only a
pile of bone fragments was left, and the hand grasping Raduin's 
ankle went limp.  The skeleton had been disenchanted with the
destroying of its skull.  
	Raduin looked at the wounds he had sustained from the fight,
which equaled a bite to the calf and shoulder.  Neither of them was
serious, and he rubbed them furiously with a cloth from his pouch so
they would not become infected.
	He removed the skeletons arms and took the chainmail shirt.  He
examined it, and to his delight he found it would fit him perfectly.
He slid it over his Razainshazzarian underarmour, and adjusted it
until it was comfortable.  It felt good to be back in armour.  He
took the Magic Helm and donned it.  It was slightly too large at 
first, but it shrunk slightly until it fitted him perfectly.  He
took the wool pants, and examined them.  They would do nicely under
the leather leggings, so he put them on, and clasped the leather
leggings on over them.  He took the sack at the skeletons belt, and
opened it.  It was filled with gold coins, and Raduin took one out
and examined it.  It was emblazoned with the face of a man that
looked to be in his middle years, and wore a crown.  The words
`Britannia' and `Lord British' were likewise emblazoned upon the 
outer rim of the coin. 
	*Good.  These coins appear to be currency, maybe I can buy some
food with them* Raduin thought.  *That is, if I ever reach that
towne at the foot of this mountain* He put the coin back in the sack,
and tied it to his belt.
	Raduin descended the spiral stairs for almost a mile straight
down, and he had found a strange magical fountain on the way down.
He had taken a nearby rat, and shoved its head into the fountain
until he was sure it had drunken from it.  He watched the rat, and
saw that the water had not harmed it.  He had drunken from it, and
it had refreshed him, giving him new strength.  He slept by it, and
awoke to continue the journey.  After what Raduin judged to be three
more hours, he came to the foot of the stairs.  If front of him, two
huge double doors stood, still intact.  They appeared to be made of
solid gold, and the symbol of a hammer and anvil was engraved above
each of the large rings that were set into the door. 
	*The symbol of Dwarves* Raduin thought.  *I wonder what caused
them to leave, or flee, so mighty a hall*
	Raduin, seeing no other course of action, grasped the rings, and
pulled.  The huge doors swung open easily, and Raduin beheld a great
sight.
	A large, oval shaped chamber greeted his eyes upon the opening
of the doors.  It must have once been the Kings hall, for the walls
were lined with Dwarven Silver and Gold, and great tapestries hung,
decaying, from the ceiling.  Paintings of elder days hung on the
walls around the room, still in good enough condition to look
beautiful and magnificent.  There were many other double-doors
similar to the one Raduin had entered at regular intervals around
the chamber.  A large river ran through the center of the chamber,
from left to right.  Beyond the river, on the other side of the
chamber, was the most magnificent sight of all.
	A great Red Dragon lay sleeping on a pile of treasure almost
twenty feet high, and at least a hundred feet in diameter.  Many
slightly smaller piles of treasure laid about the center one,
totally covering every inch of the ground on the farther side of the
chamber, across the river.  The great Red Dragon's eyes were gazing
at Raduin with a slightly amused expression.
	Raduin marched to the edge of the river, and said, "Greetings to
you and yours, Sir Dragon.  If you would but direct me to the exit
at the foot of this mountain, I would be much obliged"
	The Dragon raised one of its scaly eyebrows, and said, "You must
know that Dragons give nothing away.  I would require a gift in
return."
	Raduin opened his pouch, and produced a Firegem.  "Would a item
of power from an alternate Dimension suffice?" He asked.
	The Dragon's eyes narrowed, and began to glow.  When they
stopped glowing, the Dragons eyes were wide.  "I detect that you do
not jest, that the item you hold, in fact even you, hail from
another Space-Time.  That item is worth far more than the
information you ask, so please select an item of slightly lesser
value from my Treasure Horde."  The Dragon swept its wing in a broad
gesture over his enormous sea of treasure.
	"I would ask nothing more than the information I seek, for such
an item is commonplace where I come from."  Raduin threw the Firegem
to the Dragon.  It landed just a few feet away from the Dragon on
the largest pile of treasure.
	"I am in your dept, for such an item is a great treasure in this
world, and worth much.  The only way to the base of this mountain is
to jump in that river there, and float along with it until you reach
a circular cavern with a large lake that this river spills into at 
its bottom.  The cavern is very, very tall, and you will have to
climb the sheer cliff to reach the small ledge at the top.  There is
a very small hole along the ledge, but you can fit through it.  It
leads to the fields outside of this mountain.  But beware, for the
chamber is covered in Slime, living Slime, mind you, that will burn
through your armour, and melt you like so much cheese.  Avoid the
Slime at all costs.  It is a glowing green substance.  Also, at the
top of the ledge there is a large opening that leads to a great
tribe of Orcs, so avoid making too much noise." The Dragon said.
	"Thank you for your hospitality.  The river appears to run
directly into the wall, though.  I will obviously have to be
underwater for a period of time. How long is this?" Raduin asked.
	"A couple of minutes.  A little longer than a human can hold
their breath, but there are fissures in the stone above the water 
every so often that lead to clean air, you can stop and breathe in
these for a while, the current is not fast enough to prevent this."
	"Thank you, Sir Dragon.  I will be leaving, now."  Raduin
fastened the buckles on his armour, and secured his Magic Helm by
buckling the straps that he usually kept up inside of it under his
chin. He leapt into the water with a splash.
	
	The Dragon stared at the river where Raduin had leapt in for a
moment, then said softly, "I must inform the others at the Weyrmount
about this.  A link to a new Dimension has been discovered.  The
Grand Council MUST convene."  The Dragon stood, and began chanting
softly.  His voice rose in volume, until he was nearly shouting.
The basin at the top of the mountain suddenly became boiling hot,
and all the snow on it melted and evaporated, and then it opened.
The Red Dragon launched himself out into the blizzard, which he
quickly rose above, and closed the door to his home with his magic.
He shot off to the northwest, towards the Serpents Spine mountains,
home of the Weyrmount.
	
	Raduin floated along under the water, he could see that he had
passed through the walls of the chamber, for now there was solid
stone above the water.  He floated past a fissure that was covered
in the living Slime that the Red Dragon had spoken of, not thinking
anything of it.  About a minute later, though, he had not seen a
single fissure that was not covered with the deadly Slime, and he
was beginning to need air.  Soon his need became worse, and he swam
along as fast as he could, searching for a fissure that wasn't
covered in Slime.  He needed air bad, so very bad...  His vision
began to blur, and he started clawing at his own throat.

							* * *

	Ryan had finally reached the bottom of the cliff-like wall of
the cavern, and looked around.  There was a couple of openings along
the wall, apparently leading to other caves.  He happened to look
back up, when he saw seven forms clothed in black beginning to
descend the cliff face.  Panic started to take hold of him, but he
quickly suppressed it.  He had to think.  He glanced at the
waterfall, and watched it as he thought, for it would take them
nearly an hour to descent the cliff-like wall.  As he watched it, he
saw a human-like shape burst from it, arms flailing wildly.  The
form twisted and turned, and hit the lake with a great splash.  The
Assassins hadn't noticed this, since all their attention was on
climbing, and the roar of the waterfall blocked out the sound of the
splash.
	Not knowing if the human-like creature was even a human, or if
it was a friendly human, he pulled both of his long fighting daggers
from their sheaths in his high boots, which were custom made Magical
Swamp Boots.  Normally swamp boots were not enchanted, but the
enchantment on these was not a normal one.  The boots appeared to be
soft black leather, and they were incredibly comfortable and light,
yet supported his foot perfectly.  The enchantment on them didn't
make them glow, it kept them from issuing a sound when Ryan wished.
So he could walk in total silence.
	The form burst above the surface of the water, and swam to the
shore about twenty yards to Ryan's right.  As the figure pulled
himself out of the water, Ryan could see that it was definitely
human, and it was armoured with a Magical Helm, chainmail shirt, and
high-priced leather leggings.  Two sheathed swords were strapped
cross-ways on his back.  The form unlatched its helm and stuffed the
leather straps back up into it, and began walking toward Ryan with a 
friendly, but alert pace.  As the figure neared Ryan, Ryan shouted a
warning.  The figure cocked its head, apparently still to far away
to understand Ryan.  Ryan, which had no other choice, began to run
to the figures side to give him aid against the Orcs that were
pouring from the opening in the rock behind him. 
----------------------------------------------------------------
End of Chapter 2. Continued to Chapter 3 - `The Legends of 'Eld
and The Sealed Gates.' 
----------------------------------------------------------------
The Moonrift
Part One
By: Chandar Dragon {chad_b@efn.org}

Chapter 3 of Part One
----------------------------------------------------------------
The Legends of 'Eld and The Sealed Gates
----------------------------------------------------------------
	Chandar flew low over the thick jungles of The Land of Rising
Mists, towards the cliff-like mountains far to the north that
separated this land from The Land of Deepest Shadow.  He knew he
must make haste, for more of the two-headed creatures could come
through the Rift at any moment, and who knows what else.  The
distance between the circle of stones and the Cliffs of Misting
Shadow was great, and it would take him nearly an hour to arrive at
the base of the Cliffs.
	As Chandar flew, his mind wandered among his memories, trying to
think of something other than what the discovery of the Moonrift
could entail.  But his mind kept coming back to those exact
memories, what he remembered from the Legends of 'Eld. Finally, he
gave in to his minds fierce need to think upon the Legends, and he
re-read the Legends over and over again in his mind, trying to find
an answer to the problem that was now set before his race.  
	Drifting back, he remembered sitting at the old oak table that
felt more like stone inside the vast vault of knowledge known simply
as 'The Library'.  He remembered the torchlight flickering off the
stone walls, the dank and slightly dusty smell that hung in the
still air.  Then he remembered the Scrolls themselves, the crackling
old parchment that seemed to glow around the edges when looked at
from the corner of your eye.  The only complete copy of the Legends
ever found, it was the discovery of the millennium.  His hands, for
he had been in human form, had nervously unbound the lavender
bindings, and opened the Legends of 'Eld. The writing was like none
he had ever seen, each letter was perfectly formed, and they seemed
to have a life of their own, as if they were more than mere writing
on a dusty old parchment.  Then the Great Tale once again unfolded,
preserved in his mind with perfect clarity.
	
