On a hilltop in England, lashed by a cold wind and shadowed by the coming darkness, stood a circle of stones that had confounded men for ages. Amidst these stones stood two young men—one shivering, with trench coat clutched closely, the other too occupied by the horizon to notice the biting cold. In the distance, the sound of thunder heralded the coming storm; the sun fell towards the horizon, and storm clouds formed overhead. ...
The woods are dense and teeming with life, birds chirp from the branches of lush green trees. A light mist hangs in the air and lends a feeling of expectation, of mystery and intrigue, to this otherwise normal woodland. Proceeding along the path you come to a fork, off to the right a straight gravel path cuts through the forest in unending precision. To your left a winding packed dirt path wends its way through the mist enshrouded greenery. ...
Tarlyn stared down from the ridge at his companion’s campsite and the fire they had just started. As he reached back to tie his long dark hair, the moonlight reflected off the runes etched in the silver bracers on his forearms. He was at home in the night, it was his element. He idly swirled the hem of his voluminous dark cloak as he turned to walk down the embankment. Dressed all in black he blended into the night, almost to the point of invisibility. ...