	There was a time when permanent Moonrifts were set into each
dimension, connecting it to all other dimensions nearby, so that any
given dimension was accessible from any other dimension.  This was
true all over Existence, which is the sum total of all the
dimensions.  To most this was so close to infinity that it was, but
to the Greater Races, it was their territory, their playground.
They roamed throughout Existence, staking claims and drawing
territorial lines.  There were no other beings in Existence that
came close to their power, so there was never any thought from the
weaker races of liberating themselves from the control of the
Greater Race that ruled their portion of Existence.
	It was the Greater Races that, near the dawn of time, decided to
uproot themselves from their own dimension, and begin to explore
those that could be reached from their HomePlane by creating
Moonrifts.  So it was that, in time, the Greater Races had
established permanent Moonrifts connecting every dimension that
existed, forming a web so complete and impossibly vast that it was
nearly uncomprehendable to all but the more intelligent of the
Greater Races.  
	The Greater Races had an equal capacity for good or evil, but
greed and the lust for power marked the majority with a war-like
spirit.  So when a Greater Race first met another Race that could
match itself in might and magical power, they were like a spoiled
child, in that they felt that all of Existence should be theirs
alone.  So skirmishes broke out in the beginning, with each Race
learning to what extent their powers could extend.  They learned
that they not only could destroy worlds, but entire dimensions could
be ripped asunder by the force of their power.  They learned that
all out war would eventually destroy what they sought to claim as
their own, so they staked out territories, and began to form
governments from their previously barbaric and nomadic civilization.
Their cultures turned more to the gaining of knowledge, and combat
between the races became more sophisticated, as the art of
spellcasting was developed, instead of simply using pure Ethereal
power to smite another being.  They learned that Ether was an
element, and it could be manipulated to do almost anything.  So it
was that one trained in the art of SpellCasting could defeat a foe
with more natural ability to draw Ether, but without the training.
	The Greater Race that ruled the portion of Existence that
Razainshazzara is located in was simply called the Ancients by us,
the weaker races.  They were the True Shifters, far more powerful
than those that now live in Razainshazzara.  The Shifters that live
now have certain limitations that the True Shifters did not posses.
The Shifters that live now can only shift into a form they have
beheld with their dominant sense, usually their sight.  The form
that each of the currently living Shifters are born in is called
their 'Natural Form', and they have to return to this form for a
period of time to regenerate their Shifting powers.  Some of the
Shifters that live now cannot manipulate Ether beyond this innate
ability, and they are naturally physically stronger than those that
can manipulate Ether.  They are called 'Warriors'.  The others, who
can manipulate Ether with their minds as well as their bodies, are
called 'Mages'.  A very few are born with the strengths from each
class, being strong in body and mind, and having the ability to
manipulate Ether as well as a Mage.  They are called 'MageWarriors'.
True Shifters can shift into any form they desire for as long as
they wish, for they have no true form.  All of the True Shifters
could manipulate great amounts of Ether, making them vastly superior
to the living Shifters in every way.
	The Ancients learned that the source of their power, the Element
they called Ether, was drawn from the 'Between', the nothingness
between dimensions.  After this discovery, they named the
nothingness the 'Ethereal Void'.  The Ethereal Void is the medium
between dimensions that allows travel by Moonrifts to other
dimensions possible. 
	One of the reasons that there was never a vast amount of
destruction wreaked across the face of Existence by the evil Greater
Races was because of their inability to form alliances between
different Races.  It had happened once or twice, but never for long.
The slaughter began when the impossible happened, five of the most
evil Greater Races formed an alliance to conquer Existence and
divide it up between themselves.  At first, none of the other Races
took the alliance seriously, expecting it to fall apart at any time.
But the alliance held, and the Allied Races wrought destruction and
violence across the face of Existence, crushing the opposing Races,
and taking their conquered dimension as their own.  This went on for
a number of millennium before the Ancients even knew it had begun.
	The Ancients were a strange but powerful race that preferred
solitude, and did not know violence or war.  They were one of the
last of the Greater Races to be attacked, because of their location
on the Fringes of Existence.  When the Allied Races first invaded
the Ancients PlanarRealm, they were slaughtered by the millions.
But the True Shifters adapted to war quickly, and they soon became
the Allied Races most feared adversary.  With the True Shifters
ability to shift into any form and take on that forms powers, it was
more than a match for any one of the Allied Races alone, and any
given two it could have repulsed with little losses.  But with all
five attacking them, the Ancients were slowly but surely losing
ground in the War. 
	The Ancients knew why the Allied Races concentrated all of their
combined might upon them.  Located within the Ancients PlanarRealm
was Razainshazzara, a dimension unlike any other.  For it did not
exist outside of the Ethereal Void, like all the other dimensions,
but Razainshazzara existed *within* the Ethereal Void, it was one
with it.  Razainshazzara was a legend among the Greater Races,
called the Ethereal Dimension.  It was the most prized location in
all of Existence, and only the Ancients had known of its location,
until now.  Normally, Ether flowed through tendrils of power to a
dimension, and some, like Earth, did not receive hardly any of its
power.  But Razainshazzara was one with Ether, it *was* Ether.  Had
the Ancients known of the destructive power that they could've
wielded with Razainshazzara, they would have won the War.
	But they did not, and they continued to lose ground.
	Eventually, they were defeated on all fronts, and they fled
across Existence to the pinnacle of their entire Realm,
Razainshazzara.  There, they combined all their might, and made
perhaps the greatest Casting of all time.  Since they could not
close the permanent Moonrifts on Razainshazzara, they Sealed them
with a magical energy so great, that most of them lost their lives
in the casting, giving their very lifeforce to the Sealing Spell.
Each of the Twelve Rifts' Seals was composed entirely of Blackrock,
a substance which contained great power when used in any Casting
involving the Ethereal Void directly.
	Long years did the Ancients live in peace, content to live in
their single dimensional empire, knowing they were safe from the
threat of the Allied Races.  But there was something that occurred
upon the Fringes of Existence that occurred nowhere else, and the
Ancients had no knowledge of it.  Moonrifts could occur naturally
between dimensions that were located upon the Fringes of Existence,
and it was this unusual phenomenon that caused a patrolling Regimen
from the Allied Races to, quite accidentally, stumble upon an
unforeseen entrance to Razainshazzara.
	They returned to their masters, and a group was sent to study
the oddity and its properties.  It was learned that it occurred
regularly at calculable intervals for a period of 5 hours.  The
Allied Races once again took up arms, and sent an invading force
through the Moonrift, after advance scouts had mapped the entire
Plane, which consisted of a single land mass.  The Ancients, caught
completely by surprise, were brutally crushed in under a month, until
only a small group of 7 remained.  
	The Seven wandered through the land, using trails and passages
that the invading army had no knowledge of.  After many months of
travel, they crested a mountain range, and beheld the vale in which
the natural Moonrift hung, suspended in the air.  The entire
invading force was camped there, waiting for supplies from the other
side of the Moonrift to come through.  The Seven then forged a
Blackrock Seal, created specifically for this natural Moonrift.
	On the night that the Moonrift opened, Zealon, one of the Seven
as well as a master in the magical art of Illusion, created an
awesome visage of a hundred thousand Ancients running down from the
hills at the invading army.  The army panicked, and in a moment of
fear, most fled through the Moonrift to the safety of their
homeland.  The Seven teleported to the Moonrift, and battled the
small contingent of remaining soldiers.  Zealon, having been
weakened greatly from his great magical feat, died in combat, along
with two others.
	Four remained, and they hastily erected the Seal with might and
magic into the air over the Moonrift.  They began the Sealing, the
greatest magic the Ancients had ever practiced, but also the most
dangerous to the casters.  The Four lost their lives in the Sealing
of the Last Moonrift, and the last of the Ancients, the True
Shifters, died. 
	**The following is written in letters of burning fire**
	One from this Realm must travel to another, and there seek that
which understands and can teach {Word Written In Strange Runes}.
The Last must be the found once more, and the Bringer of Hope must
come forth.  If the following does not come to pass, then the Allied
Races, the Dark Powers that Watch and Wait, shall break the
Unbreakable Gates and doom shall befall The True Shifters HomePlane,
and there shall be no hope for the rest of Eternity.

	**From here, there is a long passage written in a strange Runic
Writing.  Many attempts have been made to decipher it, but each
time, the scholars are found asleep in their studies, and many days
do they sleep before they awake, totally unharmed.**

	Chandar jerked alert as the long shadows cast by the Cliffs of
Misting Shadow fell over him. Everything had darkened considerably,
since the light from nearly half the sky was now obscured. 
	His worries and fears spawned by the Legends were shoved into
the back of his mind when he heard a bone-chilling cry echo all
about him.  He jerked as another cry shattered the silence that
filled the air like something fragile.  He listened intently for a
moment...  There were three of them.  Next he heard something that
confused him, he heard a cry of pain that was more akin to a howl
come from one of the creatures.  He doubted that, whatever they
were, they would be fighting amongst themselves.  
	After listening to a couple more howls of pain, he decided that
whatever they were fighting against might need some help.  He sped
toward the direction of the fight, and as he flew he heard one, and
then two, of the creatures perish.  But soon three additional
creatures cries could be heard, more had arrived from somewhere.
When he thought about what they sounded like, *Balrogs, or maybe
Daemons* he pushed the ridiculous thought out of his head.  Nothing
from the Hadean Dimensions, from the 9 Hells as it was more commonly
called, would be in Razainshazzara, that was impossible.
	Still flying low, using the mists that rose continually from the
jungles below to his advantage, he arrived at the battle scene, a
circular clearing no more than one hundred meters across.  Four of
the creatures, which moved too fast for him to get a good look, were
attacking something standing in the clearing.  The creatures were
blood red in color, and winged.  They flew around their victim,
roaring fireballs bursting from their maws, and occasionally diving
down to rend the victim with their claws.  Chandar felt the presence
of another Shifter nearby, and at once knew that one of his kindred
was being attacked.
	Chandar rose into the air above them, and as he shifted his
weight downward, preparing for a powerdive, a screamed cry from
close behind him made his ears ring, and something's claws gashed
two huge holes in his leathery wings.  Chandar bellowed in rage and
pain, and folded his wings against his body as he fell to the earth
below.  He twisted uncontrollably for a moment, but quickly regained
his sense of balance.  His claws dug into the moist turf, and he
morphed into his human form, a blue light flashing in the mists for
an instant, giving away his position.
	His arms had bloody gashes running down them, but other than
that he was in good condition.  Reciting a protection spell as he
ran towards the assaulted Shifter, Chandar constantly looked up
through the mists, but could strangely see or hear nothing.  Chandar
detected that the creatures had casted an enchantment on the area
near the ground, a powerful illusion that convinced ones sight and
hearing that he was simply in a mist-filled clearing.
	Try as he might, he couldn't seem to cast a suitable
counterspell, and the illusion stayed as it was. 
	*Join with me, Brother* The thoughtspeach, loud and clear, came
into his mind suddenly, almost causing him to fall.  Behind the
words were images, feelings, impression woven into a complex pattern
that was the essence of thought-communication.  Realizing that this
was an idea he hadn't considered, Chandar replied affirmatively.
	Drawing on a large amount of Ether, he wove the Joining spell,
and reached out towards the other Shifter's mind.  As their mind and
power contacted each other and the link was secured and woven tight,
each began feeding the link with all their power.  Ether flowed
through Chandar, and he broke into a sweat as he drew Ether at the
maximum limit of his ability.  Their linked minds sensed the correct
moment as one, and a blinding wave of almost pure Ethereal energy
shot outwards from them like a small nova.  The fabric of reality
wavered, and suddenly ripped apart, leaving another reality, the
true one, behind.  The link between Chandar and the Shifter severed,
and Chandar swooned for a moment as his senses were momentarily
assaulted by two alternate realities. 
	A death-cry suddenly sounded from one of the creatures, and a
twitching body fell like a stone to the ground nearby.
	*One down* Chandar thought to the Shifter, and he felt his
comrade grin. 
	Chandar approached the Shifter, and what he saw caused him to
rub his eyes in uncertainty.  But what he beheld was real.
Rent'athor the MageWarrior, heir to the most powerful seat on the
Circle of Elders, a ShadowMan, stood, bleeding the dark purple blood
of his people, clutching his ShadowBlade as if it were the most
important to him in the entire world.  It probably was, at the
time.
	"Chandar!  By the Seven, I can't believe its you!  Listen,
something strange and impossible has happened somewhere near here.
The creatures we battle are Daemons, denizens of the 9 Hells!  I know
not how they arrived here, but there seems to be an inexhaustible
supply of the vile creatures.  You must return to the City of Light,
and convince the Elders of the truth!  There *are* Moonrifts, and
there is one that leads to the Hadean Dimensions near here.  Here,
take this..."  Rent'athor shoved a carefully folded cloth map into
Chandar's hands, and gasped in pain as blood spilled between his
fingers from a wound in his belly.  Falling to his knees, he weakly
said, 
	"You must make haste, Chandar.  The Circle must come to a
decision quickly, before all the horrors of the Legends come to
life.  If one of the Seararchs, the Greater Race that rules the 9
Hells, comes through the Rift, then he will be able to unlock one of
the Sealed Gates, and all will be lost. If none believe you, my
father, Shuk'athor, will.  Since his is the most influential
position on the Circle, he will have the best chance of convincing
the Elders to take action.  Now, go Chandar!  I will hold off these
Daemons as long as I can, do not make my honourable death in vain.
Go!"  
	With that, Rent'athor jerked to his feet, and quickly downed
a healing potion.  The wound across his belly closed, but it still
looked very tender.  He spun his ShadowBlade, and screamed a battle-cry
with his mind as well as his voice at one of the Daemons. 
	Chandar spun about and ran as fast as his human legs could carry
him, as he stuffed the cloth map into the shimmering pouch that hung
from his belt.  As he ran, blue energy crackled around him, racing
up and down the length of his body.  A blinding flash of blue light
lit the clearing for a moment, and Chandar launched himself into the
sky, his wings beating at the humid air. 
	Chandar heard Rent'athor shouting curses after him, and he
smiled.  Two of the Daemons left their engagement with Rent, and
shot through the air towards Chandar.  He figured that he would
make Rent's battle a little easier by ridding him of these two, even
if it displeased Rent that his death would be slightly less
honourable.
	Chandar swerved around, and hung, unmoving, in the air facing
the oncoming Daemons.  As they neared Chandar, one launched a ball
of fire towards him, and Chandar suddenly became a blur as he
powerdived downwards.  He spun up and about, and came up directly
behind one of the Daemons, before it had truly registered his
disappearance.  Grasping the creature with his claws, he weaved a
spell, and suddenly the Daemon just wasn't there.  
	Chandar flew towards the second Daemon, and roared a battle-cry
as a stream of fire erupted from his maw.  The Daemon dove
downwards, and shot two flaming balls of fire at Chandar's
unprotected underbelly.  As they were about to strike their target,
one hit something unseen that let out a horrible cry of pain.  The
second clearly killed it.  
	The air shimmered briefly between Chandar and the second Daemon,
and suddenly it was struck, hard, by its former companion's
invisible body, causing it to become disoriented for just a moment.
That was long enough for Chandar to breath a long stream of searing
fire at the Daemon.  The two dead bodies fell through the air, soon
obscured by the perpetual mists that rose from the jungle below.
	Chandar spun about, and realized the fight had taken him a
goodly distance from the clearing that Rent was in.  He turned, and
judged the distance to the foot of the Cliffs to be about 15 minutes
away. 
    
        						* * *
	
	Pain, the whole world was pain.  The Man ran, limping, through
dark corridors, his shattered shoulder always seeming to catch the
edges of corners, no matter how far out of the way he went to
prevent it.  Dark, slimy things would run out of the darkness, and
hurl themselves into his stomach, causing the overused nerves around
his broken ribs to shout out their pain, shouting so loud it filled
his head, almost obscuring his vision.  A huge chunk of the ceiling
suddenly fell from above, and struck the Man on his forehead.  Pain
exploded throughout his body, and he seemed to fall, fall forever...
	Floors made of glass, like an enormous mirror that stretched out
forever.  Crystalline plants of exotic beauty, and the burning,
searing light.  The entire sky was light, light to intense that to
look up was to be blind.  It was mirrored of the floors, which
seemed to double its brilliance.  The crystalline plants transformed
the light into a million different colors that left the eyes pulsing
with their bright intensity.  The Man limped across the land of light
and glass, the light seeming to burn out his eyes.  The most
horrible part, to the Man, was that he never went blind.  His eyes
always burned, it wouldn't end, it *had* to end...
	Quazaer jerked awake, and as his eyes fluttered open, he could
see the noonday sun directly overhead.  He jerked his eyes away, and
rubbed them, trying to make the afterimage dissipate.  When he tried
to lift his left arm, a thousand tiny needles suddenly stabbed into
his shoulder, and he let out a muffled yell.  Then the cloudiness in
his eyes and mind faded away, and he saw and knew where he was...
Buried alive under a ton of rocks.  He thought it was amazing that
he was still alive.  
	As the fragmented boulder shot through the air towards him, he
had quickly cast a protection spell, but he hadn't had the time to
feed it much Ether, or even weave it very well, as it had only
protected his front side.  When he was struck by the rocks and
thrown through the air, he was unharmed until the back of his head
struck with one of the stones at the edge of the circle.
	Apparently the rocks had settled so that when his spell had worn
off, they had only crushed his left shoulder and his right ankle.
	Then he felt something humming next to his right ear, and he
jerked wildly, thinking of the foot-long scorpions and other
dangerous terrors that crawled along the ground in this jungle.  But
all he saw was a small, smooth, black stone that pulsed slightly. 
	*The Moonstone!* Quazaer thought, and, reaching up and over with
his right hand, snatched it from the moist turf.  He opened his
pouch, and hid the stone carefully in its secret compartment that
was protected by magical wards. 
	*I've gotta get out of here and find Raduin, in case any more of
those creatures are still wandering around near here*
	In his minds eye, he recalled the clearing with the circle of
stones at its center.  Feeding Ether into the image, and weaving the
complex relocation spell, he was suddenly standing in the center of
the circle of stones.  He spun around as he heard a loud noise
behind him, and fell onto the ground as his weak ankle gave way
beneath him.  Luckily, it was only the pile of rocks shifting after
his sudden relocation, and he realized that he was even more lucky
than he had originally thought to still be alive, his protection
spell must've still been functioning to some small degree for the
rocks to be shifting like that.
	Rubbing his ankle, he twisted it back and forth a little, but
with great pain and difficulty.  He sighed in relief, his ankle was
only badly sprained, and not broken.  He carefully rose to his feet,
and reached under his Mage's robe.  Ripping off some of the cloth,
he created a makeshift sling for his left arm.  He removed the boot
over his right foot with great difficulty, and wrapped his injured
ankle with the leftover cloth from the sling.  He slid the boot back
on, and stood.  Looking around the clearing, he saw the dead Ettin's
bodies littering the ground, and he noticed that some of the corpses
were charred, the work of a large dragon.  *Chandar, probably*
Quazaer thought.  Raduin must have left with him to go report to the
Circle of Elders.  Looking around, he saw Raduin's magical Scimitar,
a heirloom of his family for generations, lying in the dirt.  Doubt
and fear clouded his mind for an instant, but he quickly had them
under control.  He took the Scimitar, and, wrapping the precious
weapon in cloth from a dead Ettin's tunic, hid it inside of his
volumous robe.  He looked around the clearing for Raduin's body, or
even a trace of where it had gone, but he could find none. 
	*Strange...* Quazaer thought.
	Seeing that Chandar had arrived and left in his Dragonform, he
decided, after a long look at the circle of stones, to head back
towards the Land of Deepest Shadow, to the north.
	
	Quazaer sat, cross-legged, by the small camp fire that cooked
his dinner.  He reached over with his good arm and turned the spit
on which two plump rabbits roasted.  His eyes never left the pages
of his book, though.  He was studying on the art of offensive
spellcasting, for he thought that it might become necessary to focus
his expertise on this area.  He had also been studying about the art
of healing magic, of which he had absolutely no experience in
whatsoever.  He didn't want his shattered shoulder to heal wrong,
and he looked for the solution in magic, as he always did.  Looking
up into the darkness of night, he saw the Cliffs of Misting Shadow
looming far above him.  He had journeyed for nearly a dozen days,
and now the Cliffs were only a days journey away.  He shivered, and
rubbed his arms with his good hand...  He was dreadfully cold.  His
eyes slid down to the elegant words on the page in front of him, and
soon he was lost in his reading again.
	"Hi."
	Quazaer leapt to his feet, Ether already flowing through him,
gathering for a Magic Missile spell.
	"Fear not, Wizard-Friend.  Me is just harmless creature of
woods.  My kind chosen not make contact with yours 'till now.  Your
speak difficult me say. Get better I will."
	"I am a Mage, not a Wizard," was Quazaer's automatic response,
as he backed away from the strange creature that stood just outside
the edge of the firelight.  Not having seen the creature before, and
not yet certain of its true intentions, he kept his offensive spell
woven and ready.
	"Step into the firelight."  Quazaer said, for he couldn't really
make out what the creature looked like.  The only thing he was
certain of was its small size. 
	The creature stood stock still for a long moment.  It seemed to
reach a decision, about what, Quazaer was not sure, and it strutted
bravely into the halo of firelight. 
	It made Quazaer want to laugh.  He let his spell unweave itself,
and felt the gathered Ether dissipate. 
	The creature was very short, only about a foot in height, but
its long (for its size) spindly legs took up nearly half that
distance.  Its body was a furry ball, with large eyes and a huge
mouth that almost split the lower half of its round furry body in
half.  The creature had two long, thin arms, with three digit hands
tipped with small, but razor sharp, claws.  Its entire body, except
its eyes and claws, was a forest green color.  
	It was nervously pulling on a long, conical hat that it held in
its hands.  When the creature noticed that Quazaer was looking at
what it held, it turned it upside down, and shook it, as if to show
it was empty.  The creature then placed the hat back on its head.
The top flopped over, being made of a brown fur, so that half of it
was hanging down the creatures back.  The creature seemed to think
the action was very important, so Quazaer did his best to look
serious.
	When the creature just stood there, staring at Quazaer with
those black eyes, Quazaer nodded to it, as if to affirm its action
was understood.  The creature seemed to relax a little, and sat down
by the fire.
	"Me come from place not like here.  Me just curious, me not
know.  Me not know it bad to touch glowing red door.  Me not
know glowing red door take me place far away.  This still Britannia,
right?"  The green creature stared intently at Quazaer, making him
nervous.
	"Uhh...  Err...  I'm sorry, little fellah, but I've never heard
of anyplace called Britannia.  Maybe its out beyond the Impassable
Mountains?  Did you actually enter this glowing door, uhh, sir?"
Quazaer said with a nervous tinge to his voice.
	"Me not heard of Impassble Montans!  You no heard of Britannia?
Where is me?!?  What has me done?  Ohh, woe is I!"  The creature
looked genuinely upset.
	"Maybe I can help you, little fellah.  Tell me, can you describe
the location where you exited the glowing door?"
	"Help me?  Oh, that would make me happy!  My name Emerald Hand.
Me Gremlin.  When me came out of door, was in grassy place where no
trees.  Trees all around grassy place, not in.  In grassy place
stones in circle were.  Here been days many.  Door close behind me!
Waited long, would not open.  Left when got hungry.  Got lost and
wandered.  Here came I, not knowing here were you.  Maybe you open
glowing red door for me?  Make me happy!  Me be friend yours, not
your stuff borrow, ok?"  The Gremlin was standing now, and was ready
to burst with excitement. 
	"Well...  I cant go back right away, but I *do* have the key to
the 'door' that leads to your home.  But you cant borrow it,
understand?  Only I can use it.  I must travel across those Cliffs,
there.  From there I will go to the City of Light, and tell my
people about these doors.  Then, I, or someone else who knows how to
use the key, will take you back home, ok?"
	The Gremlin leapt into the air, and ran all the way around the
campfire three times before he stopped again, and spoke.
	"You thanks me from!  Me thanks you!  Me friends yours, me not
borrow *anything*, no matter how pretty or yummy.  Me will be your
companion.  Me your friend forever, me *never* borrow from you,
ever!" 
	Quazaer bowed his head a little, and asked him if he had a pad
to sleep on.
	"Me no pad. Pad humans for. Me ground sleep."
	Quazaer nodded, and smiled.  He looked down, and returned to his
studies.  A minute later, he heard a curious noise...  The Gremlin
had cleared its throat. He looked up at Emerald Hand, curious. 
	"Me... hungry?"  The small creature was staring intently at the
cooking rabbits.  Quazaer laughed, and, examining the food, saw it
was done. He stood, and began to prepare dinner.
	The next morning, Quazaer awoke, and yawned.  He sat up, and
stretched as he looked up through the mists, trying to see just the
smallest hint of the silver sky.  Shrugging, he stood, and began
cleaning up camp, when he noticed that Emerald Hand, or 'The Hand' for
short, had left. 
	It was after Quazaer had cleaned up camp and began cooking
breakfast that the Hand had returned.  He ran up to Quazaer, and
tugged frantically on his robe. 
	"What, what!?"  Quazaer asked as he swiped the Hand's tugging
fist away.
	"Me...  {huff, huff} Find...  {huff} Human, hurt!  Human...
Different. Wear black all. Bleed blood purple! Help you him!"
	*Wears all black, and bleeds purple...  He could only mean a
ShadowMan. But what would a Master of Shadow be doing on this side
of the Cliffs?  Rent'athor's journey should've been over weeks ago,
and I know of no other expedition involving ShadowMen. I better see
what's going on... And what could possibly harm a ShadowMan?*
	"Ok, Hand.  I'll go with you, and try to help him.  I'll be
ready in less than a minute, just gotta junk breakfast."
	Soon they were trudging through the jungle, Quazaer following
the Hand.  Because of Quazaer inability to go directly through the
jungle, for he had to use something's trail, it took them quite a bit
longer than it had Hand.
	Finally, they arrived at their destination.  A black form lay
in the shadows at the edge of the small clearing, and a pool of
lavender blood was gathering under it.  The ShadowBlade lay at the
form's side, and Quazaer knew immediately that it was Rent'athor.
	"Rent!  By the Seven, what's done this to you?  Are you ok?
RENT!"
	Quazaer rushed to Rent's side, and reached out with his power.
Feeling life still beat within Rent'athor, if only a very little, he
turned him over, onto his back.  A long, wide gash ran down his left
side, and an older gash had reopened on his belly.  The situation
looked hopeless, but Quazaer would do everything he could for
Shuk'athor's dying son. 
	As he began to look for something to bandage so large a wound
with, he felt a light tug on his robe. 
	"Not now, Hand. I'm busy helping our friend here."
	"But, me find..."
	"I said NOT NOW!"
	"Ok, ok... If yous want that way."
	Even after Quazaer had bandaged up the wounds, Rent had still
lost too much blood.  Quazaer was going to have to attempt healing
magic.  He sat cross legged near Rent, and focused his concentration
as best he could like the book had told him too.  He reached out,
using Ether almost like a sixth sense, feeling Rent's wounds.  The
sudden feeling of terrible pain caused Quazaer to withdraw so
violently that Rent groaned. 
	After an hour, Quazaer lay in a pool of sweat.  He had tried
his best, but he couldn't muster up enough power to buffer himself
against the pain. He felt another light tugging on his robe.
	"What?" He said irritably. 
	"Me find something!  Me find ring in dark man's pack.  Ring
tingle.  Tingly stuff powerful, worth lots.  Maybe tingly ring help
dark man?"  The Hand crawled over Quazaer and put the ring in his
palm.  Quazaer lifted the ring, and stared at it dully, not really
seeing it. 
	"Neat."  Quazaer said, and gave it back to the Hand.  So
exhausted was he that he immediately fell asleep after he let go of
the ring.
	Hand frowned, and, taking the ring, walked over to Rent's side.
He took the ring, and slid it onto Rent's finger.  Looking
cautiously around, he removed his conical hat, and quickly took a
clear bottle containing a bubbling yellow liquid from it.  Replacing
his hat, he took the stopper out of the potion.  He glanced
nervously at Quazaer, and crawled onto the ShadowMan's chest.
Prying his mouth apart, Hand poured most of the potions contents
down his throat, slowly, so he wouldn't choke.  He then ran over to
Quazaer, and emptied the bottle into his mouth.  Smiling, he put the
cork back into the clear bottle, and replaced it in his hat. He crawled
next to Quazaer's pack, and curled up into a perfect ball.  He was
asleep within seconds.

					     * * *

	Small tendrils of blue energy still leapt across Chandar's human
form, an aftereffect of the Shifting.  He stood at the base of the
Cliffs of Misting Shadow, at the entrance to a secret passage that
lied within the Cliff face itself.  The main reason the Land of
Rising Mists was so difficult to explore was the fact that the wind
at the Cliff's top was so powerful, even a dragon would be smashed
into the rocks jutting out of the Cliffs top by its raging force.
So, anyone who explored the Cliffs had to go through them.  This was
not possible until recently, when some human explorers found a
passage to the other side.
	This new passage was a secret known only to Chandar and
Melchior, the Elder that represented his Clan in the Circle, for he
was a Dragon-born MageWarrior.  Chandar knew where he was from
external landmarks, for the cliff face here was perfectly smooth,
and could not be used for the location of the hidden passageway.  He
strode forward, and to anyone watching him, it would seem he walked
through the face of the Cliffs themselves.  There was an entrance
here, but it was hidden by an illusionary wall of the utmost
quality.  If one wasn't certain that the wall was illusionary, it
would feel as solid and impassable as any other wall.
	Chandar stood at the foot of a great stair, the greatest stair
in the known world.  No one knew who had made the stair, or the magic
that kept the entrances invisible.  Some scholars thought it was the
Ancients themselves, perhaps used by the Seven in their wanderings
before the End. Chandar thought this was a reasonable theory, so he
figured it might be true.  The stair climbed to the very top of the
Cliffs, opening out on their upper surface about halfway to the
other side.  At the Cliffs top where one exited the stair, there was
no fierce wind that threatened to rip one off the roof and pound one
into the rocky terrain that made up the top of the Cliffs.  This
rocky, impassable terrain made the tops of the Cliffs unexplorable,
except for the strange paths that had been cleared by someone long
ago.  No one had yet explored all the paths yet, there were to many
to count.  None had been explored upon this route, for it was
supposedly a secret.  The entrance to the stair leading to the other
side was directly in front of one when one climbed out of the depths
of the Cliffs to stand on their top.
	Chandar removed a long, wooden staff from his shimmering pouch,
and mumbled some words.  The crystal at the staffs tip began to glow
brightly, and Chandar continued upwards.
	Two uneventful days later, Chandar arrived at the top of the
Cliffs of Misting Shadow.  The sky was clear, its silvery light
bathing the tops of the Cliffs in its brilliance.  Three paths led
away, all of their destinations soon obscured as they took sharp
turns in different directions.  The stair leading down to the Land
of Deepest Shadow opened up in front of him, and he groaned at the
thought of another two days in the dark gloom.  
	As Chandar began to prepare his noonday meal, he felt a
sickening wrench in the natural flow of Ether that was
Razainshazzara.  He was suddenly overcome with a strong feeling of
foreboding.  Looking up, he was certain it wasn't his imagination
that the silvery sky was darkening.  Within mere minutes, dark,
bloated storm clouds filled the sky, and lightning lashed down
harshly, striking the tops of the huge jutting boulders nearby.  The
alteration in the flow of Ether that he had felt was now a
continuous beat, a counterpulse against the healthy, clear throb of
the Ethereal Void.  Suddenly, words filled Chandar's mind, words
that were emanating directly from the strange, evil counterpulse
that had sprang into existence.  The words were not spoken by an
individual, they were spoken by a hundred, a thousand, a million...
So many that it was impossible for that many beings to join together
in such perfect harmony, albeit a sick and evil harmony.
	*THE TIME HAS COME.  RAZAINSHAZZARA IS MINE!*
	The Legion of voices spoke, and Chandar knew that everyone in
Razainshazzara had heard it. 
	Something awakened inside Chandar, something that had lain
dormant in the depths of his being for his entire life.  It had
awakened at the sound of Their voice, and it was powerful beyond his
ability to comprehend.  That part of him that had lain dormant for
so long suddenly took control, and Chandar found himself walking
down the path to his left, instead of running down the stairs like
he should have, like he wanted to... Or did he want to?
	He felt his being rippling with Ethereal energy. Somehow he had
broken the barrier of having to draw Ether, he had become one with
it, he was Ether, but he was also Chandar.
	Soon he came to the final bend in the trail, and he stopped,
awestruck at the sight that was before him. 
	The path had ended at a very large clearing, surrounded by the
impassable rocky terrain.  Ancient building made of an unknown
material laid in wreckage that had been afflicted thousands of years
ago.  Chandar realized that the group of buildings had been a small
community, for there was a large fountain with a beautiful sculpture
rising from its center, as well as a park with long dead greenery.
The buildings were like nothing Chandar had ever seen, architecture
so advanced that it looked impossible for some of the sculptures and
arches to be standing upright, and yet they were elegant in a way
that made the Palace of Light seem crude and clumsy by comparison.
Something within Chandar knew that this was a community that had
been built by the Ancients, the True Shifters.

	Then Chandar's eyes beheld the most spectacular, and yet the
most deadly, sight in the village.  Floating above the center of the
ruined towne square was a giant sphere of carved Blackrock, and this
was the source of the strange counterpulse in the Ethereal flow.
	The Ancients had done the impossible, they had been able to
alter the physical formation of Blackrock, something even the other
Greater Races couldn't do.  But, the irony of it all was that they
had done the impossible double over, they not only had formed and
carved Blackrock, they had infused it with a spell.  With
Blackrock's inherent magical power, this made the spell more
powerful that it ever could have been alone, and once the spell was
activated, almost nothing could stop it.  This was how they had
overcome the Allied Races, by creating Seals of Blackrock that were
actually powerful enough to keep a permanent Moonrift closed.
	The spherical Seal itself was made up of nine different
sections, eight slices of exact proportions cutting from the surface
inward, and a vertical cylinder running straight through the center
of the Seal, the centerpiece that the eight slices attached to.
	The sphere was not hanging in the air still, it was rotating
horizontally.  The runes were glowing a faint blue, and the Seal
vibrated slightly.  A humming noise could faintly be heard coming
from the Seal.
	The Seal began to rotate faster.  At the same level of
increment, the runes continued to glow brighter, and the vibrating
increased.
	The Seal was now spinning so fast that it appeared a black
spherical blur.  A continually changing blue pattern of light
flashing across its surface.  The vibrating seemed to have stopped,
but an ear-splitting whine filled the air, making it hard to think
straight.
	The whine increased until Chandar thought his head would split
open, and suddenly the sphere was there no longer, and a circular
gate to...  Somewhere had opened.
	The counterpulse Chandar had felt seemed to explode in its
intensity, it now dominated the flow of magic in Razainshazzara,
even over that of the Ethereal Void.
	Roaring fire could be seen through the enormous gate, the entire
land was fire.  Buildings and paths had been built over the furnace,
buildings that were made of the bones and skulls of every race They
had conquered, alien and not so alien blood filling the gaps left
between the bones, held there by some magical force.  Daemons and
Balrogs could be seen flying through the furnace-like air, working
on the grotesque structures that proclaimed their victory over their
enemies.
	Then a huge form...  *melted* into existence in front of the
grim visage that was clearly one of the Hadean Dimensions.  Chandar
felt the awesome presence of a member of the Greater Race that ruled
the Hadean Dimensions, the Seararchs.  
	Its body was blood red in color, and seemed to be stained across
its tough hide.  It had four mandibles on each side of its beak-like
mouth, each tipped with a sickly yellowish fang that dripped some
kind of liquid.  The rest of its enormous face was taken up by a
circle of eight eyes, with a huge central eye at their center.
Fangs that curved inward surrounded the center eye.  Eight long
tentacles protruded from either side of its head, alternating
between being tipped with a small mouth full of razor sharp teeth
and a single eyeball, the iris always either blood red or a sickly
yellow color.  Two arms protruded from the Seararch's shoulders,
and more could be seen running down the length of its torso.  The
two arms at the shoulders were reaching through the Gate, grotesque
arms like nothing Chandar had ever seen before.  Beginning at the
top of the shoulder, slimy tentacles complete with suckers circled
the arm in a spiral pattern, ending at the creatures forearm, which
was starkly different on either arm.  The right ended in a huge
pincer, lined with serrated razor sharp ridges, and inside the
pincer was another of the tentacles.  The left's end was encased in
a Blackrock obelisk, and was not nearly large enough in diameter to
be ended with the same pincer type appendage.
	The creature spoke with the voice of millions, and only then did
Chandar realize that is spoke with the voice of every dead being it
had ever killed.
	"Puny mortal, why dost thou stand in my way?  Yours shall be the
first soul I feast upon this day!" 
	The creature let out a terrible cry that drove despair into
Chandar's heart. His soul would be... Eaten... By this abomination!
	The creatures huge pincer opened wide, and a scream erupted from
the pincer itself.  It struck with lightning speed, but suddenly
bounced back at the last moment, as if it had run into an invisible
barrier.
	"This stops now!  You know the rules, Tentalos.  The Bringer of
Hope has not yet been contacted, you cannot invade this land.  The
Prophecy is above all."  A voice that contained the most absolute
justice in Existence said, from nowhere and everywhere all at once.
	"You cannot take direct action, puny Time Lord.  You cannot
stop me!  My hunger for souls and conquest it to great to put on
hold until your meaningless 'Prophecy' is fulfilled!  This being,
this entire land, is MINE!"
	Tentalos's pincered hand once again rose up, in preparation to
strike. 
	"So be it, Tentalos.  I now make a legal action in response to
your flagrant lack of regard for the Prophecy.  Chandar, you are
granted half the power of your ancestors, the Ancients.  Since you
are a half-breed between the Ancients and the current race of
Shifters, you always had the power within you, you just never knew
how to use it.  I now give you the knowledge to unlock your full
potential.  Tentalos, I have made my decision and taken my action, I
will now withdraw."  Chandar felt the powerful presence of justice
leave Razainshazzara once more.
	Tentalos seemed distressed for the first time since Chandar had
laid eyes upon it.  Then its distress turned to pure hate and rage,
and it reared up its pincer to strike Chandar once more. 
	Chandar felt mental and magical barriers within himself break
free, barriers he hadn't even known were there.  This unleashed all
the knowledge and power of a fully trained half-breed between the
Ancients and the Shifters.
	He effortlessly wove a protective ward against physical attacks,
and he knew that he was now impervious to any form of physical harm
that Tentalos could do to him across the Dimensional Rift.  At the
same time, he interwove an offensive field into the protective ward,
just in case Tentalos *did* try anything.  
	The striking pincer struck something invisible, and the blue
lines of energy surrounding Chandar suddenly became visible.
Tentalos's eyes grew wide, and it began to frantically jerk with its
pincered arm, trying to remove the pincer from the harmful energy
field surrounding Chandar.  Tentalos managed to get its arm free,
finally, but it pincer came off, and landed on the ground in front
of Chandar, nearly four times his size.
	As the creature howled in pain, Chandar realized this was a very
weak member of the Seararchs, one low in status in their society.
He sought to break into Razainshazzara early, and conquer it
himself, so as to prove his worth to his brethren.  A foolish plan,
one thought up by a weak being.  But even the weakest of the Greater
Races had power beyond imagining compared to any other Race alive.
	Chandar decided to destroy the being with one fell blow.  As the
unsuspecting creature continued to howl in pain, Chandar began to
gather an amount of Ether that would have killed him a hundred times
over had he attempted it before the mysterious Time Lord had
breached his hidden mental barriers.  He was pulsing with power, he
was power.  He manipulated it, he was it.  He wove a spell so
complex that the most beautiful tapestry ever made seemed like the
simplest of stitches in this great work.  He wove a spell he hadn't
even known existed before his mental barriers had been broken
through.
	Searing energy laced out from Chandar's hand, lightning bolts of
different size and colors winding together like a huge rope of
power, searing waves of heat and even pure Ether mixing to form a
bolt of the truest and purest pain and destruction.  It slammed into
the creatures face, making its huge central eye explode.
	At the same time, Chandar launched a bolt of searing mind-energy
laced with pure Ether to cause the most horrible feeling of pain
that could be experienced without killing the individual.  So, at
the same instant that Tentalos's central eye exploded, his mind was
struck with a MindPain Bolt of incredible power.  These two
awesome spells were but the smallest part of the whole, the
distracting tactic for the true strike, for both were meant to cause
pain more than injury.  As Tentalos was wracked with the most
complete form of pain that he was capable of experiencing, he let
his True Guard slip for just a moment, the powerful spells that
protected the only truly vulnerable thing in a member of the Greater
Races, their soul.  For this instant had Chandar been waiting, and
when it came, he was ready, and he struck.
	A beam of light ten times brighter than the sun erupted from
Chandar's hands, replacing the PhysPain bolt that he had been
sustaining.  The light was not seen by the eye, but by the soul, so
as even a blind man could behold it.  It was Chandar's most powerful
weapon, a spell that was almost impossible to use at the right
moment.  The SoulStrike struck the core of Tentalos's evil being, a
black sphere of darkness.  He jerked back, and a hundred million
voices cried out in pain.  He fell down into his own reality, in one
of the Hadean Dimensions, and soon he had only a quarter of his
lifeforce left.  He did the only thing that he could do to save
himself, the thing Chandar wanted him to do more than die.  He
closed the Moonrift from his side, and the Blackrock Seal resealed
itself, and as Chandar fell to his knees, everything was quiet, and
a huge Blackrock sphere once more floated in the air above the
ruined towne square, so still that one wondered if it was really
floating in midair at all.
----------------------------------------------------------------
End of Chapter 3. Continued to Chapter 4a - The Figure Swathed 
in Darkness.
----------------------------------------------------------------

The Moonrift
Part One
By: Chandar Dragon {chad_b@efn.org}

Chapter 4a of Part One
----------------------------------------------------------------
The Figure Swathed in Darkness. 
----------------------------------------------------------------
	A thunderous boom, and silence.  The crackling of fire, the
smell of smoke and charred flesh.
	Ryan rose slowly to his feet, rubbing his eyes in a vain attempt
to make the stars that swam before them dissipate.  He still didn't
know what had happened...  He had seen no powder keg, and no Mages
were about.  When he could see out of his eyes again, he glanced at
the strange man that had come tumbling over the waterfall in the
side of the sheer rock, nearly a hundred yards above the underground
lake it spilled into.  The man was also rubbing his eyes furiously,
and seemed to be as surprised as Ryan about the incident.  As one,
they glanced over to where the angry mob of Orcs had been only
moments before.
	Charred Orc appendages littered the ground, totaling the bodies
of over twenty Orcs...  Probably an entire tribe.  The rocky floor
of the cavern was blackened from the blast, and smoke still rose
from its surface.
	Ryan strolled casually over to where Raduin stood waiting for
him, and said in a controlled, emotionless voice, "What in the name
of the Seven Virtues was that?"
	Raduin cocked his head, frowning.
	"Un mustga Raduin.  En vigra hureld fa-swalantia?" said he.
When Ryan just blinked in response, Raduin smiled suddenly, and
snapped his fingers.  He reached within the bag hanging from his
belt, and removed a small, silver ring, engraved with arcane runes
of power, and slipped it onto his finger.  He adjusted it for a
moment, and then spoke.
	"I am known as Raduin. What is thy name?"
	"The names Ryan.  You don't look like your from round these
parts.  Actually, you don't look like your from Britannia at all."
Ryan said, and laughed.
	Raduin frowned.
	"I'm a traveler from a distant land."
	"Sure.  Whatever.  People don't ask many questions of others
round these parts, so I wont pry.  You looking for a companion?  My
services can be bought."  Ryan sheathed his long daggers in a
lightning quick motion.
	Raduin chuckled.
	"Nay, my alien friend.  I have not enough money to afford thy
services...  Only enough to keep me alive till I can find a
profitable venture in this strange land."
	Raduin knelt and retrieved his fallen helm, and donned it again.
As he turned to leave, he heard Ryan speak behind him, his voice
betraying no revealing emotions. 
	"Then I shall ask to purchase thy services, for I seem to be in
need of some aid at the moment."
	Raduin turned, and shot Ryan a broad grin.
	"Certainly, friend, it is not unheard of here for two
adventurers to travel together, without paying each other.  A joint
venture of profit, one might say."
	Ryan's answering smile was, if possible, even wider.
	"Yes, such is commonplace in Britannia, stranger.  I'll watch
your back, and you watch mine, eh?  But, see, I've got this little
problem that I cannot solve alone on my hands.  See those men on the
cliff over there?  They are professional killers, known as Assassins.
They are trying to rid the world of my grandiose presence, I'm
afraid."
	"Then, in a gesture of friendship, I shall attempt to dispose
the Realm of the vile miscreants.  Let us go now and devise a way to
such an end, java?"
	"Java."  Ryan grinned and joined Raduin, and they clasped
forearms. 
	They stood together at the foot of the subterranean cliff, about
a hundred and fifty yards from where the Assassins were climbing.
As they waited, Ryan nervously juggling his daggers, while Raduin 
sharpened the blade of his newfound Scimitar.
	Ryan abruptly stopped juggling, and sheathed his daggers.  He
turned to Raduin, and asked,
	"What caused that explosion over there, that killed all those
Orcs? Some magical item?"
	Raduin frowned, and reached into the pouch at his belt.
	"Yes. A gem, known as a Firegem, that gives off heat, and can be
used in extreme situations to start a fire, but it quickly loses its
power with that effort.  Usually one puts it into the bottom of a
sleepbag to keep ones feet from freezing off.  Useful in a journey
into the unknown.  But that one seemed to have fallen from my pouch
in my descent over that waterfall, and when I reached the shore, it
was pulsing in a manner unfamiliar to me, and a tingling feeling
about my fingers as I went to pick it up warned me that it was
giving off a fairly powerful magic, supposedly impossible for a
Firegem...  You use the things to keep your feet warm!  I kicked it
hastily away from me, and into that group of Orcs, as you call them.
Then that huge explosion occurred...  My feetwarmers seem to have
become deadly weapons!" He laughed heartily.
	Ryan grinned, and, with a sweeping motion of his hand, said,
	"Maybe a solution for our friends over there that are bent on my
destruction?"
	"OUR destruction, friend.  But, no...  I think not.  We can take
that many ourselves."
	Ryan blinked, then nodded slowly.
	"I hope your as tough as you look," he said.
	Raduin again laughed, and put his whetstone away.  He leaned his
Scimitar against the wall, and waited for the Assassins to reach
them, as they were now running in his direction.
	The first caught one in the eye, the second in the throat, the
third between his legs.  Raduin, half his Shurken now gone, took his
large Scimitar in hand and charged, Ryan in close pursuit.
	The next assailant's head was cleaved cleanly in two by Raduin's 
gigantic Scimitar, and Ryan stabbed another in the kidneys with his
twin fighting daggers.  
	Ryan blocked a swipe to his head with his left dagger, and
knelt, hamstringing the man with his right.  As the man fell, Ryan
slit his throat.  
	Raduin had left his Scimitar in his victim, and drew his long
fighting knives, more like mini-swords.  He made several quick
motions at his opponent, confusing him.  Suddenly, Raduin's victim
was missing his sword-hand, taken off at the wrist.  Raduin stabbed
him with both knives in the stomach, and dropped them as he drew his
Half-Sword.  He cleaved the man's head off, and then looked around,
making sure everyone was dead before dropping his guard.
	Ryan nodded in approval.
	"Impressive.  You shall be a most excellent fighting companion."
He laughed then, "Maybe you and Dupre can exchange fighting
pointers."
	"Dupre? A fighter, I take it?"
	"Yes, a most excellent one.  Perhaps second only to the Avatar,
but he's gone right now...  Been gone for like 170 years or so.
He's a drinking companion of mine, we met in our joint efforts of
testing all the fine taverns in this fine land.  Maybe you'll meet
him someday, I think he's in Jhelom right now.  He always seems to
wind up back there..."
	Raduin nodded as he finished retrieving and cleaning his weapons,
and said, 
	"A dragon of great honour told me to seek my way out up on that
ledge there, where the Assassins were coming from.  Do you know of
such an exit?"
	Ryan looked started for a moment, then said,
	"Yes, I do... That's where I came from. Ready to head back?"
	Raduin nodded, and they both trudged over to the foot of the
underground cliff.

                              * * *

	"Yes, I assure you, we have proof that the Emperor does have a
renegade son... A son which is still heir to the throne."
	Three figures of great power strode proudly down a long hallway
in the bowels of the Emperor's Palace in Lasteroth.  They, three of
the most influential Seararchs in the Empire, plotted against their
Emperor. 
	"Yes, I tell you again, Ratheros, I have irrefutable proof that
the rumors that have been abounding for decades are true..."
	Ratheros, Intoperoth's equal in political rank, nodded solemnly.
	"Well, Intoperoth, it appears we have finally found an advantage
over our beloved Emperor...  In his son.  His existence is such a
horrid breach of protocol that the masses of the Fire Realms will be
cheering for his destruction when the news gets out."
	"Yes, yes!  Finally!  We must act quickly.  We already have the
forger at work on the official documents that give us claim to the
throne...  A new type of throne.  A council of Dread Lords shall sit
upon the Imperial throne of Lasteroth, we shall rule the Seararchs
with an iron fist."  Intoperoth rubbed his raspy hands together
eagerly.
	"But the forger requires a blood sample from the Emperor
himself.  Yes, swift action is most definitely required.  We must
cause a civil uprising with the news of his son, and at the same
time dispose of his Imperial Majesty, making sure an adequate blood
sample gets to our forger, without anyone ever being able to point a
finger at us." Ratheros nodded, affirming the plan.
	The third figure in the group, the most senior in rank, stopped,
putting a hand to his bone-ridged forehead.  He frowned, then smiled
broadly.  As he hurriedly faded out of sight, he intoned a silent
good-bye to his fellow plotters, for he would not be seeing them
again in this life.
	"...and then we shall have the third Oopenth storm
Razainshazzara, and the Seararchs shall rule all of Existence from
the Throne of Ether itself, that dimension that was lost to us so
long ago by the accursed Ancients, those peace-loving slugs."
	"Yes!  And we, the Dread Lords, shall become the Supreme Beings,
as it was foretold.  We will ..."  Intoperoth's voice trailed off as
he stopped talking, and stared strait ahead.  Ratheros, following
his line of sight, also stopped dead in his tracks.
	A figure stood, swathed in darkness, in the shadows ahead of
them.  His black cloak billowed out behind him eerily, and all that
could be seen of his face, shadowed behind a midnight hood, were two
silvery pinpoints of light.  Finely crafted armour wrought from the
Black Steel, infamous among the Seararchs, shone dimly in the
torchlight.  His hands rested easily upon his dark, heavy belt,
covered in black leather gauntlets that sheathed his arms up to the
elbow in their protective embrace. He carried no visible weapons.
	"You know too much," was all the figure said.
	He raised his right hand, clothed in its midnight gauntlet, and
pointed at the two beings of power.
	The Black Death hit them from behind.  Appearing in form and
fashion to lightning, it absorbed light and life.  It was totally
soundless, and undetectable by any spell or item that detected
magic.  
	It hit Intoperoth first, the arm it struck rotting off and
falling to the floor, a black shriveled mass of flesh.  As he opened
his mouth to scream, the black energy sprung forth from it in a
multi-pronged fashion, arching to touch that which was streaming from
his now empty eyesockets. 
	Ratheros turned to run, and was impaled by a thick tendril of
its power.  It sprung out from his back, and, like a horrid spider,
split into many points which touched down all over his twitching
body.  A rotting hole was now visibly growing from where his stomach
should have been, and he fell silently to the ground, the Black
Death slowing his descent as its power arching upward from the
earthen cobblestones.
	The figure swathed in darkness nodded once, and turned in the
shadows, his cloak swirling about his form, obscuring him from view
and becoming one with the darkness. He was gone.
	As the last vestiges of life fled from Ratheros, he mouthed
silently the words of his doom, the bitter irony struggling to make
him laugh.
	"Invictus..."

                              * * *

	The rolling hills were beautiful.  Small farms dotted the
landscape, their boundary fences creating a strange pattern from her
great height.  Her eyes next fell upon the forest to the east, the
great boles marking Britannia's beauty silently.  Below them, the
large, unnamed river between Britain and Cove sparkled with the
sun's radiance as it poured into Britanny Bay. Then her eyes fell
upon the magnificence of Castle British, its high towers and pinions
reaching into the blue sky.  The great city of Britain sprawled
forth from it, the center of commerce in the human society that was
so prevalent upon this world.  Above the city could be seen the red
form of a Dragon in flight...
	A Dragon... Over Castle British?
	Marith rose from her lush chair that stood facing her large
glass window with its splendid view.  The only red Dragon that
would be coming from that direction would be Crimson Dragon, and the
need must be urgent for him to take the shortcut over Britannia's
largest city, risking being seen.  They would be sending back brave
adventurers who would 'slay the evil dragon' for months. 
	She sighed, and lay down her softly glowing blue bound book.
She walked over and opened the large, wooden door to her private
chambers behind the Sickweyr.  Seinentai looked up from tending a
patient, and immediately read the worried look on Marith's face.
	"Good afternoon, Marith.  We thought you had fallen asleep in
there," said she as she grinned at Marith.
	"Not quite, Sein, but close.  Crimson comes, with urgent news
from the south.  We must assemble a greeting team for his arrival...
Go pick some friendly Dragons, would you?"
	Seinentai finished with the bandage to the patient's wing, and
said, "No problem, Marith.  I'll have them ready and waiting at the
Weyrmount entrance in a couple minutes."
	Marith nodded absently, other things already on her mind.  She
would have to ready a Grand Assembly, and explain to Crimson the
absence of a Grand Council.  Ethereal Dragon would also have to be
told to ready the UDIC for an Assembly.
	
	Crimson dragon banked, slowing his descent into the Weyrmount's
depths.  He could see the place hadn't changed much in the last
twenty years, except that the it seemed bustling with activity
right now. He spotted the greeting party, and landed nearest them.
	"Greetings, brother Dragon from afar off.  It has been too
long..." Marith bowed to Crimson, and smiled warmly.
	"You are always welcome in your home, the Weyrmount."  She
continued.
	Crimson chuckled politely.
	"Your hospitality is matched by none, Marith, and I doubt it
ever shall be. You should be made Commander of the Greeting teams."
	Marith looked nervous for a moment, but hid it quickly as she
replied, "Yes, it *has* been a while since your last visit...
What... 24 years ago? Much hath transpired since then."
	Crimson looked around, doubting Marith's words very much.
Nothing ever changed 'round here.
	"Enough with protocol, you have probably guessed that my news is
most urgent.  I need the Grand Council convened, so I can present
my information officially."
	Marith looked slightly nervous again, and said,
	"Uhh, Crimson...  There's been a slight reformation of the Grand
Council... Simply put, it doesn't exist anymore."
	Crimson blinked, the guffawed. 
	"So who makes the decisions? Are we a Monarchy now?"
	Marith laughed.
	"Hardly.  See, Ethereal's created his greatest achievement of
all time, made from a strange crystal he discovered in these
mountains. Its called the UDIC."
	"Really?  Fantastic.  But what has one of Ethereal's magic
devices to do with the absence of a Grand Council?"
	Marith looked distant for a moment, then said,
	"I'll let Ethereal explain."
	As Marith finished her last word, a thick mist of energy swirled
in the air before Crimson, as Ethereal materialized.
	Ethereal bowed low to Crimson, and walked over to him.  He
looked much wiser than the last time Crimson had seen him, and his
aura held an awesome amount of power.  Crimson thought he caught a
glimpse of a slight madness in his eyes, but it was gone almost
before it had occurred.
	"Well met, well met, Crimson.  Long time no see, eh?  I heard
you needed to know about my UDIC device.  Its really a miracle, it
truly is.  Absolutely without a doubt my finest creation.  It works,
too."  He laughed at that, and led Crimson away, walking slowly
toward the old Council chamber.
	"Ok...  The Grand Council was dissolved.  I wont bore you with
specifics, but we were without any form of decision making process,
and many foresaw doom ahead if we didn't find a solution everyone
would be happy with, and fast.
	I had been toying with a new element I had found, a crystalline
substance found under these mountains.  It held some very strange
magical properties.  I crafted a large 'crystal ball' of sorts, but
not for seeing the future or any such nonsense.  No, it was simply
to see what large amounts of this element would do to the Ether.  It
had some absolutely unforeseen affects, but I wont go into any
scientific explanations at the moment.  Let us just say it allows
Ether to interact and affect the conscience of a living being.
	After months of hard work, I created the UDIC.  UDIC stands for
'Ultimate Dragon Integrated Conscience'...  And it was the answer to
our biggest problem...  That of a government.  I then crafted
hundreds of necklaces containing a small portion of the element,
tied in with the UDIC, for every Dragon here.  Including you...
Remind me later to give you yours.  Anyway, when activated, the UDIC
takes the Consciences' of every Dragon wearing such a necklace and
melds them together into one sentient being.  Kind of heavy, I know,
but don't sweat it...  It works great.
	Well, here we are!"
	Ethereal clapped his hands together and brought them apart
slowly, the huge double doors to the Council chamber obediently
opening.
	"The UDIC!" Ethereal shouted triumphantly.
	Beyond the doorway stood a much changed Council chamber.  Gone
was the large table and chairs, and in their place was a huge
circular chamber, with seats for thousands upon thousands of
Dragons.  In the center of the chamber, upon a raised dais, floated
an enormous crystal sphere, its hundreds of thousands of tiny facets
glittering in the torchlight.
	Crimson took the sole chair that was on the dais with the UDIC,
and the rest of the Dragons quickly filed inside the vast chamber.
	All donned their necklaces, and Ethereal floated in front of the
UDIC, his necklace glittering about his own neck.  He took out a
strange rectangular object, and pushed a rounded part of its surface
inward.  Immediately there was a vast roaring noise, and the chamber
filled with multi-hued light, thousands of minute rainbow-like beams
connecting the UDIC with each Dragon's necklace.  The UDIC seemed to
shimmer, and lose its substance.  Yes, it was definitely becoming
transparent, thought Crimson.  Then the coloured light in the
chamber flashed brilliantly, and the crystalline sphere was there no
longer.
	The glowing form of a Dragon was now floating in the center of
the chamber.  It appeared to be made of crystal, and its glassy eyes
studied Crimson with the intensity of a hundred gazes, as if
everyone in the chamber were somehow looking at him.
	"We, the Dragons of the Weyrmount, request the information you
have come here to give us."  It said in a voice that sounded like
expensive wind-chimes from Moonglow.
	"I, Crimson Dragon, give this testimony, beheld by mine own
eyes, smelt by my own nostrils.  A man came to me, a man from
another Space-Time.  He gave an object, which he called a Firegem,
to me, in exchange for some directions.  I have the object, proof of
mine words.  He hails from a Space-Time unknown to us until now, for
I have discovered a new Dimensional link.  But its not a Moongate...
It is a Moonrift.  The distinction...  The Moonrift is the name given
to a formless Moongate, it has no set boundaries like the
Moongates...  It simply looks like a large rip in the fabric of
Space-Time.  This man came through this Rift, and while he appeared
to pose no threat, something else might. Please advise."
	The shimmering form tilted its head, as if listening to someone.
	"We have reached a decision for the time being.  You shall go
back and locate this Moonrift, and observe it.  A courier shall be
sent monthly to you, and you shall give him your observations for
said month.  We shall decide later what to do on a long-term basis,
for there appears to be no immediate threat.  Also, locate this man
that came through said Moonrift and question him.  Use human agents
if necessary...  Remember, the Weyrmount treasury is behind this
venture, but only within reason.  Your personal horde shall not be
used. You are dismissed."
	The Crystal Dragon shimmered and phased out of existence as
brilliant flashes of multi-hued light began to criss-cross the
chamber.  The sphere, once again in its position on the dais,
reflected the hundreds of minute beams that originated from the
necklaces the Dragons bore.  Ethereal used the strange device he
held again.  The beams went through one more cycle of the colour
spectrum, and vanished.
	Crimson stood, and launched himself into the air.  He circled
'round the large chamber, and sped off through the double doors.
	
	Two weeks later, Ethereal sat in silent contemplation in his
Master Study.  
	Piles of notes, containing a mixture of text, formula, graphs,
and sketches, sat on the desk before him.  He picked up a sketch of
a large island with a low mountain range in a crescent shape almost
totally circling the vale inside.  A ragged rip in the fabric of
Space-Time hung over one of its peaks.
	Lines were drawn from the sketch to various notes and formula,
and Ethereal let out a heavy sigh.  He had been over the mathematics
time and time again, for three days in a row.  The same answer
always came, and he always rejected it and tried again.  But there
was, he had to finally admit, no denying the fact that the Moonrift
was unstable.
	He threw down the parchment in disgust, and stomped over to his
Conjuring chamber.  Bookshelves lined every wall to the ceiling, and
skulls, glass jars, wands, and every other item of wizardly
countenance was scattered amongst the arcane tomes of knowledge.
Tables filled with tools of his trade, as well as experiments of
every sort were also spread about the room in a haphazard fashion. 
	He walked over to a large chest in the corner.  It contained his
most valued possessions, and he had set dozens and dozens of
enchantments upon it over the last hundred years. 
	He unlatched it, and flung open the top.  He rummaged through
it for awhile, then extracted a black box.  The only visible mark on
the box was a keyhole.
	He walked over to a bookcase, and opened the top of a troll's
skull that was on the fifth shelf.  He removed a key, and unlocked
the box.  Replacing the key, he returned to his desk.  He carefully
opened the box, and removed the treasure hidden inside.
	A Blackrock triangle, with a strange, alien rune etched upon its
surface, shimmered in the candlelight as it was extracted from the
box.  It had been in Ethereal's family for generations, and its use
had been largely a mystery.  All of its many powers were as yet
undiscovered, but it would be the device that was required for what
he had to do.
	He walked to the center of his Conjuring chamber, and set the
triangle upon a pedestal.  He then began the greatest magical
undertaking of his long and illustrious life.
	He had discovered the Moonrift was extremely unstable, it had no
permanent output location in the Britannian Space-Time...  It was
just as likely to open in a pub in Trinsic than in the Drylands, or
Skara Brae.  He had become convinced that a permanent output
location was an absolute necessity, they *had* to know where
someone, or something, were to appear if it traveled through the new
Moonrift.  He had formulated an extremely complex spell, one that,
with the aid of his Blackrock triangle, would stabilize the Moonrift
and assign it a permanent output location.  He already had the
center of his basement set up, having acquired a set of the famous
circle of stones that stabilized any type of Moongate, or Moonrift.
He would, as a test of his spell, assign the Moonrift an output
location in the midst of the circle of stones in his basement.  He
was certain that after this he could choose any place in the world
to put it.
	He raised his hands high, and opened his every pore to the
Ethereal void, absorbing as much of its power as he could control.
He had begun the re-routing.

                             * * *

	"Buccaneer's Den."
	The night life of the quaint pirate's abode was concentrated
indoors...  Mainly in the House of Games and the Fallen Virgin.
They strolled along the oddly vacant streets in the pitch black
gloom.  The moon had hidden its light behind a thick layer of cloud
cover that had blown in from the southeast.
	Ryan leaned closer to Raduin, and whispered,
	"The streets are not normally so vacant, even on a night such as
this.  Notice the street lights are out and no hopeful thieves lurk
in the shadows...  Something is going down tonight, and I've got a
good suspicion it may involve Hook, the scurvy bastard who, I
believe, sent those Assassins after me.  You stick around the
House of Games while I sneak around a bit... Got it?"
	Raduin nodded sharply, every nerve in his body straining out in
the night, searching with all his senses for any sign of hidden
ambushers. 
	They approached the House of Games, and Ryan pressed a bag heavy
with gold into Raduin's hand.  As he quickly attached it to his
belt, Ryan whispered into his ear, "Just try not to lose all of it,
OK?"
	Raduin grinned and shoved the doors inward with a mite bit too
much force.
	The right door struck a drunken pirate squarely upon the nose.
He stumbled back and fell, his skull and crossbones hat flying
across the room. 
	The man flew to his feet, a dagger already thrusting out towards
Raduin's chest.  He let the dagger strike his armour, and deflect
off its surface.
	With a lightning quick motion, he grabbed the pirate's hand,
putting pressure upon the proper nerve.  The man let out a yelp, and
the dagger fell from his grasp.
	Raduin shoved the man back, and into an unoccupied gambling
table.  He simply stood there, letting the pirate decide if the
fight were to continue.
	The man recovered quickly, apparently a veteran of many a
tavern brawl.  Rage burned in his eyes as he got a clear look at
Raduin for the first time. 
	The fight seemed to seep out of the man as he took in Raduin's
chainmail armour, his softly glowing horned helm, and the huge
Scimitar strapped to his back, as well as the array of other deadly
weapons about Raduin's person. Here was a man whom was one with war.
	Raduin just then noticed that the entire place had turned to
look at the spectacle, many frankly weighing Raduin's skill as they
eyed the large bag of gold that hung from his belt.  Each looked
down as Raduin's gaze turned to them individually.  A few did not,
though, and Raduin marked them as dangerous men, to be aware of at
all times.
	The pirate retrieved his dagger and pushed past Raduin roughly,
saying nothing more.  Two other pirates, who had been standing
nearby, followed the man out the door, glaring at Raduin as they
passed by.
	Raduin entered the House of Games, and walked amongst the
crowded tables to find a game that looked simple, one that appealed
to him.

	Ryan slipped the lockpick back into his pocket as he quietly
opened the back door to the Baths.  He locked it quietly behind him,
and crept down the stuffy stone passageway.
	He passed many locked doors, distracting sounds emanating from
behind some of them.  He finally came to the one he wanted, and he
peered through the crack at the foot of the door.  His agent was
alone, sitting behind his desk that was piled with gold and precious
jewels.
	Ryan opened the door and strode quickly to the front of the desk.
He tossed a small emerald onto it, and said,
	"What is going down tonight?"
	The man extracted an expensive looking pipe from one of the
pockets on his strange, personalized suit, and took his time filling
and lighting it.  Next he took the emerald, and examined it with his
eye piece.
	"Well, Ryan, that depends entirely upon how many more of these
you have."
	Ryan cursed, and slammed his fist down upon the desk.
	"Damn it, Matt, I need to know now!  Stop playing games with
me... You know as well as I the worth of that emerald."
	"That I do, Ryan my boy.  But the information you ask has
been, shall we say, hidden from my customers, unless, of course,
they can exceed a certain price."
	Ryan sighed, and produced a blood red gem the size of a
baseball.  Matt's eyes widened noticeably, but when he tried to take
the gem, Ryan held it back.
	"Wait a minute, Matt.  I also want to know who tried to kill me
earlier tonight."
	Matt nodded vigorously, his eyes glued to the gem. 
	"Yes, yes, anything you want, Ryan. The gem, please."
	Ryan sighed, and handed the gem to his agent here in Buccaneer's
Den. 
	The man stuffed the gem into a pocket somewhere inside of his
suit, and chuckled softly.
	"The captain of the Black Tide is who's going down, Ryan my boy.
Hook's taking him out, and is goin' to take control here."
	Ryan looked shocked, then outraged.
	"Hook, why that scurvy, no good...  Not even he can do that!
He's having illusions of grandeur.  The captain of the Black Tide?
He practically rules this island! Hook is going down, that's who."
	Matt shook his head sadly.
	"I'm afraid that's where your wrong, Ryan my boy..."
	"Wha..." 
	Ryan was struck from behind by a small dart.  He fell to his
knees as his vision began to swim.  He reached about and pulled the
dart free, then fell on his face...  Every muscle in his body had
just failed him.

	"Another 500 gold for Raduin!  Five straight wins.
Unbelievable!"
	The Gamesmaster put another 500 gold into the chest Raduin had
purchased earlier.  Raduin grinned, and took another swig of the
excellent ale they served here in Britannia.  It was called
'British's Finest' and a drawing of a stately man wearing a crown
adorned it.  A silver serpent hung from a chain around his neck, and
he held an impressive scepter.
	He was thinking seriously about another round at this strange
game involving the three rotating numbers and the green table when
the doors to the House of Games burst inwards.
	A large man who was missing an eye strode in, a huge broadsword
strapped to his back.
	Following him was a man dressed in the most exquisite finery
Raduin had ever seen outside of the City of Light back home.  He had
the look of a born killer, and a solid gold hook was attached where
one of his hands should have been.
	The man quickly scanned the room, and when his eyes fell upon
Raduin, a crooked smile crossed his lips.  He pointed calmly at
Raduin, and said,
	"Kill that man."
	A half dozen men in the room suddenly leapt to their feet,
swords drawn. They all charged towards him, murder in their eyes.
	Raduin took the table he was sitting at and threw it at the
nearest man.  He drew his Scimitar, and leapt into the air, roaring
a battle cry.  He brought it down where the man should have been,
but he had moved with inhuman speed.  
	The Scimitar sunk deeply into the oak table, and Raduin threw
himself into a roll.  He came up with his two fighting knives at the
ready, and, taking a gamble, threw one at the fast man as he was
turning.  It pierced his neck, sinking to the hilt.
	The man fell at his feet, and he extracted his knife.  He
sheathed them, and yanked his Scimitar from the table. 
	A full two dozen men were now after his blood, and Raduin looked
about desperately.  Seeing a window nearby, he took a Firegem from
his pouch, and threw it into the midst of his assailants.  As a
thunderous boom shook the building, he leapt through the glass
window, his armour mostly protecting him.
	He looked around desperately for any sign of Ryan.  Seeing none,
he decided to head towards the tavern Ryan had mentioned...  The
Fallen Virgin, if memory served. 
	Outside of the tavern, he calmly collected himself, and entered
as if nothing were amiss.  Several men looked his way, but no one
bothered him.
	His attackers must have thought that he'd head to a more remote
location, instead of the this tavern that was probably crawling with
Hook's men.
	He walked over to the bar, and straddled the stool.  He ordered
some of that exquisite ale, and looked about, searchingly.  A man
caught his gaze, smiled, and looked away.
	Perhaps five minutes later, the smiling man took the stool next
to Raduin, and ordered some type of ale Raduin hadn't heard of.
	"Hi there, friend.  Looking for someone?"  The rough looking man
asked.
	"Yes...  I need a favour done for a rather notable man.  You
know where I can find a man that works for Hook?"
	The man's smile broadened, and he turned his total attention to
Raduin.
	"Well, it seems you got lucky...  I work for Hook myself.  What
kind of service does your, friend, need done?"
	Raduin looked around, feigning paranoia.
	"Let us go back there, in that room, so we can talk with some
privacy."
	The man seemed amused by the request, but nodded his acceptance.
	"Sure thing, mate."
	They entered the back room, and Raduin closed the door softly,
throwing the bolt.
	"Hey, watcha throwing the bolt for..."
	Raduin had him by the throat and against the wall before the man
could rise halfway from his chair.
	"Listen, you scum-sucking troll-blower.  Tell me where they're
keeping Ryan or I break your neck, java?"
	"I, uhhgh, don't know of any..."
	Raduin took a small, but razor sharp dagger from his belt, and
pressed it against the man's ribs. 
	"Maybe I'll just cut some of your internal organs out before I
snap your neck..."
	"No, uhghh, NO!  They're keeping him right HERE, get it?  In
room 7, you'll notice it right off...  Arghuuhhg, two of Hooks
bullies are guardin' it...  Now let me go!"
	Raduin stabbed the man in his kidney, and twisted the dagger
viciously.  The man, in too much pain to even scream, just fell to
the floor, twitching violently.
	Raduin cleaned his dagger on the man's now still form, and
locked the door behind him as he left.
	He went down the hallway of rooms, and, right on the money,
leaning against the door frame to room 7 were two huge guards, both
so scarred up they almost weren't recognizable as humans. 
	He strolled casually up to them, and spoke in a conversational
tone of voice.
	"Hey, what happened to da odder guy?  There's supposed to be
three of youtes! I'm gunna tell da boss bout dis, matey."
	"I don't know you, steel man.  Where'd ya get dat stupid helmet?
In a Trinsic dumpster?"
	Both the men laughed at that, and slapped each other on the
back.  Then both their heads were pinned to the wall by daggers that
protruded from their eyesockets.
	"Woah, funny joke, matey, real funny.  Sorry, mate, no one
insults my gear and lives.  I think you look better with your eye
pierced, as well as your ear and nose."
	Raduin extracted his daggers from the dead guards, and once
again cleaned them upon their victims clothing.
	He looked around, and saw the door to the tavern burst open.
The first man immediately spotted Raduin down the corridor, and men
began to pour through the door towards him.
	He kicked Ryan's door down, and looked inside.
	Ryan lay upon a lumpy mat.  He, surprisingly, still had all his
gear, and didn't appear to be damaged in any way. 
	"Ryan?  Hey, Ryan, we gotta get outta here.  Hook's men are all
over this place. Ryan?"
	Raduin turned Ryan over, and saw that he was, in fact,
breathing.  He slung him over his shoulder, and ran out into the
hallway.  The men were perhaps five seconds away, and Raduin had
no other way of escape. 
	Raduin became irritated.  He dropped Ryan unceremoniously to the
ground, and willed the shift to happen.
	Huge, ugly trolls, they're pretty scary.  Giant, two headed
Ettins, they're even scarier.  But when you want to *really* scare
someone, a fourteen foot tall, twenty-five foot long Scorpion really
does the trick. 
	The men screamed in horror as the huge monstrosity screamed at
them.  In fact, the entire tavern was rather quickly emptied of all
human life.  Raduin didn't have to stay a Scorpion for longer than
five minutes to completely vacate the nearest few square miles.

	They hid amongst the sheep.  Smelly, and even more itchy, they
provided adequate, if highly uncomfortable, cover. 
	In the morning, Ryan awoke, feeling brand new.
	"Whatever that guy stuck in me must've been first class...  No
headache at all.  They must've wanted my mind totally clear today,
for some reason. Probably to enjoy being tortured."
	"Why are there five ships in the harbor?  I thought that only
one or maybe two ever show up at once."
	Ryan looked out at the harbor and saw the five large ships
docked there.  Two were clearly pirate vessels, and the other three
looked like smugglers of some sort.
	"Hey, I know that ship!  The Wind Rider is a weapons smuggler.
It's our best bet...  I know it isn't a plant by Hook, its been on
the schedules for months. Ever been a stowaway before?"
	Raduin chuckled, and shook his head, parting the tall grass in
front of him for a better view.
	"Me neither.  They say there's a first time for everything...
And I'm beginning to believe it!  Lets head out.  Follow my lead,
and never, under any circumstances, stand up.  We'll keep to this
grass as long as its available, then we'll jump aboard one of those
cargo crate transporters heading to the Wind Rider."
	Raduin nodded, and they moved out.
----------------------------------------------------------------
End of Chapter 4a.  Continued to Chapter 4b - The Blackrock
Relic.
----------------------------------------------------------------